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The Worst Record of All Time

by Safety Razors

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1.
Intro 01:37
2.
Contagion 04:06
This used to come so easy. Just drive it hard until the wheels fall off. Painted pictures, distorted figures, realize that they're not there. They're just drifting in the atmosphere. Don't look too close or the illusion falls away. It won't keep you safe. If everything we do is contagious why do we spend so much time making life so hard? If everyone in our life deserves us how can we do anything but try? It doesn't all break easy. It takes a strength of will to tear yourself down. You shouldn't cling to all your grief too tightly. Just let it sink through deep layers in your self portraits. Don't look too close. You can't see it anyway. It's too dark in this place. Now everything is winding down and as the curtain falls to spotlight dust trails drifting around you realize there's no one left out there. No more applause; no empty stares. And as you run outside to scream it out, to rip it from your throat, your big reveal: There's no one there. But you're not alone.
3.
We've got problems and I don't think they're gonna go away. Something dumb seems to fall out of your face roughly 713 times each day. The stupidity's offending time and space and I don't think that it's ever gonna change. I don't think any good can come from the low end of your voices feeding back into someone else's choices. We've got problems. Something dumb seems to fall out of my face whenever I'm in your vicinity. It's true. There's always something stupid left to say and that's obvious to everyone but you. I don't think any good can come from the low end of your voices feeding back into someone else's choices. We've got problems.
4.
You made your life a book of mazes and Mad Lib puzzles but it's all filled with false truths and false starts. And worst of all you're sitting all alone filling it out. Look at this mirror and see your broken body reflected in it. External symptoms. Was it all those fights that broke your spirit? Or the burning hole of doubt? Or the ego that you used to fill it? It doesn't have to be this way. You never asked for directions. I lost so many pieces of myself to addiction. It doesn't have to be this way. You can ask for directions. Pick up the pieces of yourself, but don't follow me down because that's not where I'm headed. These untruths we tell ourselves won't take us anywhere at all. If we're at best prepared to fail then we'll just let ourselves down. But maybe we're not worthless. Maybe we can do it. Can you see possibilities? It doesn't have to be this way. You never asked for directions. I lost so many pieces of myself to addiction. It doesn't have to be this way. You can ask for directions. Pick up the pieces of yourself and head for the horizon.
5.
Gravity is drifting off to sleep and my two lives are floating in. I'm trying not to think about her, and here I am lying next to you again. I'm gonna tell you something that you won't believe. I know you don't know and you don't wanna know. But you can tell it's crashing down around you, I can see it in your eyes. You'll do anything you can to bring some meaning to the lies. My lies. Now I'm choking on my best last words and getting just what I deserve. I can't get this out there's no one I trust to hear them or take them seriously. There's really no one here but me. That's just one other thing that I've lost. Now you know that it's all coming to an end and the truth is closing in. I'm gonna say sincerely, Bruisy and you'll be left with a prize: the story of what you suspected not quite enough times. It's so wrong, and so long. I wish that I could tell you I wish that we could make this work. And I wish that I could tell you I cared that I was such a jerk.
6.
The fuzzy blackouts wipe out your deja vu. The days and weeks and months just pile up to fuck with you. Baby I stole this bottle, emptied and smashed it. Forgot my name and address. Now I'm in this pile, naked and at your feet. At your feet. I guess I never thought that we would make it through this. I would have never have made it this far without you. Mistakes, I know I've made more than a few. I have forgotten everything I thought I knew. Take this broken mirror. I saw our past lives dying in the shattered glass. Now we live in fear every pointless minute we spend clinging to the past. This is our exorcism. Demons are cast out, dissolved into the quiet. Now I'm in this pile, naked and at your feet. At your feet. I guess I never thought that we would make it through this. I would have never have made it this far without you. Mistakes, I know I've made more than a few. I have forgotten everything I thought I knew about you.
7.
If history is indication I will recycle these same words. Watch this grown man breaking down. But you were crying for yourself. The distance is significant but you're not very far away at all. I can feel it in the air each day but I don't have the strength to change it. After the messages you sent I'm ashamed to call you what you are. And your words came prewritten. I hope they drag you through the depths of your broken heart. So close, yet so far away. You talked for so long but there was so much that you didn't say. Now everyone else is so wrong and you've got no way to ever make it right. Watch this grown man breaking down. But you were crying for yourself. The distance is significant but you're not very far away at all. I can feel it in the air each day but I don't have the strength to change it.
8.
I am a Ghost 02:57
The entire world is growing hazy. Everything is fading in and out and I'm starting to feel a little bit like Swayze. Creeping around a drafty loft. My footsteps have never seemed so soft. Somebody needs to tell me what the deal is. Now I'm starting to feel a little bit like Willis. Creeping around an old brownstone. Freezing in silence, so alone. Can't seem to get anywhere, just almost. And the truth is I am pure darkness that fills the air. I'm freaking you out on the basement stairs. You're never alone, I'm always there, I'm always there. I am a ghost and it's you that I'm haunting.
9.
You took so much and made all of it disappear into this place to keep your lies. Where you feed the rich and judge the weak. But on Sunday nights, how do you fucking sleep? I'd stab you in the back repeatedly if I thought that you could notice it. I wonder when it finally dawned on you what you were really up to. Feeding yourself excuse after rationalization. Closely guarding your true feelings buried deep inside. How we forget, how we forget. How did you forget? You learned to navigate communities politically and how to close a deal. You know how to keep them twisted up diagonally and living in fear. You know how to sell a fantasy emotionally but you don't know how to feel. You never tell anyone the truth if it isn't what they want to hear.
10.
I stumble on my past lives hiding in drawers. Scraps of paper like half-healed sores. Empty the contents, spread out into the sunlight. Forgotten lyrics, bad punk rock shows. Worn out sex toys and fogged up windows. Balance and poise lost in the bottom of bottles. Bad night terrors, old shoelaces. Long blank stares. Lost in the dumbest places. Rusted bearings spinning in the wrong directions. At the bottom of the closets where you hide the pornos, motorcycle trannies in black and white freakshows. Underneath your secrets is where this story goes. When you feel yourself slipping away and you have no idea where you are and every movement feels a little more like giving up. And it all becomes so clear to you. You see right through.
11.
I've got a wish to see sweet corals and exotic fish. It's gonna be so rad, just ball-bagging around with my dad. So if you ever wanted to do the world's most righteous thing: Go snorkeling. What flavor of hookah tobacco should I bring for snorkeling? I don't need no excuse not to go on no Disney cruise. I'm paying 7 grand to hang out with my naked dad. So if you ever wanted to do the world's most whitest thing: Go snorkeling. What flavor of hookah tobacco should I bring for snorkeling? We're going snorkeling. We're going snorkeling with my dad. Baby, baby please. It's a beach party, a beach party. A naked family beach party.
12.
This Monday fog is leaking into Sunday afternoons where half a dozen tiny spirits creep through empty rooms. And paralyze the fear that I cling to. I tried to tell myself the truth but I quickly lost my nerve. It's the same old story where someone always winds up getting served. And I just can't seem to cope unless I'm blacked out or passed out with my bedroom spinning. My nights are lost now. Half days are dried out. Confused, my head is sick.
13.
Coordinates 03:17
I've been a bitter ghost in a slowly dying scene. I looked deep inside, there's not too much there that I can see. Breathe in deep through bonfire smoke and one last cigarette. You've gotta smoke that cigarette. I'm on a journey out but I don't think I've halfway made it yet. Exhale slow, so far to go. Latitude, longitude. A couple hundred miles of cobwebs on long lost crates of files. Latitude, longitude. We're strips of rubber on the shoulder of the highway, so far away from where we used to be. I've got a quarter tank, I've got a suitcase packed with booze. I've got a little bath salts and I don't have that much left to lose. I'm just here glowing in these taillights. Somewhere just past the 10,000th mile mark - you've gotta hit that mile mark - you get the urge to spin the wheel into the dark. Into the blackness, the nothingness, and it welcomes you and you just go on. Latitude, longitude. Crashing down stairways on the drunkest nights. Latitude, longitude. Sleeping on couches after the dumbest fights with your anger glowing like embers in the campfire smoke.

about

Fritz Diddle - Guitar / Vocals / Shred
Phrank Martian - Bass / Vocals / Weight Loss
Evan - Drums / Beard

credits

released October 14, 2014

Recorded in June 2014 at S&S Studios in Auburn, NY
Engineered, Mixed, and Mastered by Gabe Solomon and Josh Swagler www.facebook.com/SSStudios315


Layout and design by Laura Walczak
Artwork: Tom Dewing / Phrank Martian

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Safety Razors Binghamton, New York

Mediocrity Pop Punk.

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