I follow you home and I borrow your phone. You keep letting all the children on your block keep slashing your tires. I was covered in mace. Lover, they cut up your face. Throwing up, I hit the ground ashamed as the kids drove away.
I’m annoyed by the sound that keeps leaving your mouth, and at the hospital I see your eyes staring at mine. And, as that bitch births hell inside my brain, we let the kids get away.
I wanna help you to bed and I wanna do what you said. As all the compliments go to my head, it’s disillusion again.
I wanna get in your shower and I wanna be with you now. Your face heals up and now you look like me-- how unfortunately. And, as I tear the fucking rubble from your face, we let the kids get away. And I see them almost every fucking day. We let the kids get away.
Toronto rivals San Francisco as the North American capital of jangle pop as evidenced by this new record of sunny jams from the Motorists. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 16, 2024