Squinting open, "Dust" is a chill testimony to cooling down the heat of any moment, as it observes daybreak anxieties only to be quelled by the cracking door open next on "The Porch." The beginnings of esteem and identity are explored beneath the causality of a daily exchange, as the effect of outwardly being "...pretty..." or a "...good guy..." is taken into consideration: That people tend to think I'm a good guy has got me feeling uglier inside now.
"From Somewhere" employs the stabbing prompt of pencil lead in the webbing of a hand to tackle how the pomp of school age esteem transforms someone consumed by podcasts, health, gainful employment and family planning: If those boys could see you now, they'd think you were some pretentious city boy bitch / And they wouldn't be wrong.
At its crux, "The Dock/The Waiting Room" is about not knowing what to do at a wedding, the narrator "...hovering six feet away..." from a bride-in-gown on a lakeside dock. Another character is over-served, concluding in a hospital morning of displaced guilt. From this hazy discovery the album’s namesake is drawn.
The purple, flummox-y vamp of "Gut Feeling" blankets and supports, taking stock of the highs and lows weathered during one's initial ascent, as entire alphabets of plans are burned. We zero in on the “fine line between being stuck and having faith,” and wonder about the place where the tough actually go when the going gets tough.
