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Mostly Homely

by Exam Season

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1.
A Petty Song 03:12
We roam around department stores, Searching for things we can't afford. Getting lost in a world of cultural beigeness, And other futile things like avocado holders. Creativity died when it became googlable and binged, I even search termed that remark to see if it's already a thing. We laugh off everyone who seems mundane, Especially those with expensive taste. And we say, Imagine being able to dress head to toe, In Dolce & Gabbana, Versace, Moschino. At the time of writing, Kim K's just dyed her hair blonde, And my friends keep telling me that the media have done wrong. By giving her the attention they fuel her lucrative future, Whilst her omni-presence spawns a generation of culturally inferior types. But wait, Imagine being told what you can or can't like cos someone said so. Imagine being told you can't appreciate music cos you don't like the rolling stones. Sure - snobbery becomes more rife as you get old. But we should probably try to get it under control. Friends, you sing a petty song. Friends, you sing a petty song. Friends, you sing a petty song. Oh I, too, sing a petty song.
2.
TV Routines 02:28
For the first time in my whole life, I understand your pain. Eggheads & Flog It on cycles, Must drive you insane. But I know you’re getting old now, And that you’d like for us to refrain, From telling you how to spend your, Years, months, weeks and days. For the first time in my whole life, I understand your pain. Indefinite stillness on cycles, Must drive you insane. And it’s heartbreaking to see you, Stuck there everyday, But the silver lining to all of this is, That you’ve finally realised that you like the television show Friends.
3.
Megabus 03:06
My best friend is called Megabus, He texts me all the time. Even though they’re always just a bunch of digits and letters intertwined. But I know that he cares, Even though he’s usually late. Cos he don’t boast shit about how he once again saved the day. Fuck you National Express. For your unequivocally, awful service. Fuck you National Express, For your unequivocally, awful service. No, no, no, no, no, Don’t make me go, go, go, And take the 509 back to London. No, no, no, no, no, no, Don’t make me go, go, go, And take the 509 back to London. Back to London.
4.
I get angry, At fictional stories. For not being real enough. And I get angry, At BuzzFeed stories, For not ever shutting up. I get called a cynic for a reason, The guy who moans at those who eat strawberries out of season. And I’m just starting to realise why, My friends don’t text when the suns in the sky, It’s cos I, can’t settle down. Can’t settle down. I can’t settle down.
5.
One day soon this place won’t be ours anymore, I could call it 22 years of comfort & support. But I know that it’s been built on rough & unsturdy rocks, With bare hands we’ve held it up now for far too long. The flowers here don’t grow back cos of too much headers & volleys, The spiders are the main residents, along with the other creepy crawlies. These memories & pictures everywhere; they fill this place with warmth and suffering, An atelier exhibiting the evolution of our fading family. Pets came & went, mum’s gone. Dad’s getting older, siblings in wedlock. The times they change considerably, Dylan was not wrong. But forever this will be the place that I call home. We’re swiftly approaching a great sense of numbness everyday, Colour has leaked from the walls to reveal a desolate grey. I cling onto hope that something at the shady bower might change, Still I’ve got no desire to leave, and no desire to stay. I call it home. I call it home. It’s all I’ve ever known. I call it home.

about

this is my debut ep :) it took a little while to make but i'm super proud that i actually finished it. it's a bit sad, sowwy bout that.

thanks to everyone, especially harry styles.

credits

released June 10, 2016

written, recorded and mixed by ed watson at home between spring 2015 and summer 2016.

mastered by space magnetic studio.

artwork by jack laurilla.

released by TRNS Records.

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Exam Season Ringwood, UK

ed jack louis tob

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