Christmas Island

It's a tale as old as time: Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy asks girl out, girl is killed in a fiery nuclear holocaust.


The radio plays the new Top 40, 
To the two of us, fucked up and horny, 
We park in back of our high school, 
Hands tugging blindly at belt loops 

First firebombing lights up our figures, 
Our breath still frozen on the windows, 
Trigger finger pinched on your waistline, 
I’ve never dreamed of a more perfect way to die. 

The radio plays its final broadcast, 
An air raid siren; a distant plane crash. 
You drive me back to my dad’s house, 
My fingertips on your back, 

How’d I let you leave without a final squeeze, 
A breath drawn tight and no mess to leave, 
But I’m shaking still while you pull out 
My eyes are dry while my eardrums bleed 

Before the bombs started to fall, 
You said you’d give me a call 
When you got home safe, 
Well it’s been six days 
And my phone stays silent. 
I had something to tell, 
Before they blew us all to hell, 
And it’s that I’m yours, 
And I’ll be waiting for you on 
Detroit, Christmas Island. 

A man came in black with a note to carry, 
Sixes on the back, it was a page from your diary, 
Tale of how I came with an awkward charm 
But it ends before a sentence asking will this last long? 

I shout, “Bring her back, I’ve gotta know where her love’s at,” 
The city dead to rotting and a pain like a heart attack 
Fills me with the heat of the wall of flame 
That I see nightly in my dreams coming to take you away 

They pile the dead high in this town, 
And wonder why I linger around, 
My gas mask on and a note in my pocket, 
Hope I never see the face I wrote it for, 
I hope I never have to leave it at a dead girl’s door.

More Lyrics

The Rat Song

Catherine's Mistake

The Traveling Show

...And So We Buried An Empty Green Coffin

Purchase the new EP "Catherine" now! Available on bandcamp, and all other digital music services.