Oh, For the Love of Dogs

Mattababy

I DID A THING. use headphones.

Michael’s chorus on right, Calum’s on left.

I was searching through Genius and I stumbled across the unreleased songs so i decided to make a unreleased masterpost. I tried to find an acceptable version of the songs since most of them are live versions they played before the first album came out.

Bad Dreams aka the fetus Calum solo song 

I Can’t Remember aka the most Australian Cal and Mike have ever sound like

Teenage Queen aka the Keek leaked song

Superhero aka is this about Mike? 

Over and Over aka why the hell did they killed this song? this is my fav unreleased

Perfect Disguise aka Invisible 1.0?

I’ve Got This Friend aka Heartbreak Girl part 2 or Can they get out of friendzone?

All I Need aka why the hell did they killed this song 2

Everything I Want aka WHY DID THEY KILLED THIS SONG????? another link for acoustic version on a park another link without the laugh of the first one but lots of screams

Bonus Hearts Upon Our Sleeve, not exactly unreleased

First pick a fake name, I use Jessica, then download the Google Voice app, hook it up to your email, pick a number, and set up a fake greeting with your fake name. You can set it to ring your actual phone like a normal call or text but they don’t have real info on you.

My scars aren’t physical. They live in my head.

They’re mostly scabbed over, but every now and then they break open. I can feel the blood rushing, but there’s no flow to staunch.

It’s in my ears.

Until it’s all that I can hear, rushing until I’m drowning in the sound. You’d never know it.

I’ll ask you to repeat what you’ve said, sometimes multiple times. You’ll never know the reason I can’t hear is because my own thoughts are too damn loud.

Some say my scars don’t count because they can’t be seen. I think they should look closer.

My scars live in the way I flinch when a man raises his voice. My scares are visible in the way I jerk when a stranger touches me. My scars keep me in bed for days at a time. I can barely breathe. The tissues on my floor each contain a piece of my sanity.

My scars are visible, if you want to see them.

But who would? It’s not pretty.

So I keep them to myself.

I recite their stories late at night.

I tattoo them on my body.

Then, when the woman on the bus compliments my feathers, she sees the man that threatened to kill me. She might not know it, but I do.

I gave an artist a needle and asked them to draw my scars.

I will force the world to see them. Until I do, I’ll turn up the volume on every song that saved my life.

I’ll close my eyes.