My baseline is nostalgia
But trauma got my brain more confused than algebra
My soul's stuck being ghost man on third
Playing ball with my Dad before Mom would have dinner served
Makes it hard to swallow all my just desserts
'Cause in my head I'm just a kid, just trying to learn
How to follow through with a swing just right
Or how to fist fight, or flirt with a girl I like
And juxtaposed against what I know
Like memories of nosebleeds after doing blow
Weird flashbacks of ejaculating too young
My mind goes black to protect where they're coming from
In my inner life it's still July of 99
I'm catching fireflies in a cup and feeling guilty when they die
Despite the fact they had twigs and grass
But dad says not to feel bad nothing lasts
But one thing does and that's the past
I still remember every time my Dad beat my ass
The time he woke me up at a quarter past
Midnight to tell me he thought he was having a heart attack
Put me in charge of calling 9-11
In case he passed out and needed a medic to come
Don't know why he picked me to see he survived
I was ten with a brother old enough to drive

The only time he made me feel like a man
On the verge of a panic attack wringing my hands
And sometimes I still am

My baseline is a church kid
Digging through snot rags to get pens from Mom's purses
So I could fill out outlines for pastor's sermons
And learn about how Moses turned his staff into a serpent
It's to extrapolate that from the person
That I was stealing pills while my girl made diversions
But somehow being devote had lost its purpose
When I found out God only works within rich circuits
Poor kids grew up like a carney in a circus
Every girl I loved had been abandoned like they're worthless
God became another father figure to have words with
And once my hands were old enough to go to war with
I swore I'd throw them with God for being morbid
Became a thing the kid within me wasn't on board with
The kid was still swinging for the fences
Catching fly balls and vying for his pops attention
I was caught up somewhere in between
Looked at days like catching glimpses of dream
Didn't believe that it all was real
I need pain now and again to pinch myself and see if I can feel
None of my childhood heroes could die
Even Micky Mouse is kicking at 105
I think about it when I'm vulnerable inside
Real men don't cry or ever face their demise

It's half the reason why
Church is ever on my mind

Mamma please call my soul in for supper
Let go of my hand and let me feel all that I've suffered
I stuffed it down and acted like it's alright
But all night every night I see demons from another life
Haven't had a good dream since I was 14
Only ever have dreams where I'm loosing teeth
Looking in the mirror wondering who the fuck is he?
These days it's so bad that I'm always losing sleep
I just want to breath in some relief
And exhale the missteps that I've put under my feet
Instead I'm making sense of them by acting like they're me
And acting out every bad memory on repeat
Putting myself in the same positions that defined
Looking for different outcomes swinging the bat blindly
Hearing Dad say I gotta square up with the plate
Holding onto false hope that home runs could change fates