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Sucking fun, oh sunlit one. Walking upright, sitting tight. Spelling out something you can't pronounce, just leave yourself alone and call it done. And baby, you'd make more sense if you didn't build that fence you ride; so cool your heels. Living to be rid of this time of year. Feeling no unfounded fear. You can't be right, but you can't be proven wrong. If doubt casts a shadow, it must reflect light. And baby, you'd look much worse if you weren't cursed or first to fray. No sense to run when your heart weighs a ton. Slowly slink, oh sunlit one. Catching up, killing time and feeling free to witness the future if it ever comes.
Go teach, we've come to learn and burn into our minds what few facts we can find. Good, I say that's fine as we have not been fooled. Nor will we be misled and I will say, "Good try!" and we have been trying hard as ever just to look okay. When no one else is watching, we must turn away. And under starry skies, our cries have gone unheard; that is without a single reply. Good, I say that's fine as we remain unmoved, and will never be inclined to speak out loud again. And we have been trying hard as ever, but it seems our fate to run amok and out of luck; to lose our place and sense of direction.
Building blocks break banks and bring bridges to their knees, and feed the trees and trek tracks eternal. Learning no new knowledge; no discovery without, within. We'll thaw, then freeze; we're thawing, freezing; thaw, then freeze. Pumping pipelines. Find yourself secure, endure torrential torment. Rent the life you spent the night remembering (so free). We glide above suffocating depths from which we sprang. Spring showers sing beneath the ground. Well wishers watch and toss, then turn us over; looking so relieved. Reflective. Receptive. Honestly, the spree began to sputter out without those checks. The balance was abandoned for a bigger brain and more inane advancements. Copy, paste and cut and copy, paste and cut. What a wild ride and what a window, what a view! It's true you lack some sight, but that's alright. We're sure you can recall that we can't all get wet whenever we want. We can't all get wet whenever we want...
You will find solace in your sleep. You will see people living free. You will fly straight as an arrow. You feel it in your marrow when your're wasting time between your little fits. Oh, grand adventure. Exhaustive expenditure. You lie as bait to lead the young and foolish away. Trembling, tenacious, taught nerves and tumbling pride. Don't pry or try to run those devious machines so you will find great things beneath your feet. You will see yourself out gracefully. You will fly through flak and finer hours. Fight the higher powers that are causing all your stupid little fits.
Wishful thinking waits with bated breath. Lends to love, and trust in secrets. Pacing, always racing with the marching moon. Wisdom comes suddenly, but always too late. They cursed the skies, but as the sun beat down we blessed the blowing breeze and shady trees. Rainy rest; no take, no give, no want, no need. Wringing hands across your shaky knees. Going over ground so much like somewhere else. Never mind that nagging nothing. Always hard to hear, but no too late to learn or grapple with that turning tumbling.
Untrained eyes sweetly sing serenades to dispel the evil in your world. We love you. We want you to stay inside and remain as clean as you can be. And we've been saving up, but we could live on nothing. Level living will lighten up a deeply darkened soul. Your presence always felt, and that voice we know so well will always echo through our minds. We know you. We'll keep you company when you just want to be left alone. And your tongue tingles without much movement. And your ringing fingers will fumble with the words, but you ain't trying. And dusty lust ain't doing nothing. And a little living never hurt no one.
It took me all night to make my bed so Sun said, "Lie in it another day". I've got to get out, but I don't want to get into it just yet; and you know I own stock in paradox, and I don't mind wasting time trying to get mine. And it's a shame about what happened to Holiday, but he don't care. He's just as well off as any one of us, and you know that to be true. So pity someone else for committing every minute to making sense of past tense. Lord love the latter days. And the outliers outright refused to say okay, so they scrapped the whole thing and began selling shares in sunny days that long ago left in droves to scramble the circuit board.
Yeah, I've been around long enough to bring a frown to any face, but that just makes it easier to let you down. And I've been living here long enough to feel the fear of living low with no-show slowpokes and nowhere where my weary mind can hide. So now I'm down for the count and up with the sun, and I could be a model citizen, but then I wouldn't be having fun. And after today, at the length of my arm is where you'll stay. But can I come 'round again, my new found love and friend? I would keep you close enough to show that I could get a little better. And you know springtime is near. Sunshine, and another year to chalk up to experience and lessons learned, but most forgotten.
Time's done run out, they're running scared. I know you don't care, but it's true. Things are moving 'round without being pushed. If you could warm my bones, that's what I'm here for. And the empty glass screams to be refilled. And all our half-gone conversations always last too long. And they're still going on. And all your long-lost loves are laughing since you let 'em go. I know it ain't fair, but you knew. And your ink-stained brainbox dropped its thick, curly locks. I'm feeling faded, so drone on baby. And if you can't go back, you prefer to stand still. But the gaping gap between the past and now will never fill. Grazing on your grassy knoll. Drinking from your tongue, let the monster myth slip. And there ain't no self control when you're in the air, you make everyone sick. But you're alright. You're alright.


All songs written, recorded and mixed by Bobby Rogan, who did all the voices and played all the instruments except for when Playne Jayne sang backup vox on "She's Alright".

Mastered by Lyman Christensen at Gecko Recording Studio in Clinton, NY.

All songs recorded on a Tascam 488mkII cassette machine. Eat it, Pro Tools.


released May 18, 2011


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The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination) Utica, New York

The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination) is some guy named Bobby Rogan. When not playing songs written by someone else, he prefers to write his own for what it’s worth, and has recorded nine albums and one EP of (mostly) original material inspired by youthful indiscretion; severe anxiety attacks; heavy drinking; and of course, girls. Sprinkle a little self-loathing in there, and you get what you hear. ... more

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