Boxcar Ballet

{Captain Quinn’s slightly off-kilter,

close-mic whisper over a detuned,

warbly acoustic guitar and heavy cassette hiss} "Amara vara mara vara.

Broken tape confessions.

Quinn at the helm.

It's messy, it's raw,

and we're not cleaning it up.

Execute."

Stumbling through the words when the throat gets tight,

Making such a mess of the quiet night.

Laying on the floor with a tangled cord,

Screaming out a feeling that was locked and stored.

Inside the pink room it's freezing for safety's sweet sake,

While outside on our private land,

the rough edges break!

{A distorted, fuzzy bassline and loose,

clattering drums stumble in} Your taste,

your weight, your clothes—they're just a random game,

Nobody really cares or even knows your name!

Lâches pas la patate,

even when it's all upset,

We're drowning in the noise without a single shred of regret.

'Cause nobody really cares about the standard line!

In the messy, bleeding static is where the diamonds shine.

Cut your hair off,

break the mold, throw your phone right in the sea,

Living out the Tiguidou philosophy!

With absolute autonomy locked over every pink-lined space,

And Joan reminding us that divine chaos wins the race :) Rule

number one: keep your standards a mess,

While looking like a walking,

talking beautiful stress. Catch a flight to nowhere,

start a loud commotion,

Throw your broken heart right into a midnight ocean.

We left the ancient forest for a leaky roof overhead,

Now we scream into our pillows and laugh at what they said.

{Instruments drop to a lone,

out-of-tune guitar strum and a shaky,

unfiltered vocal take} Words don't always work when you're trying to explain,

Sometimes you just have to sit right down in the rain.

Lâches pas la patate...

let it crack, let it tear!

{A sudden wall of loud,

fuzzy, shoegaze-distortion guitars and smashing drums explodes} We hold our messy,

rusted swords up high and let the noise ring out...

*(Fuzzy, jangling bedroom-pop guitars colliding with heavy tape

saturation and unpolished DIY rhythm tracks)*

'Cause nobody really cares about the standard line!

In the messy, bleeding static is where the diamonds shine.

Cut your hair off,

break the mold, throw your phone right in the sea,

Living out the Tiguidou philosophy!

With absolute autonomy locked over every pink-lined space,

And Joan reminding us that divine chaos wins the race

:) {Music cutting off abruptly into a loud tape stop,

a lingering hum, and an unedited breath} Amara vara mara vara...

Lâches pas la patate!

Tiguidou... Captain Quinn and the crew,

staying messy and real together.

{Final click of the recorder turning off into dead

silence}