You Send Me | I'm What You Send

by Falcorps

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00:46
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03:35
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03:58
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05:03
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02:14
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04:20
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about

this album was recorded and engineered by joel lane in cornerstone church in sterling heights, mich., the myers estate in mt. pleasant mich., and the lane residence in rochester, mich. late (some of it very late) in the summer of 2009. mastered by jeremy cucco in fall 2010.

credits

released December 25, 2009

all songs by falcorps.
"chords and melodies" by zach nichols.
lyrics by zach nichols and natalie bainter.
arranged by falcorps.

falcorps is:
zach nichols (acoustic guitar, vocals, etc.)
monica mclaughlan (vocals)
heidi gustad (oboe)
natalie bainter (vocals)
mike lala (electric guitar, one-liners)
zach mccune (accordion, unfortunately inaudible dancing)
scott myers (drums)
erik schneider (bass)

joel lane (mouse, keyboard, sliders, and everything else)

special thanks to the lanes, mr bainter, steve myers, tyler bradley, hillary holman, taaja tucker, ed corcoran, and allyson paty; and, to everyone who rooted us on. regular thanks to rosy, featured on the intro of neighbor.

tags

license

all rights reserved

about

Falcorps East Lansing, Michigan

falcorps was and is a group of friends

contact / help

Contact Falcorps

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Track Name: Prologue
My friends,

Many, many years ago in East Lansing, there was a band called....Falcorps. At their final show, the band promised an album to all in attendance for Christmas. That Christmas passed, and so did the next, and likewise, the ones after that.

Time went on (decades upon decades) until this very moment, the moment Falcorps dusted off the old "sign-up list for (free) Falcorps album!," and sent a mass email containing a link. A link to a website where you can download their debut, their final, full length record: You Send Me | I'm What You Send.

Sincerely,
Falcorps
Track Name: Neighbor (David's Theme)
A chair for Andrea, the floor's formica.
One day I will go deaf, please sing with every breath.

Overhearing neighbors loving against my door.
Understanding this: it's good to love your neighbor.

Burning CD's, turning tables,
grab my car keys and my cigarettes
driving lyrics writes me crazy.
I'd rather just be playing instruments,
With all of my friends.

You're busking in the park,
you should be at the Ark!
I met you at Wazoo,
they really cheated you!

One day I will go deaf,
please sing with every breath.
I know it's not pretend:
you send me; I'm what you send.
Track Name: Zombie Experiment
Then, I'd only lie and moan.
To the worms swimming in the loam.
That is until the day that you stepped on my grave.

Say, I wonder could you teach me to speak,
with diction? Yeah.
Could you clean me so I don't have to reek,
just scrub there? Yeah.

I understand you're on those vaccines,
I'd help you but I don't have the means.
You may sway, but you don't need a cane.

I tried to live but I'll try again.
Brains, I like you for your brains.
Track Name: Postcard
Please wear my V-Necked Poncho.
You will look good in rain or sleet or hail or snow.
I will be scarvèd and turtle-necked or I'll be bare-naped and hickied like a sunburn under the rugburn or throw.

Please wear my V-Necked Poncho.
You will look good in rain or sleet or hail or snow, but watch out! A tornado! Don't spin dry your clothes.

Please wear my V-necked sweater.
You will look good in cold weather,
and if for worse or for better,
I wrote you this postcard,
--joined the coast guard.

And when the Gazan's came,
we said, "say, you can stay at our place,"
we said, "say, we've got plenty of room,
least we could do."
Track Name: Claire's Song
I've heard you learn a tongue best in bed.
I've heard you speak as good as one of them.
So talk to me like you would with your boy, friendly.
so talk to me, I can listen well as he.

I like doing bad; I like feeling good,
but I've been sleeping alone depressed in my bed.
I've been doing good, but I've been feeling bad,
so I've been skulking my bulk, depressed as I said.
I like calling you; I shouldn't be calling you,
but golly, I'm calling alone depressed from my bed.
"You shouldn't come over here" is only a sober fear
so long as the roads are clear, and we're depressed in my bed.

I know a guy who’s good at the looping station, but playing with yourself is like masturbation.
Messing up the chorus don’t you dare reprise it: sometimes loops are better off when played in private.
Track Name: Been to Town
Been to town, been to school,
Been awful loud in the practice room.
Read the plaque and fixed it good,
It's been a while since we've been back,
you know I learned a thing or two, too.

Bad memory: hometowner's broke asking for dinner with
you, liberty-bellicose girl that I come to.
This summer's sure further than I thought,
so are you, so's my mind, mind, mind, 'mine,'
a ruefully truthful absurd word,
that I come to, a friend whom,
whom I own, whom I owe.

Sad memory: three ghosts in the park,
waiting on me to save them yet.
Track Name: Learning Bust
It's hard to tell you the burning lust
of three nights next to you and hardly a touch.
Speaking so erratically the phone is so emphatically staticy,
Been listing systematically all the reasons you should be mad at me.
Please don't even try,
'cause you'll be listing them till morning
when you should trying to fix them tonight.
Just whistle and kick the floor,
quit pretending that you're innocent when you're not a kid no more.

...

It's hard to tell you the burning lust
when three nights next to you is hardly enough.
Track Name: Surfin' Gershwin Onion
Lost inside my lover's quick-draw jaw.
Lost inside your stupid onion metaphor
I've heard it before
It never, never blows my mind.
Lost inside my best friend's girlfriend's arguments
She always makes me, makes me,
makes me change my mind.

Don't things taste just that much sweeter
the second time?
I remember mine, my second time.
Lost inside my lover's quick draw jaw,
it always takes me, takes me,
takes me time.
Track Name: Thornbugs
With a touch of invention
and a needle on a leaf,
we observe little thornbugs
singing songs that we can hear
in the forest of adventure, unread revised,
we come to a clearing in our arbored mind.

And the bad-postured girl
plays the drums in a band
with a lead set of brushes
and a metronome left hand.
in the venue of disaster, scene kids reviled,
yet some how this snaring
brings thorn horns to mind.

And later on, you called me up to listen to some jazz,
some indie shit, some billboard pop, some npr, some fly hip-hop.
It was getting late, it was awful nice to walk me to the door,
We said goodnight but arrested by your big old eyes—just my type.
Track Name: Moodring
You're my little mood ring.
When I'm cold, you turn blue.
I would call you yellow,
but you're always changing your hue.

You're my little prism,
my splitter of skin,
I'm your little rainbow trout
caught by the glint of your hook in my fin.

Oh, I wanna reel one,
I wanna feel one,
if I have to steal one
Oh, I wanna real one,
I wanna feel one,
if I have to steal one,
then I will.
Track Name: Ma's
I remember those Detroit buggy rides;
Ma would warn me not to fall from the sides.
Ma never told me all that much about my sis;
all she said was that once she got sick.

Ma's horse drawn McCormick Reaper
that hand-me-down sickle keeper
"God it dragged him," Father's yelling,
"for as far as there's no telling."
And though it's sin in our religion,
he rode me down to the town physician,
Now Ma's praying on thanksgiving,
Thank you God for our son's living,
but I'd doubt He'd want that credit,
If I were Him, I'd regret it,
I just keep these farm hands by my side,
Knowing God wished I had died.
That I had died.

Fear no man, but fear the I Am.
Track Name: I. Parkinglot II. Palace Waltz
Zombies, vampires, werewolves, and Frankenstein's
monsters, witches, mummies, banshees.

I'm afraid to go outside, so you might come along?
I'm afraid of the dark, but let's walk to the park.
All alone on a parkbench; it's getting late,
Such a shame we must part; now, I'll rip out your
heart.

I'm mortified, by the caustic premise of 'you
more than died,' by the holy chemist in his
fortified calloused palace when the
door is pried, I'll be inside.

For what I'm afraid of
a shield that's made of
narrators noting that nothing is nigh.

There's a guard with a gun
who's ready to draw at any time
at his post above the moat of continuous worry of siege--enemies!

There's a garden hosting the gunplay
as the drawbridge clanks timèdly
and this post-war scene’s a motif for your queen's magazines.

I'll bow and you'll curtsy
we'll joke we're unworthy
fake waltzing while laughing into
your earring endearingly
stepped-on toes, we'd go
home,
to step alone.