Songs for My Friends and Those Girls

by The Fig Mints (of Your Imagination)

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Hey there! How'd I get here? Why so nervous? Why no service? Is that all that you got? Oh well, I know you're busy, but I just want to see you around the playground. Hey there! It's sad you left here. Why so nervous? Why no service? Alright, but I got to tell you that I miss seeing you, and doing all those things that we did On your roommate's bedroom floor.
Hey there, with the leaky eyeballs Hey you, dragging ball and chain Hey you, with the incandescent smile. We will ride on into sunlight. We will feel fear no more. Why not cast off your armor? Come see me, leave it on the floor.
The sun is up, and everybody's lying down. It's just like us to waste a perfect day. And every day will look the same in a million different ways, And that's why we're so wishy-washy, Wasted, washed up like we lost the toss-up. But I ain't waiting for you no more, Though I will love you so for evermore. So you had a lot of fun, but that's all done. So I'm off to yellow eyes and slow suicide. So now you graze in softer pastures, but that's not what I'm after, Laughter lingers longer than most lovers' lust, dusk, or crusty eyes at sunrise. But oh, you've a beautiful brain. Oh, what a beautiful brain.
I wanna wake up on your pillow. I can't seem to sleep on my own, And I'm way out, wondering why Every time I try It's like waiting for my very dying day. And my memories of you bring me no peace. And this binary babble is such cold comfort. Some people need machines to supplement their dreams. I must resist this cold and lifeless mistress. I wanna wake up on your pillow. I don't want to be on my own. And I'm hung up; hanging out loud, And feeling like a fool. You got me shaken, baby.
I will riot. I will greet the summer sun with nothing left to do. We will reach up. We will begin to recollect ourselves. Shape up, then ship out. Safe passage through the last attack of the panicked past. And it'll always hurt where you hit me, But it's funny how uninteresting you turned out to be. I will wake up. Clammy hands and baggy eyes glazed over, gazing down. From the ground up, I've built my guilt, now watch it wilt before your eyes. Just wait for sunup In the run-up to who knows what, well everybody does. And when you said that you don't know yourself, I thought, 'I think that I'm the only one I'll ever really know.'
All this high gravity Always pulling me Down to where nobody belongs Now I can't fall asleep I'm digging way too deep And I'm not so sure I don't wanna stay More battles lost than won More songs scrapped than sung Less disappointed than proven right Finding more fears to fight I ain't no island I wanna build a bridge today Cos we're all on our way To a place we can't see So why would you say Anything you don't mean?
Done keeping up with you. I'm running off of fumes. I'm on the comedown From everything. The gutter don't suit me Any more than the clouds, Or bare earth, Or anything. Cos all I got is more than I need. Where did you come from? And did you leave your mark? It's only visible if you're in the room. Will you wait it out, Or follow me inside? Cos right now I don't feel like doing anything. And all we got is too much time. So we fill it up, and forget everything. And don't it make you dizzy To stand your ground, Look 'round, then down from where you are? It's just too much To trust your guts these days.


This is an album chronicling the confusing, bizarre, depressing, annoying, sometimes infuriating, frequently drunk and occasionally high late fall/early winter of 2010; spent watching friends having breakdowns whilst in the midst of one of my own. The songs are about love mostly; or more appropriately what happens when you are reminded in grand fashion that love isn’t as simple as you’d like it to be, and that people aren’t as genuine as you’d like to think they are.


released May 18, 2011

Jenny Penny played the drums on "Hey There!" and "On the Comedown."
Paul "Burnout" Crowther played the drums on "We're so Wishy-Washy."
Syd Barrett wrote "Dark Globe," and if anyone has a problem with that just let me know and I'll take it down.
Martin "Pinky Stink" Pinkowicz wrote "A Place We Can't See."


Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.



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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