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Pocket Sand

from by Problem Daughter

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I never thought I would grow up trash. A mother’s pride burnt on tinfoil. They say I’m wrong, though I’m convinced, I’m the worst there’s ever been. Am I your little brother or a waste of space? Pretty teeth in a crooked face? Every fear, every sin, the world’s guilt wrapped up in skin. What’s left to feel scorched in the sun. All your hope gets crushed to none. I’ve got two thousand years before my time roaming ends and then I can finally die a disgrace. You may want to step back because I’m blowing this place. And I’m reeling ‘cause I can’t stop fucking up. And I can’t tell you how much I miss you, though I may find the words someday, after all you’ve been through, it wouldn’t help to see me this way. And you lie, to spare everyone else. And you lie, but mostly to yourself. So how’d your week go? Disappeared within the fires of our past. Paint the seals, lock the door, phone cord wrapping tightly around my neck. And you lie, to tear apart what's left. And you lie. If I could crawl myself out of my personal hell I would like to kick myself in the face. You may want to step back ‘cause I’m blowing this place.


from Grow Up Trash, released March 22, 2019


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Problem Daughter Salt Lake City, Utah

Punk band from Salt Lake City, Utah.

"Problem Daughter takes everything great about punk and pack it into songs varied in structure and melodies that never grow redundant" - Cassie Whitt (AP Magazine)

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