The Collage EP

by Notebook.

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“Never to suffer would never to have been blessed.” - Edgar Allan Poe


released August 24, 2012

This mini-LP was produced, mixed, and mastered by Notebook.
Credit to Courtney Love & Hole, Adele, Aaron Gillespie of Underoath, Circa Survive, and Raein for the few samples used within this project.



all rights reserved


Notebook. Clayton, New Jersey

With a niche for bridging the gaps between unusual elements among the music-spectrum, it's undeniable that Notebook is providing one of the most unique listening-experiences yet. Notebook. is pioneering a sound that is as much Universal as it is Abstract; carving out his space in a wide array of genres at once. Tune in and catch the wave. ... more

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Track Name: Invisibility (Produced by Notebook)

We've got confessions undiscussed, puddles of blood and guts.
Nothing but love and lust. We suffer because we want to.
Knuckles in rubber-gloves to never stain the skin.
Pictures we painted sit on the wall though every frame is bent.
She's sick of being sober, while SHE just got her fix.
Nose up against the wooden table, clogging up her nostrils and I'm saying, "can you save a bit?
Enough to fade me quick."
Plastic straws and tin foil to burn these capsules on.
It's fashion for the broken, jaded, tinted and choking.
Barely breathing, oxygen tank, sitting sick and so hopeless.
That's us. Gathering to share our sorrow.
Pity-party hard knowing that we'll care tomorrow
And the day after. Ever will it end?
Instead of being dead as we began with only self to be a friend.
But, mirrors give reflections that are grim.
It's sexy and poetic how we settle in the sin.

Sometimes we need that place to move on,
'cause the dark is the heart of everything you know.
I took a shot of reality and I'm punch-drunk.
Reminiscing on the ghost of what I once was.
They see through and I'm fine with that, it's all good.
They see through and I'm fine with that, it's all good.
I learned to love the things that hate me,
though I never let them break me, in the face of all the demons that I thought would.

That hole's deep.
But, I put my foot in it - sunk in, but I've been this low before.
Cheap wine and cigarettes with those creeps.
One room full of dirt and filth. Can't undo when murder kills every bit of soul that's earned.
It's real. No fairytale for sure.
The chapter doesn't end. It extends to a new extent.
You walk the path of someone else's if the shoes will fit.
And if they don't, then you're still stepping in the root of it.
Ruining your newest kicks. Soon you'll be consumed in it.
Sleep with a crucifix. Tell a lie, tell a wish.
Pray to feel security. Never liked emptiness.
He's getting used to it. Meant to die or meant to live
to see the day he loses life is a confusing trick.
But, day by day, he paves the way.
Stays the same even though he vowed to make a change.
From the ink of the pen to the ink in his skin:
embracing what made him today as friend because...


They see through and I'm fine with that, it's all good.
They see through and I'm fine with that, it's all good.
I learned to love the things that hate me,
though I never let them break me, in the face of all the demons that I thought would.

Track Name: Maybelline (feat. Adele) (Produced by Notebook)

I'm still waiting on my cup of tea and cigarette for Christ's sake,
sipping on the heartache over dinner with my blind fate.
It's something we remember when the time fades.
Winter's getting bitter, summer-skin is in a dry state.
She spoke love affair. I spoke sincerity.
And you can tell along the line, she lost her clarity.
The look she wore said, "I know the ghost is here with me,
your vocal tone is breathing life into it and it's clear to see."
Art junkies in a modern-day.
Politics, tatted skin, music on replay.
We come from radios, CD's, and cassette tapes.
I'm not surprised that you can see in your head-space.
It would be nothing more than peachy if we escaped,
sleeping in a Hotel? Easily an estate.
I adore the connection between us more than you'd ever believe.
You're gorgeous in every single damn way.
We'll walk the city-street and kiss inside of taxi cabs.
Writing our name onto the window with our finger so they witness why we can't detach.
We're like the classic match.
Living our life in white and black, in fact.
She's got her heart on her scarf, I'm wearing mine on my hoody and sweater.
Remarkable days. How could I forget her?
It all was a phase. But, this couldn't be better.
She's like an angel with metal stuck in her face.
Far away we can settle. Wait for forever.
Save this letter. That way you remember,
it's not as jaded and fake as the people make it seem.
I put it on the life within my bones and all the ink in me.
A runaway from the brutal life we often lead.
Let's wipe the slate of all of that and can we start it clean?
I know that this could be something.
Abandon all of your worry when I say one thing...


Doubt on your lips.
I taste it on my mouth. God, it's sick.
Maybe conscience is clogging bits of all of this.
My thoughts are foggy. Kind of hard to sit, think clear.
This may steer you the wrong way, but trust is like a shot in the dark.
It could go through the both of us at our walk in the park.
It can skim the skin of our faces and leave us to be,
totally shattered with dripping tears and you weak in the knees.
I don't know.
We met in the perfect setting, dear.
Things are too good to be true,
and I learned that sex-appeal and such a perfect personality's a murder meant to kill.
My scribble compared to your cursive gets me feeling like I'm not enough.
And maybe someone else is.
And maybe every word you say's another sales-pitch.
Am I worth the chamomile, bag of pills, and champagne?
Our plans were to drift away from that pain.
I know your secrets. I fancy them all.
Saw it in you at the Lounge, romancing and talking - holding on our coffee mugs.
Be honest with me. It's only more to love. The damage is done.
I'm dying to fix the piece beneath your breastbone.
Craving for the same exact reasons that you left home.
So many rumors to believe in that I left hope sitting on the counter,
didn't see me leave it there, though.
We can go back. I'll give it a chance.
It's not the scars, it's the whispers and sick little scams.
I guess I'm scared of commitment; getting ripped into halves.
When it begins, addicted to your kisses, I am.
What's worse is that I'm re-creating who you are.
Wishful thinking as we walk upon your boulevard.
I love you so much that I'll change you in a second.
Just to make you imperfected. If there's pain, it's interesting.
Let's get faded...

Track Name: Gothica (Produced by Notebook)

She tells me to smile, so I do to wash away her worry.
I got away with burying my conscience way too often.
I'd say I love her, but heartbreak and betray can walk in,
and make its pardon; dragging a dead body from an empty closet.
But, I bet she feels the same as me.
Stain is deeper than the make-up on her facial features that look fairly better without maybelline.
Hand me a safety-pin, I'll make a space for you to stay within my chest: it's paper-thin.
But, you've confided in another person.
In other words, these scribbled words won't skim your lovely cursive.
Underrated and nothing tastes as good as what your tongue preserves and,
his lips are what's deserved from a bunch of worthless,
meaningless, seemingly weak and nervous beings.
We can create nirvana. The cure is Minerva's sweetest kiss.
And she is it. Show me your marks and cuts.
The bones that poke through the surface of skin from starving some.
I don't need any perfection.
I sleep with imperfection.
I bleed that imperfection, nearly breathe it when I inhale, exale.
Believe it for I said it, honesty is still my best fit, on my sleeve written in ink. It's what I'm dressed in.
It's called skin. I cut across it,
but if there's no damage, what is there to fix?
I want you to know that you can be my heart as much as you can be my beauty queen for starters.
You can be my horror.

You can be my horror.
You can be my horror,
put that fear in me. Don't you disappear or the sake of my insecurity.
Can you, can you hear me out? Mi' amore...
You can be my heart as much as you can be my beauty queen for starters.
You can be my horror.

If dancing on the edge is our persuit of bliss and happiness,
we'll prove that this is masochistic beauty when it has to end.
Don't bury me besides the crucifix.
I'll sleep without my God and only you to keep warm within my casket.
They say we must confess, "til death do us part."
What if death isn't existent and forever is all that we have left when the skeleton's gone?
Swallowed by dirt and worms and then psychedelia starts?
She'll get in the coffin with me and wait for the pulse to beat 'til the metronome stops.
Try to pull her up but really should quit and let us depart.
Living and dying turns to dying and living.
They will eat our hearts in one sitting, revive us,
and try to make it all nice and pretty.
But, if God Loves Ugly, then what's the point of a tux and a white dress when time is ready for the life we emptied?
Don't whisper that you're a demon, too.
Don't be afraid that I remember what I seen in you.
It's the fact that you care. It's the passionate stare.
When I'm weak, giving up, and you're standing right there.
You've been in these shoes, but took them off for comfort.
I admire you even though I'm not the one for...
Knotted and locked in the closet, tied up and toxic.
Nod along to the science of gothic polysymphonics.
I want you to know that you can be my heart as much as you can be my beauty queen for starters.
You can be my horror.

Track Name: Sadist (Produced by Notebook)
I said, "take care of me."
Pull my skin together and be my therapy.
We can play the wicked game, but be careful - it's Russian Roulette with a grenade,
and a handful of handguns. Blow me away.
I don't want to die, but the spoonful of Ipecac is soon to be in my veins,
a pre-lude to an instant death.
I'm dehydrated, sipping anything to to keep alive but Hennesey and peace of mind.
That glass was half-empty from the beginning of time, no need to lie.
You swore that we'd be fine.
Pinky promised, then I seen the blood drip.
You're a creep. Sleep at night with your grief.
It's intriguing how we try to leave but the cycle keeps repeating.
This maso-sadist scene is fiesty, but it's needed.
It's a strain to call this sweet,
when the pain is all we need.
And it hurts so good.

Love. Lust. Blood all over my hands. Do you see?
Do you see?
Why are you smiling at me?
I'm guessing this is your thing,
but I can't take it.
Oh my god, I just can't take it.
One more of shot of that heartbreak and..
and I'm gone before you save me,
if you want to at all.

So, don't stare at me.
I can see inside your eyes: you care for me. But, I guess I've got to wear these strings.
Cut yours off, carefully.
Something's wrong. Tell me please.
Show me that I'm not out of my mind, paranoid, scared and weak. But, that's it.
Yeah, yeah, that's it.
My trust is wearing thin.
Like my bones and my skin.
I'm your own skeleton.
You're my soul's medicine.
Withdraw when I'm without it all. Give it up or I'm dead and stiff. Let me in on this experiment.
Tell me your plans now.
To empty every feeling into your bag now?
Close it up and crush it up, well I can't tell.
This is a bad vibe. Living with hands tied.
It's a strain to call this sweet,
when the pain is all we need.
And it hurts so good.


Cut me open at the seams.
Film it on the camera screen.
Yeah, baby, you're red-handed.
Oh yeah, baby, you're red-handed.

Cut me open at the seams.
Film it on the camera screen.
Yeah, baby, you're red-handed.
And I'm loving every second of the damage...

Track Name: Wanderers & Vagabonds (feat. Aaron Gillespie of Underoath) (Produced by Notebook)
The audio's distilled.
The water-flow is still.
Filth fills the stream. We're the swimming team, coughing up the illnesses in vomit (so forreal.)
Kiss goodbye and hold your will.
It's a toxic over-fill.
Tips the bottle so it spills.
But, I'm here, inhaling it out of panic.
Perfect is how I'm standing. Word is out that I'm manic,
turning down my sanity to amplify the lack in me.
I wave my arms and drown in peace. Kiss death when it puckers up and grabs at me (I can't fathom this.)
Pinned up to my own cross.
Skin stuck to the pole, raw.
Ribs touching, so starved.
It's sickening. But, simple.
It's our own fault, so gone.
Old scars, hope lost.
No love. Sit at the bar.
Whiskey, vodka, cigs 'til we're gone.
When does it end if it ends at all?
Lungs can't take this shit anymore. Need a lift, but they sit and watch me half-dead, falling 'til I hit the floor.
It's entertainment. Content at being lost.
Escape this place; this never-ending waltz.
Come on...


I made this bed on my own.
This here, I set it in stone.
Peace and tranquility combined with gore, forever exposed.
There is no hiding at all.
There's no invisible cloak.
We think we sit here alone, but, they're right with you, I know.
They're unfamiliar faces that seem so tinted and gross.
But, how on Earth can we grow together with the issues we hold?
No way.
There's no way. It's the lack of being open to show faith in an ocean of broke hearts.
It'll lead to a slow fade.
Generation of zombies that can't seem to get their hope straight.
It's narrow, crooked. Scarecrows shooken in the autumn wind. So cold.
Watch it from afar and you will see that this whole show's blank.
Underwater with a grip upon an anchor and a really, really low fate.
Guarantee I won't sink?
I don't believe what most say.
It's entertainment. Content at being lost,
Escape this place; this never ending waltz.
Come on...

Track Name: Nightclub (Produced by Notebook)
It's the warm and the comfort feel that I wore in the mud.
Worms still, swarm me, it's lust foreal.
Still sore from the sunburn. Heal.
Went searching and fell face-down in the dirt; stayed there 'cause I hate smiles.
Shake hands with a saint.
Turn around and wash my hands in the sink. We couldn't ever relate.
Pulled down the stairway as heaven awaits,
oh, I bet it. fake. pretended we'd get in the gates together, but I never meant to be late.
Better late than never, but this time is pro-longed.
He's so gone. I'm an old cause,
in a mix of dimmed lights and slow songs that fit right within this whole art of closed-off roads that junkies sniff coke on.
Broken-hearted chicks get nose-jobs.
The cigarette smoke and the little dead tone still intersects hope, and the half-dead walk.
No light but a match. It's all good,
when you're in the window looking out.
That's what life's about, right?
Found brightness in a place without shine, without time, a loud mind is silenced.
Duct-taped; projected on the outside.
A starless sky.
Oh, you're my sky.
You remind me of the back of my eyelids.
Cast in the blackness and drag in something.
Yeah. Something like me.
Something like you.
This is just what we need.

So, move a little bit.
But, just leave me. Your runway's another way to see me bleed (x3)
Just leave me. Please. For me...

Hypocrite. Maybe just a little bit.
Take it in. Listen to the things I said: don't go so deep.
I'm serious. When you think you're sinking in,
don't you go and kiss those lips, 'cause I've been there.
Made a friend of a bitch out of thin-air,
but I sit in denial and it's been such a while that I looked in the mirror, a while that feels like forever and a day.
Much better in a way. I can cover up longer.
Walk like an angel with a sedative to stay sane.
But, he's hugging on a time-bomb.
Such a lover with the lights on.
But, it's not long until they shut off.
This midnight club is all he has left. Dance with those demons, hold his last breath.
Glass full of cheap liquor, his last cent. Baggy of weed to calm the mad stress.
This isn't a place to get rid of it, eh? Hah. I'm a little deranged, but,
so blind and it feels good. Dark vibe, but it's chill.
We'll be here all night. Everything is alright.
But, god damn, it's so wrong.
Been down here so long, we can't be pulled up.
So, we party hard although our hearts are scarred. It's all we need.