Chaotic neutral lighthouse sirens.
The spirits of sailors lost returning from sea.
Ethereal beings and what not.
Insert sappy and haunting intro here.

It's 1941 and we are writing love letters,
Tucking them into a big oak tree
To retrieve on our way to and from school.
Cherry cokes and late night smoke breaks.

My downstairs neighbors are fighting,
And I'm watching snow land on the ocean.
I don't feel special.
Uncharted waters and peeling wallpaper.


"Vinyl is better baby,
Trust me,
You must have lost your edge."

Drop Dead