another monday EP

by the milligrams

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released November 2, 2015

written by wick hill and garrett cook
performed by wick hill, garrett cook, and morgan allen
mixed and produced by alex hatziyannis at the greek's
mastered by alex psaroudakis at M-Works Mastering


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the milligrams Boston, Massachusetts

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Track Name: You Don't Need To Think (Alex H. Remix)
think you got no place to go?
well thinking’s so last week bro
in here we’re having fun
all the jams are #1
so you don’t need to think
no you don’t need to think

need some shelter from the storm?
our body heat will keep you warm
pop is my philosophy
get up here and dance with me
cuz you don’t need to think
no you don’t need to think

Chaucer, Dante
who needs that shit?
this is L.A.
in the past we had ambition
now we’re all on television
cuz we don’t need to think
no we don’t need to think
Track Name: Every Girl I Love Is A Junkie
every girl i love is a junkie
needle messianic, living calvary
i'm judas when they're fixed
mother mary when they're sick and alone
they roll away the stone

every girl i loved was a saint
valleys exalted and the rough places plain
they damned me and they saved me, loved me and never forgave me
in terra canunt angeli

the girl i love is a king
worried how she'll be remembered in the songs i sing
if i leave the words unspoken will the spell remain unbroken
the time for strings is over, i've looked over my shoulder
Track Name: At Home In Graveyards
saw Audrey Hepburn, well i can’t say
think it was her because she rotted away
dressed like a cat in stolen dime store chic
it really shouldn’t have looked that bleak
she was the goddess type, the regal kind
i want the smile back that struck me blind

at home in graveyards
no future there
no white muslin ladies take me unaware

five shooting stars, a whole new place
man in my stomach play Amazing Grace
sat like a gargoyle protecting the door
my head and heart engaged in civil war
she was the shaman type, the scary kind
she was the only thing she couldn’t find

at home in graveyards
nobody goes
everything’s in permanent repose

my poor Ophelia never learned to swim
it seemed that drowning was her only whim
garland of flowers drifting down the stream
guess she was heavier than she seemed
she was the virgin type, the withered kind
sat back and watched as she declined

at home in graveyards
lonely everywhere else
i need the stories that each spirit tells

kind and wholesome, painfully pure
a little untried and a lot unsure
sanctified like a cathedral made flesh
i felt refined but didn’t feel refreshed
she was the angel type, the marrying kind
prayed so much that her faith resigned

at home in graveyards
nothing there to break
don’t need to compromise for safety’s sake

women come, women leave
tin soldiers drum and lawyers deceive
poetic type, tragic kind
with all these sonnets my death warrant’s signed

at home in graveyards
but your garden’s nice
leave me some flowers as a sacrifice

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