Thanks for Nothing, Mayday Parade

On the trip from Edmonton back to Vegreville on new years morning, I listened to the new Mayday Parade album. My attention span has been drastically shortened by the internet age of instant gratification to the point that I can barely read books anymore, and unfortunately listening to a full album end to end is becoming a rarity for me these days. My rating of this one: 7 out of 10.

That night, I went out to the garage to try to write some music. I settled in at the piano, picked up a pen, and started scribbling on the back of an old lyric sheet for Hedley's "Old School". I wrote a whole song pretty much start to finish, without much planning or changing things along the way. It came out sounding very Mayday Parade. Personally, I don't like it that much. But it's a song that I wrote in the spirit of the moment that I think captures the way I was feeling quite well.

Lyrics below, music soon to follow. Let me know what you think.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Thanks for Nothing, Mayday Parade"

Pack my life up in the back of my car

It doesn’t weigh much. The only thing that’s there

Is the weight of the memories that make us who we are.

I don’t have many, but lately I don’t care. Because...

I live at least two lies, and I’m making my way between them.

There’s an archive in my closet of the pieces that fall away.

I try to buy the perfect clothes, and hang them up for exhibition.

But I never wear them. No, I never wear them anyway.

15 bucks an hour is the Good Doctor’s prescription.

Guess it’s working, cause I don’t feel ill.

But I feel down and I feel out, and I have got to figure out

what turned a boy into a man in this position.

I’ve got nothing to say. It’s not like I’m not okay, but...

I live at least two lies, and I’m making my way between them.

There’s an archive in my closet of the pieces that fall away.

I try to buy the perfect clothes, and hang them up for exhibition.

But I never wear them. No, I never wear them...

Bring it on home, bring it on home, bring it on home now.

Bring it on home, bring it on home, bring it on home now.

Bring it on home, bring it on home, bring it on home now.

Bring it on home, bring it on home, bring it on home now.

(I’m an airplane with an anchor, I’m a cancer in remission,

I’m a warrior in battle without any ammunition.

I’m a lawyer, I’m a liar, I’m a sleasy politician,

I’m a celebrated future man that lives in contradiction.)

I live at least two lies, and I’m making my way between them.

There’s an archive in my closet of the pieces that fall away.

I try to buy the perfect clothes, and hang them up for exhibition.

But I never wear them. No, I never wear them anyway.