Egg Cyst Ants

Released November 30th 2022

All my music is a story about myself and the people around me, this album even more so. It has been a trying year and these were the results of that journey.

It's not real


Someone is falling down today

Somewhere people can see

In the middle of this world

This is what we see


And left in a box

From a case of wine

What's something for the children

It was left on the street

Where people walk and stop

And cross to the side

For all the people here

I know I cannot save you


And why does my head hurt

More than the feeling in your chest

When we come back to the city

To find out what we need


Say my name tonight

When you read this letter

And 3d pictures of our life

Are all we were anyway





Things other people do


Speak to me

With shapes and light

And drive me home

On every single night


Other people get to finish

When other people try to start

When my fingers are all trapped

Entangled in your heart


I keep a box inside my mother's house

It's in a missing cabinet

That looks like I’m 16

You do have lips you do


And they fall from every tree

To blow away down the street

With midnight dust inside of me

With midnight dust inside


I wrapped my legs around this lamp

And close my eyes tonight

There's nothing left inside of this

I think maybe she was right





Hallway photograph


Close your eyes for me please

And imagine all this is real

Learning and stomping our hearts

And please come with me tonight


There's no need to bring yourself

To a place you can't feel anymore

So, sit back down and open up

To this night of streets and wind

So, if you think about it

It might think you're alive

And starting to photograph it

Inside this hallway in your mind


Turn on your side

And touch your tongue

With this hand

And with this song

And maybe I’m just broken

And living in a dream

And nothing lives at all

And nothing is ever clean





Building man-made things


Set down beside the plants

And tie up both your shoes

And clean under your fingernails

It doesn't matter what you use


It's a man-made thing

That makes you so afraid

And man-made things don't exist

Inside these books of rain


I feel like I am running

When I see you on the street

But I am really sitting

On the ground beside your feet


And some people are loving

All the parts of this place

When you are staring off

Not taking up any space

As quiet as you are

You fill my mind with sounds

Your story's fill up my stomach

And your people fill up my towns




New mouth


If I can ask you again tonight

Can you hypnotize me please

And send me somewhere back in time

To change all the things I knew


Clean out this filthy place

Where all the children died

And clean up this broken head

And maybe say goodbye


I'll tell on you again today

And every single night

Until this feeling goes away

And contaminate everything in sight


And walk with me

Down to this store

 And buy me a new mouth

And save me

From myself again

And build me a new house

I am not clean tonight not here

I cannot stand to face my friends

I am not real or anything at all

Please tell me when this ends




Each day


I'm supposed to mutter to myself

All the things she is saying

At night and during the day

Every moment I should be praying


Asking him for forgiveness

To be something that's adored

To lose my past and future

And be left indoors


Cleaning out these animals

Who left their lives inside of me

I can hold my breath forever

And ride this train to you again

Each day is another day

That I want to hold my tongue

Each day is another day

I'm angry at the sun


And each day I wait again

To close my eyes and sleep

And each day is colder than

The last day in this house




The night

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Oh! Give me the night, the dark, dark night,

The night with never a star.

When the stars are veiled and the moon has sailed

Beyond the horizon's bar.

When thought grows weary of groping its way

Through darkness dense and deep,

And buries its head in oblivion's bed,

Wrapped warm in the mantle of sleep.


For I hate the night, the moon-white night,

The night with a pallid face,

When a million eyes from the watchful skies

Peers into each secret place.

For thought awakes and the old wound aches,

And sorrow she cannot rest,

But all night long walks to and fro

Through the aisles of my troubled breast.


And memory thinks it her royal hour

When the heavens glitter and shine;

 And she fills the cup of the past well up

With a bitter and scalding wine.

And she calls for a toast to the ghastly ghost

Of a joy that used to be.

And that terrible face in the dear old moon

Stares steadily down at me.

So give me the night, the deep, dark night,

The night with never a star,

When the skies are veiled and the moon has sailed

Beyond the horizon's bar.




Don't go downstairs


Why would she even like basements

It would seem the truest version

Of a person named with that name

Would want to be as high as can be


And living above you

In a bright an ancient home

In clouds that are above you

As far from here as possible


I know why you left here

It makes perfect sense

It follows the procedure

When you're trying to cleanse

Surrounded by animals

Who feed off your thoughts

Giving you closure

Inside of your parts


Far from this basement

This darkness this sadness

As high as is possible

Without any gladness


Talking to ghosts (a vagabond mind)

By Ella Wheeler Wilcox


Since early this morning the world has seemed surging

With unworded rhythm, and rhyme without thought.

It may be the muses take this way of urging

The patience and pains by which poems are wrought.

It may be some singer who passed into glory,

With songs all unfinished, is lingering near

And trying to tell me the rest of the story,

Which I am too dull of perception to hear.


I hear not, I see not; but feel the sweet swinging

And swaying of metre, in sunlight and shade,

The still arch of space with such music is ringing

As never an audible orchestra made.

The moments glide by me, and each one is dancing;

Aquiver with life is each leaf on the tree,

And out on the ocean is movement entrancing,

As billow with billow goes racing with glee.


With never a thought that is worthy the saying,

And never a theme to be put into song,

Since early this morning my mind has been straying,

A vagabond thing, with a vagabond throng,

 With gay, idle moments, and waves of the ocean,

With winds and with sunbeams, and tree-tops and birds,

 It has lilted along in the joy of mere motion,

To songs without music and verse without words.




History lesson


I woke up this morning

From a dream or a memory

Of something I was part of

In the distant history


And what thing lives inside you

That makes you want to hate

The things that are not like you

And all the worlds we make


And maybe someone killed you

And someone killed them too

And someone never ended

And someone broke your heart

And there is something inside you

That makes you tear me up

And crush the things I hold onto

And makes me never want to start


He was a tiny person

Growing in the world

And somehow, he stopped growing

And went to sleep again



Greetings from somewhere


I might write you a letter

And turn it into a book

And ask you to answer me

And I’ll give back what I took


Just say that you love me

And walk with me a bit

Down to the post box

Where me and you will sit

And I’ll read you a cereal box

And a list of all the ingredients

Well you look up to the stars

And tell me where you came from


Let's take our shoes off

Let's go down to the beach

And fall down from dancing

You are always out of reach

You aren't really real no

It's all inside my head

I wish it was real though

I'd never leave my bed



Basement fire


I walked over to the counter

And I asked what I could have

I was giving a list of things

That would make most people sad

I struggle to get to my home

And felt like I was old

And when I got back home again

I found that I was sold


I cleaned the pipes for winter

And start another book

And keep this morning talking

About all the bread you hook

He sat down in the basement

And he started a little fire

He burned up all the good things

And he felt like a filthy liar


I might come back in autumn

But I might always be away

It's not because I’m empty

Because I’m filled up everyday




The last night


We didn't even know something was wrong

But we received a call to go out and look

And the car window is smashed

But it never did any good

Somewhere you were alone

And crying to yourself

And wondering why nothing is right

And I wish I knew where you were last night


And we saw it coming

But it still came quite fast

Where are your daily habits

And all the things that make you exist

They are moving you here

And they moved you over there

And you feel so sick

I wish I knew where you were last night


How far did I push this

And how far did I fall

You are falling in love tonight

With somebody else outside this house

And you don't look at me

And you don't do things to make me exist

And I wish I didn't know where you were.



If I knew the future


Maybe if this was a story

I could be someone else

Who knows how to fix things

And take care of you forever


Maybe if this was made up

By someone with imagination

I could bring you back here

And follow a trail of eggs


And if i knew the future

I could tell you if I’ll come back

In another life to fight this

And stop the sadness growing


Inside all the people

And children and the women

Who never deserved all this

And thought it would be different

I think I have a secret

And I think it will die with me

Because I can't tell you

And now it's too late

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