by Mickey Matta

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Acceptance was written in NYC and recorded in Texas.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


released February 8, 2015

All songs written and performed by Mickey Matta
Recorded, Produced, Mixed at Xylene Studios: Mickey Matta
Mastered by Phillip Odom at Bad Wolf Recordings
Cover Design: Lauren Wadley
Album Art: Mickey Matta



Some rights reserved. Please refer to individual track pages for license info.


Mickey Matta Texas

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Track Name: Thimble
New York left a bitter taste in my mouth.
Came back home to wash it out,
with gallons of alcohol
but all I found was a cruel joke
written at the bottom of an empty bottle.

New York left a little peck on my cheek,
a crucifix around my neck
an arrow inside my chest
and she taught me not to base my truth
on someone that isn't going to
save me from myself.

I'm sorry that I fell in love with you.
I'm sorry that I fell in love.
I'm sorry that I fell in love with you
cause I don't deserve anyone.
Track Name: Hard Pressed Kiss
Grab life by the chin give her a hard pressed kiss.
Fuck it on the floor till it drips, mark it with nail and teeth.

Now breath deep and repeat

Go down until she melts, trace her past all by yourself,
arched back and hollow gasp you're doing okay.

My head's a beehive searching for a muse that don't exist.
We can lay alone or lay together.
Intertwine in an ancient kiss or drift away,
two birds, no stone.

Sing me the song I wrote to fill my empty chest.
Pan's flute doth cast a wicked spell my friend.
Cupid shoots blanks inside my naive mind.
I feel as if I'll die.

Elpis rests her head upon my shoulder.

Breath deep, and repeat after me...
Track Name: Either Way
Momma says I'm heaven sent
but honestly is there a difference
between right and wrong, love and lust, light and dark

Daddy says I'm useless
but I don't speak english anymore
I communicate solely through telepathy, through melodies, through breastfeedings.

Teacher says I'm gifted so she pulled me aside,
put stickers on my eyes,
tells me I can write real good, write real cool, write graffiti.

But either way it's okay
If god forgives he'll let me in
when I'm knocking at the pearly gates.

Or will I be turned away
this bitter cup of truth is down to the dregs.
If jesus saves then take my sin.
I'm sorry for being such a shitty person.

Girlfriend says I'm perfect
and punches me in the stomach repeatedly
we sleep with other humans, other friends, other heathens.
Track Name: Riding the bomb
Backwards man screams Beethoven's 9th in tongues,
He's cooking jambalaya for the feast.
All of the invitations have been sent,
this includes Cobain, Bowie, and Morrison,
Mr. Elliott Smith has yet to RSVP.

But Morrissey said that he is coming,
he'll probably cancel yeah he always does.
In the upstairs bathroom Kayne reads Pale Blue Dot,
and is texting Kim about his Grammy snubs,
she says "Sorry Babe, they just don't know enough"

Outside the door Dave Grohl is knocking with his hands
tied behind his back.
Says: "Can you hurry the Fuck up, I've gotta go real bad."

The dinner tables are set like Bergman's Hour Of The Wolf
and a bird face lady squawks that dinner starts at noon.
The clocks hang broken on egg shell colored walls.

The wallpaper has faded but was once painted with Walrus'es
mating and the carpet it was once shag.
It is now full of coach roaches and tiny black ants.

The ceiling is dripping with tapioca and my facial muscles tense
due to the horrific smell coming from the air vents.
I've been told this mansion once belonged to Jimmy Page or was it Wallace Shawn.
I guess it's all the same.

Underneath the dining room table Dali and Salinger are playing dominoes.
They joke about their childhood saying that neither of them had one.
Their imaginations make love like goofy teenagers.
JD's forgot a condom and Salvidor Dali's dream got pregnant.

A midget chauf·feur is charging 20 bucks a ticket to access a door.
I'm unsure what's behind it.
Lennon says it's worth your brain being ripped open by tiny hands
and that the light comes in colors we can't even imagine.

Bob Dylan taps my shoulder and I spin around to find he has run away
maybe for the last time. I see him in the distance. He picks up a pogo stick and jumps into the 4th dimension.

Henry Rollins looks bored but Cher said it's normal.
I said how would you know and she rolls her eyes under the table.
I'm asked to make a toast but when I open my mouth bibles fall out and onto the table.
At the sight of this the other Beatles call for their car.
And Paul slaps me in the face with a white glove for upsetting him and his mom.

Elvis takes off his clothes and jumps into the pool
and I dive in after him because I know he can't swim.
Andy Kaufman is telling jokes behind the outhouse
and he looks like a zombie but disappears like a ghost.

And the holy trinity explodes from the sky
and reminds us that we should all love each other,
and not to burn grilled cheese
and that Bill Nye
is a pretty Kool guy after ALL

I don't know what I'm saying anymore.
It doesn't matter.
No it don't.

When all of this fades away we'll be remembered
by a bronze plaque sent into space.
And all hope will fade away.
All songs/psalms will crumble/unravel that day.

Someday me and my friend we're getting matching bluebird tattoos
oh yeah, we are, that's the plan,
I swear to god that's the plan.
When I turned 22 I was in NYC.
I have the world.

It's at my feet.

When I turn 50. I want to feel the same but different if you know what I mean.
I think you know what i mean.

Fuck you censorship.
Fuck you everyone.
Fuck you.