Common Houseplants EP (demo)

by Pete Davis



This album was originally intended to be the next full-length, but the songs I started writing after these (for The Waterworks) didn't really retain the same vibe, so I made this an EP. This was released in early summer after my sophomore year of high school.


released August 1, 2003

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Pete Davis Princeton, New Jersey

I am a musician and flavor chemist. I have been writing and recording my own music since 2002, always doing everything myself. I live in Princeton, NJ.

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Track Name: Call Me a Defeatist
Hold on, you're gonna be alright.
Don't make any sudden moves or in seconds you'll be parallel to the ground.
Freeze and leave the laces loose, on your knees you go, hands behind your head.
You thought you'd be forever.
You thought I'd leave forever.
I tried to keep together.
Man, hold it together, or break out, full-stride.

I'll pin you to the floor and let the sweat just trickle down.
Look at me, look at me, you won't gain a thing.
You live one life and you take one at least, so just drop it. Let it die. It's over now, just let it go.

(Break away. If they ask, I've gone away. If I seem so lost these days, it's none of your concern, for this I pray, you'll never lay with me again, you won't breathe in my air again)

Sit reclined. Shut your eyes.
Call me a defeatist when you kick me in the spine, well I'm cold and all the ground. Well nothing is fair.
I'd like to paint a portrait with a halo over me, but I couldn't sign my name, because no one would believe.
Track Name: Hey, It Happens
Just come right out and say it. Give it some time to calculate. Wait for the puzzled look, laugh it off. Realize how right you really were.

Tie yourself to the chair, you don't seem a bit disturbed. Wave your fists in the air, kneel down and bite the curb.

Just take it, swallow it hard; four to six hours and do it again. Just do this for a few more days, and man, you're free.

All that I remembered was the discord, and the abrupt fade to black. When the smoke restricts your lungs, you wonder where you've been; when the matchbook's in your own hands, you don't ask questions.

Track down your target, turn the key, lock in place. Push the pin in the map, notice the pattern.

Plan your strategy, teach it to your men. Make sure nothing can go wrong. Run onto the battlefield and at the count of three drop down, lay supine.

You feed the fire with your arms of coal; dig the debt deeper by buying your life. You paint your self-portrait with crippled hands. Tape your own mouth shut.

When the sweat beads down your forehead push yourself that much further. When you trip and sprain your ankles, push yourself a little more. When you slip and find no foot-hold, use your hands until they bleed. When you collapse, plant your face in the mud, make sure you made an impact.

Tell yourself not to worry, tell yourself not to care. Bring yourself up to think that you feel fine. Give away all the things you don't need, give away all the things that you do. Look above you for help with what you can't do on your own.

I'm sitting back watching it all. I'm rolling back and forth pounding the floor.
Track Name: Plastic Bag
Won't you lean in a little closer--does this sound real to you? The way I choke on all these words I couldn't spell to save my life, but I can use in sentences that never seem to get through? And I've made a list of reasons why it's best to clarify so we don't get confused, but all it's done is just put everything in cluttered form. Note to self: don't ever keep my notes in lists. Float this sinking ship, this block of driftwood to the shore to save this captains life, although it's been here all along.

The mast is giving way.
It can't support this weight
If you won't plug round holes with square pegs.

And if you see me wearing this mask made from a plastic bag, you can be sure that these handles will fit your hands so perfectly so you can pull as hard as you want until I just stop breathing. If you can read these blank pages that I write, I'm sure you'll guess the plot twist at the end. Because it's obvious to me what the last page should be like, but you still seem to think that happy endings are for cans.

I've had it up to here
With brick walls that just can't
Convince me that they're all made of stone.

There's only so many ways that I can say it.
Track Name: Miles Worth of Maybes
There's something to be said about scenery and how it can be so goddamn unappealing. I know it's been said before, but how could it really hurt to reiterate that I'm illiterate? How can we live with it? How can we swallow it whole? How can we sit and wait? How can we choke it down, this cyanide chaser?

Would you like a sip from this Molotov cocktail so your lips can't be shut anymore?
Would you like a few drops of my heretic blood to stain your teeth red, to give you life and I'll give this life away?

Always you toss and turn to push yourself away from the wall but you still can't sleep, and I'm up all night anyway just prowling the streets just because. I'll throw rocks at your window and bathe in the shattered glass just to show you that my arm's improving and to let you know you're the only thing I have out here.

Always I hide my face behind a few hundred miles worth of maybes and I don't knows, but one thing I know for sure; no matter how far apart we are, I never left you.

And once this is said you can say no more; I've given myself a chance to far.
And don't be so kind as to sympathize; I know what I do to you.
And no one will ever remember this, and no one will give a second thought
To brushing me off, erasing my name, just so you can pencil me in so dark it tears the pages.

Would you like me to give up this habit of screaming right on past your ears?
Would you like me to try even though you won't believe to make you understand my reason, realize all I've said is concrete, pry my way under your skin, and give this lie away?
Track Name: The World Doesn't Mean Much
Did you feel it, that breeze that just past through the room when I mentioned your name? Have you just been walking over my grave? You're giving me chills, and it's just above perfect in here, so why are we so discontent? Why am I grabbing your arm so tightly it hurts?

Your pressure's too high but at least you're alive.
The price isn't right for this death raffle prize.
It isn't that love is sympathy.
It isn't that lovely to sympathize.

And I know how easy it is to tell a white lie but I don't know what it sounds like.
I know how hard it may seem to win this tug-o-war when an ocean of mud sits before you,
But we have all the arm strength right here on our side.

You died a thousand times before you saw my face. You'll die a thousand more when you see my voice trembling at you when I'm trying so hard to maintain my composure with years of practice but no dress rehearsal and though the world doesn't mean much, if I mean the world to you then I'd give you the world cause you're all I would need from this sorry place, from this fleeting place.

If would need from me to drop all this at once I won't mind if it falls on my feet.
If you need to prune the leaves of this weeping tree please try not to damage the roots so I can grow with you forever.