Oh, favorite friend
where have you gone to, where have you been this past year?
I can't see anyone but me.
And this don't feel like home, even when we do the things we used to
I want to be alive, to feel the things we felt when you were mine
Sometimes we'd just lie together,
now it's just a lie we tell each other
I asked you yesterday, what it was that made you old
you said all the missed calls and unfortunate things we spitefully spat at each other's ears
the pain we unknowingly dealt with our words
I asked was there hope, could we try and move on?
You said you didn't know if you could but that,
This didn't feel like home, no this doesn't feel like home
Oh, favorite friend, our story is over and now at the end
I can't see what I ever saw.
And this don't feel like home, no this don't feel like home
Oh, favorite friend, where have you gone to, where have you been my whole life?
I can't know, the way our story goes, but I'm sure that it might feel like home, yeah it might feel like home.
John Moreland weaves words like tapestries, effortlessly blending the hopeless with the hopeful. Every song feels like he's been writing it for 20 years, in the best possible way. John Tabor
Anna Arobas makes intricate, otherworldly folk-pop with delicate, glacial arrangements but a howl of heartbreak at the center. Bandcamp New & Notable Oct 11, 2022
Belaver’s “Trash” builds from hushed verses to a big, booming crescendo of a chorus, with lyrics that praise finding beauty in darkness. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 14, 2018