Get all 27 Adeem the Artist releases available on Bandcamp and save 20%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of ANNIVERSARY, What If We Stayed?, I C U, Home Recordings Vol. 2, White Trash Revelry, Home Recordings Vol. 1, Cast-Iron Pansexual, Merry Christmas, Urgent Care, and 19 more.
1. |
I'll Get Back To You
04:07
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2. |
I Go On
03:17
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3. |
Midway Motel
04:04
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4. |
Sidewalk
03:06
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Though I do not know the language, I think I understand
I’ve been watching this for years, the breaking of the man,
And now it isn’t just my father or the priest, it’s in my hands
They are trembling with terror; they are splitting at the ends
And growing out of my doubt- a little faith
I was bleeding out on the pavement at the Days Inn down on western
When the storm hit and I watched it through a haze from all the pills they gave me
Bit my lip and I whispered shit that I can’t remember,
Bitter prayers like road flares at the wreck in mid-December off 40 and I can’t forget the smell,
Gasoline down my jeans then made a thin trail to a warm puddle
My foot twitched and I switched its position, heard the bone
Against the gravel and instantly, with blurred vision
Noticed the warm cloth drenched in oil and blood,
Laid down like a funeral shroud spread out there on the sidewalk
I saw the bumps and I knew there was a child beneath,
Felt the memories like fetuses inside of me
Then came the worst part- a name
And I, I spoke it
By nightfall, I had drank enough alcohol to drown a memory,
Then the images made themselves more clear to me
It was eerie; these were nearly the same feelings and fears
That we clasped desperately to in the moment, but there were years between us
In life, you have to make a choice,
Between the newspaper headlines and the office noise
Get a job and a mortgage and the more you spend,
Your voice is suffocated but you’ve made it, you’re a big success
And the moral is- you suffer daily
or you kill your dreams and you still suffer.
Though I do not know the language, I guess I understand
Take my place among the villagers; it’s time we made a plan
We can’t be owned or operated, we aren’t machines- we are men
And we have blood inside our bodies, in our eyes, and on our hands
Who are we now? Who are we now? You know us
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5. |
Bootleg Biscuits
03:16
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Charles Johnson in a flour stained apron
Rolled down into Knoxville
Ten barrels in crooked letters
On the pages of a paper from the Sentinel
The table is wet with butter
And a local boy rolls the cheese
Goes off with a lick and a promise
When a blond Angelica screams, “Here comes the bulls!”
Butter up them biscuits, boys
Bring the sheriff down
Put some gravy on my flaky rolls
I’m eatin’ anyhow
And I’ll look that sheriff in the eye
He can lock me up right now
But I’ll ride his horse down gay street
Waving as I leave this town
Kid Curry fixin’ bootleg biscuits
Peddlin’ purple jam
Down on central avenue at Patrick Sullivans
Burnt bacon and the crowd gets rowdy
Time to turn the heat down low
Made out like a shot of lightning crash through the saloon window
Here come the bulls!
Butter up them biscuits, boys
Bring the sheriff down
Put some gravy on my flaky rolls
I’m eatin’ anyhow
And I’ll look that sheriff in the eye
He can lock me up right now
But I’ll ride his horse down gay street
Waving as I leave this town
Well Knoxville ain’t your kind of town
If it’s violence you been craving
Old Patrick’s ain’t no bucket of blood
It’s a bucket full of gravy
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6. |
Canvas To The Frame
03:58
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I was on a downward spiral for several months of shows
Lashing out at listeners in the catacombs below
And in the vast and present darkness, you were a flickering light
Sending out love like signals from a satellite
And I am not a sentimental man these days
I am a mass of blood and passion
I am not a well-designed maze
I am not who I thought I’d be at twenty eight
I am stumbling blindly from the canvas to the frame
You were introspective in the letters that you wrote
Didn’t care for America or a promissory note
And out there on the ocean we were both drifting along
On rafts made of our elders as they fled from Babylon
And you are not tethered to the earth these days
You are a mass of stars and poetry
Rising from the clay
You are not all of these self-ascribed names
You are art stumbling blindly from the canvas to the frame
All these photographs and artifacts watching life behind the glass
It is our task to find the cracks and make our way through
I found life in high definition
Beyond the prison of a timeline I was given
Our life is not a public exhibition
Stripping off the weight of given names,
We are stumbling blindly from the canvas to the frame
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7. |
Impossible
02:40
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I am naked
and holding your hand
I will make it
not how you planned
I am impossible to know
it is impossible to exist
I am impossible and you are impossible
I am fragile
such delicate bones
invisible seamstress
speak through my headphones
I am impossible to know
it is impossible to exist
I am impossible and you are impossible
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8. |
Suicide Scars
02:21
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You were standing at the register freckle cheeked and starry eyed
Jewelry in your septum , purple hair badly dyed
And I waded through the space between the two of us like memoirs
You were barely seventeen, nursing suicide scars
And were that I could hold you like a father would
Through the tumultuous seasons of your childhood
I just looked you in the eyes and I believe that it was understood
I saw you
And now I’m alone with thoughts of you
And there’s not a lot that I can do
But I can sing a song for you if it’ll make you feel better
Like a magic spell in melody
For all the kids like you and me
Who don’t know what they’re supposed to be
You are loved.
You are treasured.
Were that I could hold you like a father would
Through the tumultuous seasons of your childhood
I will look you in the eye and I declare that you are good
I see you
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9. |
Nothing Is Changing
02:33
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I stepped out into traffic and felt the cars race by
A hurricane of blind emotions guiding me from inside
The workers organized; this highway’s occupied
By rage and flesh and I will sacrifice myself upon the asphalt of I-81
Headlights blazing down the interstate
I make my way into the center of the lane
If I could inhale before it breaks through me, it would be nice just to breathe again
Wipe me away, clean the streets
Keep the Country safe from me
Nothing is changing
I take a hit, let it break
Spinning on the freeway
I send you spinning
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Adeem the Artist Tennessee
Adeem is a seventh-generation Carolinian, a makeshift poet, singer-songwriter, storyteller, and blue-collar Artist.
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