Worldless Fantastic

by Outer Rooms

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    Comes in a lovely four-panel digipak. Cover artwork by Britt Cutler. Design by Andrew. And you better believe it's wrapped in cellophane.

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02:52
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credits

released July 8, 2016

Everything on “Worldless Fantastic” is by Outer Rooms:
Andrew Fitzpatrick, Sean Fitzpatrick, and Matt Frewen.

With additional vocals by Owen Buckland, Sam Hargrove, Kendal Lander, Rich Taylor, and Rebecca Whitaker.

Recorded at Davenport, Queen East, Hastings, and Peter.

Mixed at Queen East.

Mastered by Reuben Ghose at Mojito Mastering.

Artwork by Britt Cutler.

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Outer Rooms Toronto, Ontario

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Track Name: Find Lovers
Let’s hope that we’re pretty enough to find lovers and then get old enough to devastate each other. We won’t lose interest; we’ll recycle it. We were never young together we only thought we were. We’re on the way down and I don’t know if f we mind. Let’s hope that we’re deluded enough to find others and then get drunk enough to devastate each other. We’ll just lose interest like we could redo this. We were never young together, we are already older than we wanted to be when we were bolder.
Track Name: We Can Help You Make Money
Accept ads and bad habits.
Create Jesus, dessert rabbits.
Fuck new friends,
Fuck out families,
Receive siblings and rivalries.

The more I’m bored I can’t ignore where I was born.

Adopt scripted personas,
Be a goddess and a donor,
Be a god and Madonna,
Be a type not a loner.
Teach tongues,
Ex-linguistics.
Teach forks and knife-twisting.
Teach grooming and districts.
Who is permitted to kiss it.

The more I’m bored I can’t ignore where I was born.

The worry is nothing but fury adjusting.
Track Name: Lindsay Anderson
Do you like girls and their sockets?
Do you like boys and their rockets?

All of these things can be yours.

Do you like money in your pockets?
Do you like cars in your garages?

All of these things can be yours.

If you have the cleanest pores
If you keep your sights on the floor
If your team's got the highest scores
All of these things can be yours.
Track Name: Robin's Egg Blue
I’m thinking of robin’s egg blue in a calm naked afternoon.
Owing all I do to faulty tubes, tremors inside robin’s egg blue.
And I’m turning out eggshell white.
The notebooks of my nights are blank with unused time,
Some free and offshoot white.

I’m left scraping paint chips off my shoulders,
And colour wheels are crushing me like boulders.
I get greyer and older.
While the walls get greyer and older I get greyer and older.

My roller’s armed with terra cotta.
The other hand smothered a moth
To stop her screams and jittered coughs;
Demanding an army of terra cotta.
The world has changed to forest green;
The daughters of me primp and preen.

I’m left scraping paint chips off my shoulders,
And colour wheels are crushing me like boulders.
I get greyer and older.
While the walls get greyer and older I get greyer and older.

How was your weekend?
Did you make some new friends?
Did you make an acquaintance and let the world sink in
Just to answer that goddamn question?
Track Name: Burn It Flat
“The last thing I remember is a burning-cold December bridge,
Complaining about the winter wind, and laughing like a Salem witch.
My open hands and me were then in bed,
Stroking the recession on my head.
My hands felt like Pat Arquette’s,
But for three days I played dead.

I’ve cleaned house.
I’ve moved out.
I’m free of all the weight of me.

The last thing I remember is
Frozen cuffs around my wrist.
Turns out, while immolating my wares,
I burnt the family upstairs.
My open hands and me are in bed, underneath another bed.
‘I’m free from all the weight of me,’ the smiling artist said.

I’ve cleaned house and I’ve moved out.
I’m free of all the weight of me.
Burn it flat.”
Track Name: The Eighties
Just one more thing about failure
It’s just like stepping on shit on the pavement.
I find it common in my twenties.
Everyone has it but talking about it feels like whining.

I was born in the eighties
So I know a few things about hating myself.

Just one more thing about men, sir,
We all want love but treat it like cancer.
I am loved,
But it’s not the answer.
It’s not all I need!

Ice and islands,
Batting eyelids,
I’m frozen and hoping that she misses me.
But I’m not sure if I miss her more than I have missed my sister.
As I said I was born in the eighties.
Track Name: Coaster
Give me all your empty speeches.
Explain how I am fucked and I’m too drunk to speak
To your gathering fatigue, your devouring need.
I know this part’s important I’ve heard it before.

But are you awake?
Did I breathe you away?

Hold on.

I try to cry and hold your hand:
“You know you’re not my life.
I wish I met you before I met beer and gin,
But I didn’t. And it’s fucked,
But they kinda called dibs.”

Hold on, my head aches.
Track Name: Bunker 1874
I’ll die with you, but I can’t leave.
I will disappear down a hollow reed.
You are gone already,
My breath is shredding,
Steadily awaiting
When you’ll come back for me.
I can’t leave your side,
And resist insistent knives,
Edging to cut me away,
To give up your remains.

I drift toward meaninglessness, and here, without you, I mean less.

I drift up to the sidewalk,
You walked hours before.
I hope when I catch up,
That you’ll prefer me to the sore.
I know you didn’t choose this
Inconvenient, brightest exit.
There’s nothing left but this,
Whatever’s next, I’ll miss.
Track Name: Worldless Fantastic
There was a mask on your forehead,
More broke than broken.
No one cared you couldn’t see
With it down where it should be,
The edges of your face,
Crease behind their covering.
I’ve been disappointing, anxious, and disjointed.

How can I tighten my belt,
When I’m nothing but stretch marks?
My skin’s covered in skids,
Empty costumes, failing skits.
The edges of your face
Crease behind their covering.
I’ve been disappointing, wringing my bones in the sink.

Grab my drying hands and bring me back to this time.
I’ve been asked what I do,
I just nod and let ‘em think I’m unkind.
I’ve been asked what I do,
I left my pride in private school.
Where they measured your skirt, but you knew it would get worse.