Everyone needs a vacation away from home
so I trekked out to the crumbling temple
of your soft skin and fragile bones
welcomed with the promise of being gentle
a beautiful landscape for me to roam

Checked into your vacant room
visited the museum of your hall
dined on wine and roasted shrooms
danced the town in a hazed pub crawl
slept in the arms of your perfume

Days swift by into weeks
weeks begin to breeze
You grab me by the cheeks
and tell me that you love me

Babe, I am just a tourist
Its time for me to go home.

tonight i am
a tourist
in your bedroom
my party dress
is like hawaiian shirts and khakis
compared to the t-shirts and jeans
littering your carpet
like fallen brown leaves
during autumn
i sit on your duvet
because you said
wait here-
i’ll be back in a minute
but it’s been ten
so my eyes wander
like a wayward wren
your books are not mine
there’s no poetry
there are pictures of memories
on your wall
none of them me
after tonight, that’s all i’ll be-
a note is on your board:
i love you
was it her?
it’s hard to see
oh wait, it was me
it’s bent and folded
like my insides
the writing is fading
like the makeup on my face
what’s taking you so long?
maybe you didn’t want me
and all this time i was wrong
and you’re hiding in the bathroom
waiting for me to take the hint
and leave
of course that’s it
i can’t believe
i thought you
actually wanted me
i’m so silly
of course
i do not belong here
my purse looks wrong
laying next to your guitar
but i can fix that quick
i will simply
thank you
for the ride
nurse my wounded pride
then i’ll be gone
and you will forget me
before long
so i get up
and the door opens
and you’re there
and you smile
and you touch my shoulder
and you say
i’m sorry
i took so long
i wanted to find
the perfect record
with the perfect song
you know that one
about a sunset in waterloo?
it always reminds me of you
but i’m here now
and i’m so silly
this whole night
is a mess
like my lipstick
on your lips
oh this anxiety i detest
your clothes are funny
compared to my dress
your books are not mine
besides the one on the end
(my brilliant friend)
the memories on the wall
are not of me
but they could be
i do not belong here
that is for sure
but then again-
all these things
were chosen by you
and i was too
so maybe i do belong
after all

Satellite dishes line the sky
Sending signals and on standby
Can't see the horizon
Many buildings rising
Concrete jungle horrify

The new Genre Tourist Punk
is sailing the nation.
Hawaiian shirts and white keds are lining up all around Orlando to see
up and thrifting bands like
Lobster trap,
Lighthouse tour and
Dogs welcome.

Founded in a Starbucks
by Toni and Dash,
two MECA grads one student loan away from selling out and getting involved in
the lighthouse painting business,
The Band: Lobster Trap
gave birth to a whole new genre.
TOURIST PUNK
Toni and Dash decided they needed to provide music that was expensive. niche.
Something unspeakably mundane.

With smash hits like
"This traffic is *******"
And "My name still isn't Joe".
Lobster Trap is flying
up the American top 40
faster than you can say socks and sandals

Sales of "I HEART LOCATION" merch has skyrocketed with every launched tour.
Crowds of L.L. bean boots and visors are Moshing, breaking poloroid cameras over each others heads in a salmon rage.

old school punk fanatics were skeptical at middle aged middle class suits getting into their scene.
until it hit them that they could now throw punches
at every pedestrian who ever cut them off.

"Hi thirsty, I'm Dad." By Land of the Polite
Has been played more times in the last year then any taylor swift song.

Money once invested in college-bound middle class vacationlander spawn is being wisely spend on bands like "discount Polo",
and "Local Diner"

So listeners.
if you spend an obscene amount of money on travel fair, and over priced, cheaply made souvenirs;
Or Work in customer service thriving to see those leaf peepers choked out by their own ***** packs.
Do yourself a favor.
road trip into your local bullmoose
sporting your states name on your chest.
And Treat yourself to an exclusive new album
of TOURIST PUNK.

With you
I am a tourist
You carve your smile
Tell me I’m welcome
And hold out your hands in demand

I know something is wrong
But this place is so masked in serenity
I do not care to understand it

You grab and you tear

Here
Love is a currency
I will pay with my heart
Then inflate to bankruptcy

I was nothing special to you
Just another tourist
Like the dozens and other hundreds
And you care about them
But not for them
Just as you do not care for me

You value what you receive
And how much you can grasp
But give newspaper to blind beggars
And insults to the depressed deaf

You care not for what you pass around
Only that what comes back to you is what you desire

So I am spent
Spun around
Turned away
And asked to leave

And you welcome your next tourist.

I walked through airport halls
walked through the smokey streets
Talked to unfamiliar people
with an unfamiliar language
and never have seen such wonder
all around. You should have
seen how the world is.
At this edge of the world, where city
lights shine brighter than the stars and
buildings rise higher than mountains,
you'd wonder at the foundations of
humanity. For their world revolved on
clocks and trains and life without slumber.

You'd wonder at them for their unfamiliar
language, and they laugh with you for
the mutual misunderstanding. They bring
excitement and mystery, for you
both are tested for your communicational prowess. If you are lucky enough to not look like one of them, they may try to speak a common language.

So when you travel to the land of HK, don't forget to have fun.. and let them
surprise you.