Modern Music (Fuck Despair)

from by IAN

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A ghost from the past (not christmas) haunts the middle. Everything I've ever wanted to say. For so long I went back and forth on the end.

I settled for the happy one.


a snowstorm in july (in theory)
represents all my fears

i feel it in my saw (a ha ha)
death's pear feeds my language

the pounding in my eyes (becomes)
a tension in my jaws

i'll change my name to death (whatever)
but do ya get what I intend?

it's got a ring to it (resonant)
death mcduffie fits my face

so i ask all my friends (politely)
what is the frequency?

they say it soon will pass (i guess so)
but it hurts now just the same—

well, i'm the kind of guy (ah ah ah)
who sees death in everything

and I believe in Black (Noise Bombs)
the threat of annihilation

this is my dearest dream (to behold)
the grim death of culture

and you and i are left (though we are one)
as irrelevent at best

so why not up and die? (it sounds nice)
it sounds like every day

with the screaming in my ears (it sounds like)
modern music to me

i’m funnier than you think that i think that i’m trying to be

watch me be a confident man
devoid of self-loathing and doubt, my friends

i never repaired all that i should have repaired
it's now or whenever you'd like
I'll try to remember my mantra:

"life is just waiting for the next bomb to drop"

I'll pull out the rug
from beneath my own feet
go back in time
and kill myself then

ohh, it shouldn't be what i believe
ooh, it shouldn't be the ending scene
i never put stock in death as an answer
so don't give up, ian,
sing a song to suicide and say:
I've been dreaming of you,
you want to see me,

but I don't think that I'll let you in again...


from LANGUAGE, released June 23, 2013



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IAN Chicago, Illinois

A miniature T-Shirt flaps in the wind, and, much like the trail of a snail, a wayward eyeball makes its way to the windshield.

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