Download (Mediafire)
1. Asymptotes
2. Giving Up on Friends
3. It’s Always Summer Somewhere
4. The Awkward Act of Love
5. Clumsy
6. Our Balcony Year
This EP was recorded in summer of 2009, using various scientific contraptions. It was mastered by Larry Dolan/Human Identity Recordings, though the mastered version will not appear here.
Each song was written between summer of 2008 and 2009. This is for my past friends, my future friends and my used-to-be friends.
I love you all.
-Justin
All songs © For the Kid in the Back/Justin J. Passino
All songs recorded by Justin J. Passino
Trusty Chords Collective © 2009
Lyrics
1. Asymptotes
I woke up at a quarter-after nine on a hard-wood floor on the lower-west-side of
The cloud cover outside matched the off-white of my eyes and the vessels looked like train lines--the ones you drew to take me home and away from you.
“It’s time to go”, I announce to absolutely no one.
I pack my bags and recite an epitaph called
“It’s Raining in Plattsburgh Again”
I took the subway back to
I held on to the rail so tight that my fingers and my knuckles turned white.
I knew if I fell right then, there would be no getting back up again.
And she said “It’s raining in
It’s raining in
2. Giving Up on Friends
OH I hate Facebook and Myspace. All I do, as of late, is look at pictures of you.
And I don’t care if that makes me a creepy asshole.
I know you do and have done the same.
Lately, I’m just waiting for this cold to break.
Lately, I’m just waiting for you to say that you miss me--like you used to.
Through the worst of weather and our friends who knew better, we found each-other and we ruined each-other.
But a division in distance is set to decide what our contemptuous hearts can no longer try to hide.
The summer was a trial in patience and sour relationships.
Fair-weather friends and fair-weather bands.
Oncoming death.
Avoidable dead-ends.
Lately, I’m just waiting for this cold to break.
Lately, I’m just waiting for you to say that you miss me—like you used to.
Well, do you?
Or should I go?
3. It’s Always Summer Somewhere
The porch-light is broken and this couch is soaking wet.
It’s been raining since I don’t know when.
So now I’m sitting in the dark and I’m freezing.
An empty bottle at my feet and I’m thinking about leaving, like I always do.
The dog puts his nose to the window.
His parents are at work and no one else is home.
I reach for my phone and wonder what good it would do if I
dialed your number and called you like I always did.
Now I’m measuring my time with four-year elections and fine wine.
Fresh scabs on my knees. Ancient cracks in the concrete.
This summer went by like a Saturday night at the bar or those bonfires we tried to build in the dark.
A walk home is a walk too far.
What if I asked you to stay?
Would it still be this way between you and me?
4. The Awkward Act of Love
My back hurts again today.
I think all of my stress has settled in my shoulder-blades.
But I’ll go out anyway and starve myself of sleep until I’m weak in my knees.
I’ll rest when I’m dead.
Until then, I’ll hang with my friends.
Work all week for money that I really shouldn’t spend, just so that I can buy more beer and barely make my rent.
Wake up next month and do it all again.
There’s a girl across my town who says she’s moving out.
I’ll follow suit when I decide I have to.
I’m just tired of feeling romantic in a town full of stupid drunks and children who have no idea what they’re in for.
But I’m no better. I’m just treading water until something better comes along or I find a reason to write another love song.
(When will I find my reason?)
But, I still wonder how many boxes I would need and how many pints I’d need to bleed from this sad, sorry heart to take everyone with me.
Would you think it forward if I said that I missed you?
What if I wanted to kiss you?
The awkward act of love can kill the heart of anyone.
The awkward act of love can heal the heart of anyone.
5. Clumsy
The day I fell for you, I fell hard.
Straight down the icy steps and into the front-yard.
I almost broke my back trying to stay on my feet.
I almost went alone, but you held onto me.
Isn’t it so?
Every time I fall down, you follow.
Clumsy is a perfect word to describe you and I.
Accident prone, I don’t know how we ever survived.
Or why your Dad never shoveled the fucking porch.
I don’t think he liked me very much.
Isn’t it so?
Every time I fall down you follow.
Isn’t it so?
Every time I think we should touch, you think I should go.
6. Our Balcony Year
Oh, the freezing wind. It cuts through our coats to our precious skin.
Caps, gloves and sweaters—uniforms to the city we live in.
We spend a lot of time in bars because our homes are only temporary.
Resigning our lives to one-year leases and the dying economy.
Third-floor apartment with a floor that’s falling through.
A closet full of memories of everyone who came before you.
But we’ll open up the windows and unhinge these wooden doors.
Share our stories with the ghosts until our throats are sore.
I’m still here.
Still holding on.
But not for long.
Like you, soon, I’ll be gone.
Outside construction crew patch up the dirty street in a failed attempt to bury the imperfection of a city.
Another summer, another home we need to find.
Another winter, put the plastic on the windows and tell ourselves we’ll stay inside.
Wet-hair and subzero temperature is a formula for danger that we will not remember through the desperation and the anger.
We watch the sky on rooftops and attempt to stop time—to live these days forever.
Never split up or divide.
I’m still here.
Still holding on.
But not for long.
Like you, soon, I’ll be gone.
The end of an era comes with bus tickets and trains as we pack our bags, spread out to the world and move away.
I’m not feeling very young these days as age makes its awkward embrace, but I’ll travel a million miles just to see your smiling face.
You can show me your new home.
Oh, how much you have grown!
The friends you’ve made.
The beauty you bring this place.
(Just like home.)
I’m still here.
Still holding on.
But not for long.
Like you, soon, I’ll be gone.
I’ll be gone.
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