Matt Baranowski

Matt Baranowski

BandRockHip Hop

Flexible time signatures, easy melodies, harmonies, rhythmical lyrics, thoughts, feelings, home-studio miracles, and life.

Other Info

Cover band: 
No

Lyrics

Approximately Everything

Written By: Matt Baranowski

The fire escapes
Out behind the buildings
Broken windows
On every street
Enclosed in chain-link
City dumpster
Bus depot
Graffiti artists
Bodied object
Heart of coal
Without a soul

Numbers, letters
Lefts and centers
All are sinners
Conveyors hallways
Exits, penance, enter
Letters, photos
Watch and phone
Pub - lick - a - housing
Construction zone
And all surround around me

Everything is here approximately
Nothing shown is drawn to scale
In about a minute plus or minus
Fudge it over just a quail

In the neighborhood the limit converges
Transients and impurities
Then eventually everything is constant
Subject further scrutiny

Boredom, freedom
On the border
Heathen, treason
Pack rat zealot
Cute acute insomniatic
Late night layover
Caffeine and hungover
Estatic, elastic
E-Leck-a-tronic
Demonic icon
Bionic, supersonic
Psychotic, chronic
Pedantic, philanthropic
Lonesome, wholesome
No home to come and to go to
Concourse campout
You know we’re all the same

My senses mingle in my mind
Green Line, bass line
The max that man can handle
Wondering insomniac
Three-hour sortie
Billboards, adverts
Incessant fluorescence
Safety tips, antiseptics
Essence effervescence
Go here, stay there
Counters, kiosk, recordings
Across from you on the plane
Next to you on a bus
Just like the rest of us
We’re all the same

Equal temperament, negligible error
Prodigal outliers stray
Quanitization, noisy rounding error
Drunken sailor, Markov sway

Almost everywhere, stochastic’ly always
Isotropic slight-of-hand
Everything is here approximately
I’m a stranger in this land

Am I really alive?
I was scheduled to fly
No plane arrived
In the limbo of travel time
You know we’re all the same

Need a shave and shower
I’m a sweet and sour zombie, oh yeah
On a Concourse campout
Three-hour sortie
A stranger in this land
But I’m learning to play quiet again

I’d rather beg in the light
Than rule in the shadows