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Smoke all around me, it has found me, show me, show me something new. Song come surround me, come and drown me, sing to me, sing to me the way you used to. And I was just gonna say that I thought it was interesting.
I do adore you, but I must ignore you: It seems I'm always living in extremes. I'd go to sleep to forget about you, but I know that I'll see you in my dreams. And I was just gonna say that I thought it was interesting.
Now dawn is breaking and my head is aching. I had way, way, way too much to think last night. And though you hate it when I say it, I'd say that every little thing is gonna be all right. And I was just gonna say that I thought it was interesting.
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Standing on the edge of a wishing well, wanted so much I threw in a twenty-dollar bill. Said, "Give me eight women that I can call mine, a V-8 Chevy, eight bottles of wine." Closed my eyes and raised my hands up high, waited right there till darkness in the sky. Grabbed my bag and headed for home, on the way I crushed a spider in the shoulder of the road.
Waiting here in my little world, waiting here for my little girl.
You got the looks and you got the soul, but I'm the one with the fishing pole. So don't you think you can get into my mind, there's no dinner on the table if the fish ain't fried. I've had some pain, don't want it no more, so get out of my heart and shut the door. Come back a-knockin' if you want to play, I'll let you know if I want you to stay.
Waiting here in my little world, waiting here for my little girl.
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We're going on a car chase tonight. You can't get away from me, I know your tail lights. Get off the beltway and I'll chase you down to the warehouse district on the edge of town. It's a car chase.
Ninety-five in a twenty-five the wrong way on a one-way street. Your tailpipe is dragging, I got broken glass on my backseat. You swing around the corner, I hear your squealing tires. I lean out and take a shot, now your engine's on fire. It's a car chase.
Suddenly you pull a 180 in the alleyway. You're heading straight at me, I know I can't get away. How is it, baby, that we've come to this? Two victims of a high-speed, four-tons-of-steel last kiss? It's a car chase.
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My doctor told me I was dying cause I couldn't find the bridge, took a soda from the fridge, said, "Son, I'll help you, you got to let me help you. The therapy is tested, but you can't get it here, and don't you ever steer—you want to say heal me, but it's got to come freely."
You can sit alone strumming, but until she starts to move, the tongue won't find the groove and the bridge stays hidden, because asking is forbidden. She comes up from beneath you and takes you by the hand. You can barely stand, because she's got you by the balls, and you're rushing toward the falls.
She leads you to the bridge, you begin your ascent. I don't even pay the rent. From the top the river's flowing, and the water is glowing. I don't know how I got here, don't remember how I came. It wasn't my main aim. But you brought me across, yeah, you got me across.
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I have holed myself up in my car, I’ll drive away from you. This broken yellow line is gonna guide me, take me anywhere at all. But in my life that line always bends and takes me back to where I started again. I cannot hold myself up anymore, who’s gonna break my fall?
I have holed myself up in my house, I’ll hide away from you. But staring at the telephone is not going to make you call. Things are rarely as bad as they seem, and if they’re this bad this is some twisted dream. I cannot hold myself up anymore, who’s gonna break my fall?
It isn’t your fault, baby, there’s nothing you could do. Now stand back, I’m gonna fall and I don’t want to crush you too.
I have holed myself up in my bed, I’ll sleep away from you. The sound of your laughter and your heartbeat I can still recall. And though I’d die for one last smell of your hair, I know I was, I am not, I don’t care. I cannot hold myself up anymore, who’s gonna break my fall?
I have holed myself up and now I cannot hold myself up anymore.
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Tie a yellow ribbon round my neck, make sure it's tight. Hang a carrot right in front of my nose, but don't give me a bite. A few months in limbo wasn't so bad, just hanging around. Then you pulled my string and I came crashing in flames to the ground. You string me. You string me on and on and on and on and on.
The other day you strung me up on St. Abelard's Place. Then you cut me down and gave me a hug and slapped a pie in my face. And then you asked me what it is I'm so sad about. Well, I've got 4,947 reasons to be bummed out. You string me. You string me on and on and on and on and on.
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When you say that it can't be, don't you know that it still is to me? When you say you want to be friends, don't you know I want this friendship to end?
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Pardon me, pardon me, pardon me, we can't hear our TV.
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Christy Pickle didn’t have a care, he played fifty-two pick-up solitaire. Threw the cards up into the air, then he’d roll around in them in his underwear. When he was ready for the night to begin, he’d jump in the Civic and take it for a spin. It had a hundred thousand miles but it didn’t show because it had four new tires and a killer stereo. He let it go because he knew that some things were out of his control.
When I go to bed I like to lie and watch the little stars in my plaster ceiling sky. There’s a galaxy on my walls and my door and I always make a wish when they fall to the floor. And I wish you could be here with me tonight, basking in phospholuminescent starlight. But you’re out with that guy, I’ve for-gotten his name, I guess if he’s not me then they’re all the same. I’ll let it go because I know that there are some things that are out of my control.
People offer drugs, people offer advice, taking one is pretty good but taking both is twice as nice. It doesn’t matter if the music’s good, if you like it, it is, if you don’t, you misunder-stood. A new romance is like a ride when your heart is thumping as you step inside, and I’d hold your hand on this roller coaster car, but you’re waving yours in the air and I’ve got mine on the bar. I’ll let it go because I know that there are some things that are out of my control.
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We weren't called Thunderegg yet—we were called Larry. We recorded this on an eight-track cassette recorder in the basement of the house that half of the band lived in, 236 Park Street in New Haven, CT, in May 1994. All the previous school year we had honed our set in that basement, sometimes playing gigs there, too, at least until the fat man down the street called the cops. And so here is the distillation of 1993-1994, nine songs by the classic six-piece version of Larry. Only 40 copies of this album were pressed (divided six ways, some of us got seven, some of us got six); very quickly we wore the cassettes down to flutter and hiss in our cars' tape decks. Recently, however, one virgin copy was unearthed in an attic. We immediately mailed it to Carl Saff in Chicago, who transferred it to digital and mastered it, to boot. Does it sound good? Time giveth, and time taketh away. It may never sound as good as it did blasting out of an '89 Peugeot 505 in the summer of 1994, but at least it won't melt on you.
