Welcome Home

This is a song by The Forecast called Welcome Home. It has a great spoken word part, which I think is interviews of the band members about their experiences and what they love about being in a band. I can’t find it anywhere else on the internet, so I had to transcribe it myself. I think they’re descriptions perfectly encapsulate what it’s like to be in a band that’s just starting out.

This is a stretch of perfect pavement asphalt
Made to stave off the starvation and curtail the motion which we settle for
I drink every last drop
As this moment may suddenly stop as quickly as it started
But still I think to myself; “what will become all of of this?”
Hotel rooms, restaurants, late night arguments
Lovers loathing their better halves living lives week to week
With nothing but faith in each other’s moronic dreams
Scraping yourself together after hours of being bounced around some stupid van
Which smells like 500 miles of BO and old bruschutto
I just wonder if they only knew what we go through
to give them half hour’s worth of gawking
So they can talk about how horrible we are to their friends
Hey who am I and what do I care?
Just an apparition to poke fun at
Sleeping dream to dream and driving state to state
So someone with bigger and better aspirations
can come and pick up where I left off
Let’s just pray their imitation is better than mine
Okay, so, you wake up, you get in the van, you turn the radio on and listen to music
Drive for a couple of hours, you get to breakfast, you eat breakfast
You get back in the van, turn the radio on and listen to music
Finally you get to the show, you load in, you get to hear the DJ play some music
Then the first couple of bands go on and you get to listen to them play music
You play…music
Maybe a band goes on after you and you get to hear them play music
You load out of the club, and you get back in the van
And probably put the radio on and listen to music
You get to where you’re gonna stay, probably a kid’s house,
maybe a hotel if you’re on some cool label
And then you lay down your sleeping bag after a good couple of drinks of whiskey
And you put your iPod on, your headphones on and you listen to music
Touring is a 4.13 wake up call in a hotel
you have no recollection of ever checking into
Wake up, wake up, wake up
I would never dare check into this, who’s responsible for this debacle?
Wake up, wake up, wake up
Okay, I’m awake, the bed is spinning,
all I see is white, it’s all white but I’m awake
It’s probably been spinning for days or years
Over that same thing when you’re forced into the awkward situation of trying to answer the question:
“Do you remember me?”
“Who’s your friend?”
“Oh, this is Dan. Dan, this is…er”
You trail off, fully knowing that you’ll forget their name
Dammit, every second feels like three hours
Yeah this was not a feeling
And that’s it
They’re just dead, just another footnote for the books
Wyoming, yes, that was Wyoming


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