When I heard you died I didn't even really cry
I just started at my phone
I flew down for the funeral and your parents parents picked me up
With your little son in the backseat
He said "Did you know that my mom died?"
I said "Don't you know that she was my mom too?"
But it didn't really feel like it
Snorting pills since I was a kid
And driving me drunk down the highway
And calling me names
So after I failed to cry
They gave me a box full of her clothes and I
Opened it up and saw her Birkenstocks inside
And I felt nothing
Except wondering why I felt nothing
It's been a month now and I find
I'm getting worse all the time
And her CDs in my CD player
And I don't know if I should hate her
And I thought that I was older now
But I'm still starving myself and sleeping around
And I don't want to leave this house
But if I drop out of school I'll get kicked out
And I'm half-tempted to live in my car
But my mother did that hippie shit
And she is in a jar
And summer is rolling in and this July I won't sleep in
And wake up in Tennessee with you nodding off right next to me
You taught me everything I know about not shaving my armpits or trusting in the government
And gave me problems that I can't even verbalize
And filled my eyes with stars
And made me want to die
And summer is rolling in and I wish I could sleep in
And wake up in Tennessee
With you and my brother next to me
This sweet, mournful “loose concept” album from folk artist Ian McCuen tracks a journey across the bleak landscape of American life. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 22, 2022