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macseal New York

Ryan Bartlett
Justin Canavaciol
Greg Feltman
Francesca Impastato
Cole Szilagyi

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Track Name: Cats
This is the second night straight that I've stayed inside. I should be getting ready but I'm watching Always Sunny. Declined your invite, but it's the first time, and I'm asking myself.
Subtract or add up? Fall back or catch up?
This is the seventh night straight that I've stayed inside. I should be getting ready but I'm watching Mr. Meaty. Ignored your invite, but it's the last time that I'm asking myself.
Shedding my layers cause I finally need to leave. This three month curse plagues everything that I used to be.
Track Name: Going Away
It amazes me to find out what you do and do not know, but it surprises me that you’re not the same person you claim that you are when we’re left alone. It amuses me, the fact that we sleep in separate beds. We know we’d rather be wasting our lives doing anything (everything) else instead. You know that it’s hard to be grateful when you’re not feeling great in the first place, and you know that I’m nothing special in that department.
Track Name: Applications
Colored geometric lines, taking precedence on winter nights. Sitting in bed and surfing subways until my eyes shut tight. Shuffling to school in shirts my dad would wear, recalling what I said on that sitcom-like night.
Vowel sounds, a shoulder to move against. Wondering how can we dance this close but still feel far away.
Track Name: Kathy Bates Motel
What’s there left to do when you’re left to chew on your own?

Slow down. What's there left to prove? When you never win, what’s there to lose?
Slow down. We can waste our time together, we can watch Wayne’s World together, on our own.

You sure know a whole lot about nothing. You could teach me a whole lot about nothing. My heart is racing, but that seems to be the ordinary thing for me nowadays.

Slow down. What's there left to prove? When you never win, what’s there to lose?
Slow down. We can waste our time together. We can watch Wayne’s World forever.
Track Name: 5:45 a.m. (Not Fun)
I hate that I still care about caring too much. The goodbye in a few months is silently pulling me under. 5:45 A.M.; the moon’s fighting the sun, and I’m the only one whose awake to see it. If you’ve had enough to have had it up to here with me, you can always call it off. I hate that I still think about that honest day, the thoughts I must eradicate. The dark hallways I turned down, the ones that led to no escape. Every door that I forgot to hold, the curtains that I didn’t close, sweaty lips and bumping noses.