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about

At this time, The Island of Misfit Toys were:
Anthony Sanders
Julia Bard
Kamila Glowacki
Mark Jaeschke
Evan Loritsch
Lui Macatual
Jonathan Mondragon
Danny Radovanovic

credits

released June 28, 2011

Released by Tandem Shop
TS - 007
Produced, Mixed, and Mastered by Chris French
Front and Back Cover Art by Kayla Koch
Inner Sleeve Art by Evan Loritsch

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all rights reserved

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The Island of Misfit Toys Chicago, Illinois

I Made You Something

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Track Name: Beginnings of a Beard
I dreamt a hot-to-trot blonde bombshell
Built by my brain to bring me love
She had a pair of legs I could sink my teeth into
a body held tight by a tank that was see-through

But something about her face had me laughing
Same color as her hair, and just as well-kept
a beard that was flow-y and hung to her breasts
a beard she could grab, pull apart, and groom flawless

And it draped from the middle of her face to the top of her waist
We glowed on neon thrones for days and days
Someone I could love on and laugh with, well-suited for dreams
My pining, I find, is an underlying theme
Track Name: Bear Hair 1
This one's for
Shane Bennett from my past
We were 6 years old
when he moved away
to his grandfather's in Naperville
for reasons mom couldn't explain

But I learned about the widow-maker in the closet
and the man left swinging from it

Some things are best left not discussed;
but I must, but I must, but I must

This one's for
the man outside the White House
in Woodstock, IL
I filled in on drums that night
I wasn't informed of all the skinheads there
They dragged him to a place with dimmer lights

I saw a 6-on-1 of pain from the back window
and I kept my young eyes low

Some things are best left not discussed;
but I must, but I must, but I must

This one's for
yet another one of my ex-girlfriends
Sorry I wanted to be
that small black piece between your teeth
that embarrasses you when you hack at a smile
I know that you're trying

And I don't know a thing about the new you,
but I know that we're both okay

Some things are best left not discussed;
but I must, but I must, but I must
Track Name: Taffy Apple Lifestyle People
You're a human thrift store
Filled with underwear and socks
Holding it all in each time you talk

There are misguided Time Lords
The last of their kind are constantly Shang-Haid
Teaming up on decades left behind

Build up Vegan empires
Add that to your title; twigs and leaves
Will basically help you continue breathing

You've got guilty pleasures
Buried in your Sophomore CD case
Worried that your rep will be debased

And you shart on my beliefs
Like I'm human boxer-briefs
Your cloacae is cavernous, and it's all I can see
And your superficial plunders
Into identically-dressed lovers
Are not even worth noting in electric diaries

You'll ignore what's important
Like your insides and overall purpose
Like making people happy instead of jealous

You get target practice
By judging in the aisles of crowded malls
Just be shameless for 2 seconds, that's all

And you shart on my beliefs
Like I'm human boxer-briefs
Your cloacae is cavernous, and it's all I can see
And your band with an awesome band name
Is not unlike The Crying Game
You seduce me with the music, but you're all dicks underneath

And I am an entertainer
And besides that, I am nothing
There's a hollowness in what I do, and that hollowness is haunting
But if I can make you laugh,
then this will never be a waste
I don't care if you're laughing at me or with me,
The smile is on your face

And if you think you're too hip for me,
then I'll probably agree
And eject you from my lifestyle and move on and on with ease
'Cause your approval is a mud-vat
and I am not a doormat
I could throw you at the stars, but it isn't worth my arms
Track Name: Mature
Mature, mature, mature
With controlled adult allure
Do I age like warm Coke? Do I age like cheap jokes?
I'm not sure I'm mature

I'm scared of fame
We spread filth on available names
But the grown men I've seen are content with their being
They're secure, they're mature

I'm told, "Be yourself,
just don't weird out anyone else"
What if sections of me don't make others happy?
Failure, immature

You know you've been their too
Two choices presented to you:
Filter your breaths, or make love to your left of center
What was yours?

If your choice was the first,
you'll be assigned a social nurse
Whether you're talking thick books, or being strange to get looks, don't be sure you're mature

But if your choice was the last,
Your soul's developed fast
You've grown into it well, and I'm jealous as hell
I'm admiring, and I'm trying

We are so many people each day
We play so many people each day
Baby, we change

You are so many people each day
You play so many people each day
Baby, you've changed
Track Name: Insulated Crate
I keep my baby in a hearth to wait
I keep my baby in an insulated crate
I keep my baby in a high-security safe
that's ironically built from my own insecurities

I was a boy in a musical box
I was a snowglobe, shaken by my exes 'til the song season stopped
And I was promptly dropped, and chopped 'n screwed
Like every rap album fueled by Codeine and golden tooths

I love you, Dear Insect
Sincerely, Windshield
I turn everything I love into shimmering, chandelier tears
I wanna tell him, "If you think you can talk to her like that,
you're wrong."
But I'm not. And all I've got is some song

I was a boy in a musical box
I was a snowglobe, shaken by my exes 'til the song season stopped
And I was promptly dropped, and chopped 'n screwed
Like every rap album fueled by Codeine and golden tooths

Do you feel
Do you feel
Do you feel
Do you feel too much?
Track Name: Work
The speakers at work blast 101.9, The Mix
loops adult-contemporary bleeps and blips
the pop-music equivalent of 8-bit Atari attempts at melody
while I work, work, work
work out why this cheap-excuse-for-a-cougar
needs a face-filling syringe
and a tinge of liquor binge to keep her convinced she's the shit
and keep the young guys interested and pussy-whipped

And now this 5-year-old kid
needs a cosmetic mole removal from his face
to avoid Enrique Iglesias jokes
pouring out of school-kid's throats, harmonious cajoling notes
"Oh, the trauma, the trauma!"
Now this TV-reporter may have malignant melanoma
She's slipped into Amy's pathology slot
unseen, but not forgotten
embedded in the bits and little baby bullshit parts of my heart
I dream of strangers

Work, gotta age and mature with my
work, gotta make damn sure of my
work, sit upright, muscles tight, eyes
alert, and it works, and it works, but it's
work, gotta age and mature with my
work, gotta make damn sure of my
work, where the nurses and patients all
flirt

And it works,
when an emergency's urgency drives the doctor berserk
when you hear, "It won't stop bleeding!", insert squirts
while I try to decipher the hurt
and I don't, but I get it; I'm not pain illiterate
But I'll never get the decimated severance methods
or even how to make a sink look clean
I mean, Jesus H. Christ on a cracker, I'm no natural-born slacker
But I suck raw ass at cleaning everything, anything seen

But the files have this efficiency gleam
and I leave the friendliest of messages on various machines
and my voice is now known
by what seems to be Glenview's entire retired community
yeah, that's me
I spat it ugly
for Helen and Murray
they're both in their 80s,
Medicare card copied
I said, "Both are benign, and you're fine."

And it's work, gotta age and mature with my
work, gotta make damn sure of my
work, sit upright, muscles tight, eyes
alert, and it works, and it works, but it's
work, gotta age and mature with my
work, gotta make damn sure of my
work, where the nurses and patients all
flirt
Track Name: Hermit Crab
I drive a small-scale Lotus Elise
and it rides the grooves in all my LPs
I have no need to gauge my speed
I use the RPM 45 or 33

And though my instincts make me want to go out,
I melt into the seatbelt and never leave the house

I have a tomb built into my room
They say you can't take it with you...well, I'll find out soon
I'll bring Tea For the Tillerman and a beat-up copy of Abacab
actual passion and a pop smash-and-grab

And though my instincts make me want to go out,
my feet are stuck in the mud of the grave of my house

It's like
they took their mouths and shoved them in my head
and now, I take all my heroes to bed
To all of them: I sent your dentures back
and now I'm on my own
Track Name: Knife-Throwing Academy
There's a path, lined with pines, and some spray-painted steel
and some brains, like bikewheels, humming hornets
There are piles of notebooks and textbooks and things
ripped by teachers from lockers with no lock upon them
I see beads on our rosaries feed on our memories
each prayer correlates to my conscience
Teach me each nuance of God
teach me how to sin right

Show me the face of the Virgin Mary
wash with the water of her mercy
while I lie in the parking lot bleeding
the brutal youth Costello's preaching
Show me the face of my old math teacher
took us to church and taught us proverbs
then he cheated on his wife with a colleague
while we watched some Spanish movie

I see John hugging her on the steps of the church
we learned much about love, but not the right kind
I see me, between the trees, with a menacing look
lost in thoughts way too grim for the 8th grade
Like, "How many miles in the sky must I be
to be happy, while air-loss kills thinking?
And at that high altitude, could that new bloodless brain
hold no guilt?"

Show me the face of Jesus smiling
not the ones where he's nearly dying
Christ, I love all you've done and stated
but your double-edged sword's too serrated
Show each phase of my social slumber
when I loved antique counter-culture
please don't stop this song in its tracks
I know it's rambling; let me point the point back
Let me point the point back

So I'll look him in the feet
and I'll tell him that I can calm down
But I'm stapled to defacement of desks
and I can't stop now
and the best little thoughts will arrive when I circle the school
so to make sure the messages project,
I need bigger tools

When I write,
"Fuck it, you'll fly just like I am when without,
and believe me, I'm going and gone
with no ripcord allowed!"
So I hope that these markers
dried so tight to the bricks
so that when this building's torn down,
the sentiment sticks

The sentiment sticks
it'll always exist
the sentiment sticks
it'll always exist
and with every second
replaying every day,
it's hard to live like this
Track Name: Bear Hair 2
I've got this bear hair beard
growing thick from the eyes, roof of my mouth, and ears
and I feel like I've had at for "this-many-dog-years"
Lately, I've been 2
tomorrow, I'll feel 82, feeling like my head Bluetoothed youth
skin thickens and blood-cells reach Heinz-heights
sketch artist composite pegged onto a Lite-Brite
God bless my shiny architect
zoom out to the marionettes
Number 2 will hold my Village hostage
and the role switches every single time I enter and exit a room
and I won't control me anytime soon
the salt of my tears once did wonders for my acne
but now it just gets soaked into the spiny ivy

Cut down on my hygiene, and I develop jungle-musk
child-like monster drawing bearing long hair and thick tusks
TUSK, from the back
TUSK, from the cheek
TUSK, from my forehead
three more wherever nature wanted

Dear Grace,
I'm feeling like the Lady in the Fireplace
caught like the Doctor in the cytoplasm of Time-Space
and like her,
I waited and waited and waited and waited and waited and waited
and waited and waited
and you never came

I waited and you never came
I waited and you never came, grace
I waited and you never came
I waited and you never came, grace
I waited and you never came
I waited and you never came, grace
I waited and you never came
I waited and you never came, grace
I waited and you never came
and now he's got these easy, delicate, persuasive hands

Thinks he's got her figured out
I'm dying if he does
I've got no service and a network cable's unplugged
I'm on my twin bed
my feet can touch the floor
bear hair beard on my chest
and I'm crawling on all fours

I waited and you never came

Some things are best left not discussed;
but I must
but I must
but I must
Track Name: Arlene the Witch
I once met a Wiccan witch on a bus
She said she liked the way I sang my hymns about Jesus
In the back with my face on the glass
and a selfish present in a plastic bag
I told her I've been a wicked child
I have sins that I've left simmering and unreconciled
She took my hand and her ginger face lit
and the tire-fire flares as we drive past it

She said:
"I cast a spell and my boyfriend came clean.
I weave these winds like some spiderweb-ceiling.
And I can break you.
I can root around the goo you ooze.
And I can break you.
I can, but I won't."

So I just quit my band like I'd lost 20 pounds
Ms. Davis drove me out to see some psychic out of town
My face wore a look of alarm
With a tape-recorder in my trembling arms
She told me more about me than even I know
I was in a pool of my own tears when it came to a close
She took my hand and her ginger face lit
As my memory transformed it

She said:
"I cast a spell, and my clients come clean.
I weave these winds like some spiderweb-ceiling.
And I can break you.
I can root around the goo you ooze.
And I can break you.
I already have."

She looked me dead in my filmy face, and she said:
"Anthony, you've got grace living inside of you.
And if you pick up every dream you've ever dropped,
it walks protectively behind you.
You're built from love, but you've never learned to love yourself,
so right now, you can't fully love anyone.
But that'll change. My child, I swear it will change."

See, I've been building this place of worship
for so many years, you'd think it'd be complete now
But there's this gaping hole that's staring
it leaves just enough room for every stone to fall down
And every compliment I get soaks in the rocks
before I actually believe it
I'm suspicious of my best friends; it's stupid, I know

And her stare stings in my eyes,
just like the crusties Jennie picked out in the morning
And I realize I miss her so bad,
just like the old Gerry's performing
I miss digital camera sound-recorder-function albums
Committed by a campfire
I've missed Lui's basement
I miss practice, what did we fight about anyway?

I miss Oscar's list of schemes,
and I miss Shane and the way that he ate paper
I miss John and his 2 brothers and our songs
and how we'd table them for later
I miss loving Lauren Venlos
in a way that no one ought to when they're that young
And screwing it up
I miss Albert Minzer
I'll never forget you, ever
Because, sometimes at night, your face is all I can see

I've known witches in my life
They've taken magic and strewn it on my days like garnish
I've spent so many years entrenched in crippling doubt
And thanks to them, it all can vanish
And thanks to me! And thanks to me!
Because I'm beautiful enough
to stomp these nightmares out and finally start behaving
And now I'm shaving
Let's hope the hair comes in slow