|
"Would you like to suck my cock?
Berzerker." |
This one's from Cocksucker Blues [Rolling Stones]:
"Oh where can I get my cock sucked? Where can I get my ass fucked? I ain't got no money, But I know where to put it every time" Extra info on the subject: Supposedly there's a documentary on the Rolling Stones, that is hyper (!) at the lack of a better term, entitled 'Cocksucker Blues' that circulates 'round the globe, that was at some point official (meaning the Stones allowed the documentary to be shot), but that was banned from public viewing at peer Label and Stones pressure because of its way too explicit [re: full on S, D & R'n'R] content. I wanna watch it. |
I hurt myself today
to see if I still feel I focus on the pain the only thing that's real the needle tears a hole the old familiar sting try to kill it all away but I remember everything what have I become? my sweetest friend everyone I know goes away in the end and you could have it all my empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt I wear this crown of thorns upon my liar's chair full of broken thoughts I cannot repair beneath the stains of time the feelings disappear you are someone else I am still right here what have I become? my sweetest friend everyone I know goes away in the end and you could have it all my empire of dirt I will let you down I will make you hurt if I could start again a million miles away I would keep myself I would find a way Johnny Cash's video of his version of this NIN song made me cry, and I'm not a Johnny Cash fan or particularly sentimental. |
ejaculation is a waste of valuble resources.
|
The breath of the morning
I keep forgetting The smell of the warm summer air I live in a town Where you can't smell a thing You watch your feet For cracks in the pavement Up above Aliens hover Making home movies For the folks back home Of all these weird creatures Who lock up their spirits Drill holes in themselves And live for their secrets They're all uptight Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... I wish that they'd swoop down in a country lane Late at night when I'm driving Take me on board their beautiful ship Show me the world as I'd love to see it I'd tell all my friends But they'd never believe They'd think that I'd finally lost it completely I'd show them the stars And the meaning of life They'd shut me away But I'd be all right All right.. I'm just uptight Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... Uptight... (P.S. Is that HOLE?) |
Quote:
AOR! The Great Gods of No Wave! "Your kids are not safe from us homosexuals. Your kids are controlled by the intellectuals. Your kids will dabble in that devilish stuff. Your kids will dream about their teacher's muffs!" |
Hey hey little baby break down
Button-up baby you come undone Hey hey little baby get down Before you fall and hurt someone |
Now the police have taken you from under my wing
Do you think they dare defy me, I who am king Now, you must lie in that county jail Where I can't get to you by visit or mail So squirm with discomfort, wriggle and cough Six days of madness, you might throw me off Curse me in name. Defy me in speech But you'd pick me up right now if I were in your reach All through your sentence you've become resolved to your fate Hear now, younng man and woman, I'll be waitin' at the gate Don't be afraid, don't run, I'm not chased Son, my name is Heroin. You'll be back for a taste |
See them big plantations burning
Hear the cracking of the whips Smell that sweet magnolia blooming (And) see the ghosts of slavery ships I can hear them tribes a-moaning (I can) hear the undertaker's bell (Yeah), nobody can sing the blues Like Blind Willie McTell |
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root, Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze, Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees. Pastoral scene of the gallant south, The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth, Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh, Then the sudden smell of burning flesh. Here is fruit for the crows to pluck, For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck, For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop, Here is a strange and bitter crop. |
 |
Quote:
HOLE :love: Hope ~ Sublime You say you want perfection, that's your self-destruction. You don't know what you want, it's gonna take you a year to find out. I am not givin up. And when you've had enough, you take your bruised little head and you'll come running back to me I know that I will be the only on |
Quote:
I hate you so much. |
Velvet Underground - The Gift (one of the few songs that I still really pay attention to the lyrics)
Waldo Jeffers had reached his limit. It was now mid-August which meant that he had been separated from Marsha for more than two months. Two months, and all he had to show were three dog-eared letters and two very expensive long-distance phone calls. True, when school had ended and she'd returned to Wisconsin and he to Locust, Pennsylvania she had sworn to maintain a certain fidelity. She would date occasionally, but merely as amusement. She would remain faithful. But lately Waldo had begun to worry. He had trouble sleeping at night and when he did, he had horrible dreams. He lay awake at night, tossing and turning underneath his printed quilt protector, tears welling in his eyes, As he pictured Marsha, her sworn vows overcome by liquor and the smooth soothings of some Neanderthal, Finally submitting to the final caresses of sexual oblivion. It was more than the human mind could bear. Visions of Marsha's faithlessness haunted him. Daytime fantasies of sexual abandon permeated his thoughts. And the thing was, they wouldn't understand who she really was. He, Waldo, alone, understood this. He had intuitively grasped every nook and cranny of her psyche. He had made her smile, and she needed him, and he wasn't there. (Awww.) The idea came to him on the Thursday before the Mummers Parade was scheduled to appear. He had just finished mowing and edging the Edelsons lawn for a dollar-fifty And had checked the mailbox to see if there was at least a word from Marsha. There was nothing more than a circular form the Amalgamated Aluminum Company of America inquiring into his awning needs. At least they cared enough to write. It was a New York company. You could go anywhere in the mails. Then it struck him: he didn't have enough money to go to Wisconsin in the accepted fashion, true, but why not mail himself? It was absurdly simple. He would ship himself parcel post special delivery. The next day Waldo went to the supermarket to purchase the necessary equipment. He bought masking tape, a staple gun and a medium sized cardboard box, just right for a person of his build. He judged that with a minimum of jostling he could ride quite comfortably. A few airholes, some water, a selection of midnight snacks, and it would probably be as good as going tourist. By Friday afternoon, Waldo was set. He was thoroughly packed and the post office had agreed to pick him up at three o'clock. He'd marked the package "FRAGILE" and as he sat curled up inside, resting in the foam rubber cushioning he'd thoughtfully included, he tried to picture the look of awe and happiness on Marsha's face as she opened the door, saw the package, tipped the deliverer, and then opened it to see her Waldo finally there in person. She would kiss him, and then maybe they could see a movie. If he'd only thought of this before. Suddenly rough hands gripped his package and he felt himself borne up. He landed with a thud in a truck and then he was off. Marsha Bronson had just finished setting her hair. It had been a very rough weekend. She had to remember not to drink like that. Bill had been nice about it though. After it was over he'd said that he still respected her and, after all, it was certainly the way of nature and even though no, he didn't love her, he did feel an affection for her. And after all, they were grown adults. Oh, what Bill could teach Waldo -- but that seemed many years ago. Sheila Klein, her very, very best friend walked in through the porch screen door into the kitchen. "Oh God, it's absolutely maudlin outside." "Ugh, I know what you mean, I feel all icky." Marsha tightened the belt on her cotton robe with the silk outer edge. Sheila ran her finger over some salt grains on the kitchen table, licked her finger and made a face. "I'm supposed to be taking these salt pills, but," she wrinkled her nose, "they make me feel like throwing up." Marsha started to pat herself under the chin, an exercise she'd seen on television. "God, don't even talk about that." She got up from the table and went to the sink where she picked up a bottle of pink and blue vitamins. "Want one? Supposed to be better than steak." And attempted to touch her knees. "I don't think I'll ever touch a daiquiri again." She gave up and sat down, this time nearer the small table that supported the telephone. "Maybe Bill'll call," she said to Sheila's glance. Sheila nibbled on a cuticle. "After last night, I thought maybe you'd be through with him." "I know what you mean. My God, he was like an octopus. Hands all over the place." She gestured, raising her arms upward in defense. "The thing is after a while, you get tired of fighting with him, you know, and after all he didn't really do anything Friday and Saturday so I kind of owed it to him, you know what I mean." She started to scratch. Sheila was giggling with her hand over her mouth. "I'll tell you, I felt the same way, and even after a while," she bent forward in a whisper, "I wanted to," and now she was laughing very loudly. It was at this point that Mr. Jameson of the Clarence Darrow Post Office rang the door bell of the large stucco colored frame house. When Marsha Bronson opened the door, he helped her carry the package in. He had his yellow and his green slips of paper signed and left with a fifteen-cent tip that Marsha had gotten out of her mothers small beige pocket book in the den. "What do you think it is?" Sheila asked. Marsha stood with her arms folded behind her back. S he stared at the brown cardboard carton that sat in the middle of the living room. "I don't know." Inside the package Waldo quivered with excitement as he listened to the muffled voices. Sheila ran her fingernail over the masking tape that ran down the center of the carton. "Why don't you look at the return address and see who it is from?" Waldo felt his heart beating. He could feel the vibrating footsteps. It would be soon. Marsha walked around the carton and read the ink-scratched label. "Ugh, God, it's from Waldo!" "That schmuck," said Sheila. Waldo trembled with expectation. "Well, you might as well open it," said Sheila. Both of them tried to lift the stapled flap. "Ahh, shit," said Marsha groaning. "He must have nailed it shut." They tugged at the flap again. "My God, you need a power drill to get this thing opened." They pulled again. "You can't get a grip!" They both stood still, breathing heavily. "Why don't you get the scissors," said Sheila. Marsha ran into the kitchen, but all she could find was a little sewing scissor. Then she remembered that her father kept a collection of tools in the basement. She ran downstairs and when she came back, she had a large sheet-metal cutter in her hand. "This is the best I could find." She was very out of breath. "Here, you do it. I'm gonna die." She sank into a large fluffy couch and exhaled noisily. Sheila tried to make a slit between the masking tape and the end of the cardboard, but the blade was too big and there wasn't enough room. "Godamn this thing!" she said feeling very exasperated. Then, smiling, "I got an idea." "What?" said Marsha. "Just watch," said Sheila touching her finger to her head. Inside the package, Waldo was so transfixed with excitement that he could barely breathe. His skin felt prickly from the heat and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. It would be soon. Sheila stood quite upright and walked around to the other side of the package. Then she sank down to her knees, grasped the cutter by both handles, took a deep breath and plunged the long blade through the middle of the package, through the middle of the masking tape, through the cardboard, through the cushioning and (thud) right through the center of Waldo Jeffers head, which split slightly and caused little rhythmic arcs of red to pulsate gently in the morning sun. |
...and "Twilight" by Elliott Smith
Haven't laughed this hard in a long time I better stop now before I start crying Go off to sleep in the sunshine I don't want to see the day when it's dying She's a sight to see, she's good to me I'm already somebody's baby She's a pretty thing and she knows everything But I'm already somebody's baby You don't deserve to be lonely But those drugs you got won't make you feel better Pretty soon you'll find it's the only Little part of your life you're keeping together I'm nice to you, I could make it through That you're already somebody's baby I could make you smile if you stayed a while But how long will you stay with me baby Because your candle burns too bright Well, I almost forgot it was twilight Even if I think that you are right Well, I'm tired of being down, I got no fight You're wonderful, when it's beautiful But I'm already somebody's baby And if I went with you I'd disappoint you too Well, I'm already somebody's baby Already somebody's baby |
would you like to making fuck
berzker |
"Fight tuberculosis, folks." Christmas Eve, an old
junkie selling Christmas seals on North Park Street. The "Priest," they called him. "Fight tuberculosis, folks." People hurried by, gray shadows on a distant wall. It was getting late and no money to score. He turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife. Cab stop just ahead under a streetlight. Boy got out with a suitcase. Thin kid in prep school clothes, familiar face, the Priest told himself, watching from the doorway. "Reminds me of something a long time ago." The boy, there, with his overcoat unbuttoned, reaching into his pants pocket for the cab fare. The cab drove away and turned the corner. The boy went inside a building. "Hmm, yes, maybe" - the suitcase was there in the doorway. The boy nowhere in sight. Gone to get the keys, most likely, have to move fast. He picked up the suitcase and started for the corner. Made it. Glanced down at the case. It didn't look like the case the boy had, or any boy would have. The Priest couldn't put his finger on what was so odd about the case. Old and dirty, poor quality leather, and heavy. Better see what's inside. He turned into Lincoln Park, found an empty place and opened the case. Two severed human legs that belonged to a young man with dark skin. Shiny black leg hairs glittered in the dim streetlight. The legs had been forced into the case and he had to use his knee on the back of the case to shove them out. "Legs, yet," he said, and walked quickly away with the case. Might bring a few dollars to score. The buyer sniffed suspiciously. "Kind of a funny smell about it." "It's just Mexican leather." "Well, some joker didn't cure it." The buyer looked at the case with cold disfavor. "Not even right sure he killed it, whatever it is. Three is the best I can do and it hurts. But since this is Christmas and you're the Priest..." he slipped three bills under the table into the Priest's dirty hand. The Priest faded into the street shadows, seedy and furtive. Three cents didn't buy a bag, nothing less than a nickel. Say, remember that old Addie croaker told me not to come back unless I paid him the three cents I owe him. Yeah, isn't that a fruit for ya, blow your stack about three lousy cents. The doctor was not pleased to see him. "Now, what do you WANT? I TOLD you!" The Priest laid three bills on the table. The doctor put the money in his pocket and started to scream. "I've had TROUBLES! PEOPLE have been around! I may lose my LICENSE!" The Priest just sat there, eyes, old and heavy with years of junk, on the doctor's face. "I can't write you a prescription." The doctor jerked open a drawer and slid an ampule across the table. "That's all I have in the OFFICE!" The doctor stood up. "Take it and GET OUT!" he screamed, hysterical. The Priest's expression did not change. The doctor added in quieter tones, "After all, I'm a professional man, and I shouldn't be bothered by people like you." "Is that all you have for me? One lousy quarter G? Couldn't you lend me a nickel...?" "Get out, get out, I'll call the police I tell you." "All right, doctor, I'm going." Of course it was cold and far to walk, rooming house, a shabby street, room on the top floor. "These stairs," coughed the Priest there, pulling himself up along the bannister. He went into the bathroom, yellow wall panels, toilet dripping, and got his works from under the washbasin. Wrapped in brown paper, back to his room, get every drop in the dropper. He rolled up his sleeve. Then he heard a groan from next door, room eighteen. The Mexican kid lived there, the Priest had passed him on the stairs and saw the kid was hooked, but he never spoke, because he didn't want any juvenile connections, bad news in any language. The Priest had had enough bad news in his life. He heard the groan again, a groan he could feel, no mistaking that groan and what it meant. "Maybe he had an accident or something. In any case, I can't enjoy my priestly medications with that sound coming through the wall." Thin walls you understand. The Priest put down his dropper, cold hall, and knocked on the door of room eighteen. "Quien es?" "It's the Preist, kid, I live next door." He could hear someone hobbling across the floor. A bolt slid. The boy stood there in his underwear shorts, eyes black with pain. He started to fall. The Priest helped him over to the bed. "What's wrong, son?" "It's my legs, senor, cramps, and now I am without medicine." The Priest could see the cramps, like knots of wood there in the young legs, dark shiny black leg hairs. "A few years ago I damaged myself in a bicycle race, it was then that the cramps started." And now he has the leg cramps back with compound junk interest. The old Priest stood there, feeling the boy groan. He inclined his head as if in prayer, went back and got his dropper. "It's just a quarter G, kid." "I do not require much, senor." The boy was sleeping when the Priest left room eighteen. He went back to his room and sat down on the bed. Then it hit him like heavy silent snow. All the gray junk yesterdays. He sat there and received the immaculate fix. And since he was himself a priest, there was no need to call one. |
And:
Faster than a bullet Terrifying scream Enraged and full of anger Hes half man and half machine Rides the metal monster Breathing smoke and fire Closing in with vengeance soaring high He is the painkiller This is the painkiller Planets devastated Mankinds on its knees A saviour comes from out the skies In answer to their pleas Through boiling clouds of thunder Blasting bolts of steel Evils going under deadly wheels He is the painkiller This is the painkiller Faster than a lazer bullet Louder than an atom bomb Chromium plated boiling metal Brighter than a thousand suns Flying high on rapture Stronger free and brave Nevermore encaptured Theyve been brought back from the grave With mankind ressurrected Forever to survive Returns from armageddon to the skies He is the painkiller This is the painkiller Wings of steel painkiller Deadly wheels painkiller |
Quote:
|
Spoiled lyrics
Artist: Sebadoh Album: III Spoiled children soon to fall |
I Luv U lyrics
Artist: Dizzee Rascal Album: Boy in da Corner I luv u |
 |
Borderline cases
Reinforced glass Absent friends Passport photos an elastic past Empty pockets And they think it is all They think its soul All wrapped up on a swollen lip He draws the warm pipe Chemicals! Chemicals capture in winter's grip Turn us on Seperate the leper Hungry ghosts Hungry ghosts Another imprint In borrowed clothes We can be numb Passing through Blow blow blow blow Borderline cases Future proof Real thin air Real thin air Real thin air |
Quote:
this i would say would be a piece of prose set to music rather than lyrics, it was in existance as a text before the collaboration between wsb and kc |
"been around the world and found that only stupid people are breeding
the cretins cloning and feeding and i dont even own a tv put me in the hospital for nerves and then they had to commit me you told them all i was crazy they cut off my legs now i'm an amputee goddamn you!" its such a silly song, but i love it so. |
JOHN FRUSCIANTE LYRICS
"Mascara" There's a belt of sun dripping through a porthole In a set design Can you read your name? It's been so long since we blew from the inside So where have you been since you fell off the flat edge Of the world under an ugly sky You've been lying by But they meant you, dance under the moonlight Do what you think is the sum Of the flesh and blood Above there's small birds gone to trembling In for thousands of your years [Voice 1:] You felt like crystal in your thighs [Voice 2:] You get four red candles [Voice 2:] On the table with your penis by your eyes [Voice 1:] You're the one that makes me realize [Voice 1:] Big water flowing through to tomorrow [Voice 2:] Through to your vacation [Voice 1:] Apples and cake must have been your stake [Voice 2:] ? [something about "a gallon of wine"] but the smile you send in my direction [Both: Makes me feel like I'm alive [Voice 1:] You're hidden by your wooden legs [Voice 2:] You're my kind, You're my kind [Voice 2:] You always make me feel like a moon in my life [Voice 1:] Stay here in down at the world's edge, for a time [Voice 2:] It always makes me feel good to know you're alive, wrapping your ties [Voice 1:] Down by the whirlpool, I finally realized you must have bittenyour snake, Your little guy [Voice 1:] I've been insane well the time is slow [Voice 2:] I've been to a society where you can't see yourself and you can't feel sunshine [Voice 2:] And if you see me roaming the hillside won't you come along? It's all gone to The top of yourself. You'll always be alone. [Voice 1:] The Pope don't matter when the pawn is your sea, don't you agree? [Voice 2:] I like you in my love, makes me feel good just to know I can love someone like you. They'll make it hard for you choose. I can understand but when you see the tears coming you close Your eyes. To you I'm sure it's no surprise that I could be one of the dead. Thank god my underwear's full of lead without you. Without you. [Voice 1:] When you're around I'm wound around your thumb. You wanna be numb inside the gun. All your different delights are one big fight against thebaby inside that you've mistaken for pain. |
Bedoin tribes ascending
from the egg into the flower, alpha information sending state within the heaven shower from disciples the unending subtleties of river power. They slip inside this house as they pass by. If your limbs begin dissolving in the water that you tread, all surroundings are evolving in the stream that clears your head, find yourself a caravan like Noah must have led, and slip inside this house as you pass by. Slip inside this house as you pass by. True conception, knowing why, brings even more than meets the eye. Slip inside this house as you pass by. In this dark we call creation we can be and feel and know from an effort, comfort station, that's surviving on the go. There's infinite survival in the high baptismal glow. Slip inside this house as you pass by. There is no season when you are grown. You are always risen from the seeds you've sown. There is no reason to rise alone. Other stories given have sages of their own. Live where your heart can be given, and your life starts to unfold in the forms you envision in this dream that's ages old. On the river layer is the only sayer. You receive all you can hold, like you've been told. Every day's another dawning. Give the morning winds a chance. Always catch your thunder yawning. Lift your mind into the dance. Sweep the shadows from your awning. Shrink the fourfold circumstance that lies outside this house. Don't pass it by. Higher worlds that you uncover light the path you want to roam. You compare there and discover You won't need a shell of foam. Twice born gypsies care and keep the nowhere of their former home. They slip inside this house as they pass by. Slip inside this house as you pass by. You think you can't, you wish you could. I know you can, I wish you would slip inside this house as you pass by. Four and twenty birds of Maya baked into an atom you polarized into existence, magnet heart from red to blue: to such extent, the realm of dark within the picture it seems true, but slip inside this house and then decide. All your lightning waits inside you. Travel it along your spine. Seven stars receive your visit. Seven seals remain divine: seven churches filled with spirit, treasure from the angels' mine. Slip inside this house as you pass by. Slip inside this house as you pass by The space you make has your own laws. No longer human gods are cause. The center of this house will never die. There is no season when you are grown. You are always risen from the seeds you've sown. There is no reason to rise alone. Other stories given have sages of their own. Draw from the well of unchanging. Its union nourishes on in the right re-arranging till the last confusion is gone. Water-brothers trust in the ultimust of the always singing song they pass along. One-eyed men aren't really reigning. They just march in place until two-eyed men with mystery training finally feel the power fill. Three-eyed men are not complaining. They can yo-yo where they will. They slip inside this house as they pass by. Don't pass it by. -"Slip Inside This House" by Roky Erickson and Tommy hall |
Mascara was beautiful... Why does John Frusciante's solo work seem much better than RHCP's? And I guess, yeah, it's not exactly lyrics, just bending the rules a bit for "the 'priest' they called him".
|
Quote:
his solo work is much more interesting and beautiful and inspiring than anything rhcp have done, particularly the first album which mascara is from. which is now back in circulation with a reprint. john originally try to buy back everything the record company had because he didn't want it out there because he thought it was just shite, he did the same with smile from the streets you hold which is kinda average in his most fucked up junk phase. but niandra lades and usually just a t-shirt is a incredibly beautiful album. |
Quote:
is this a 13th floor elevators track or from some other roky project??? |
Quote:
i know its on Easter Everywhere which is a 13th Floor Elevator album. A very good album too |
Spacemen 3
Mary Anne (Campbell/Hubbard) Mary Anne, hold my hand Pretty babe, I understand You say it’s time to grab it blind Cheering crowds they screw my mind Just one time, I tell you now Do your thing girl and do it loud The desert sand, the secret plan Lord’s own knowledge is in your hand Grab a hold and ride that freight Be yourself, don’t hesitate Mary Anne, hold my hand Pretty babe, I understand You say it’s time to grab it blind Cheering crowds they screw my mind Just one time, that’s all I ask To do my thing, girl, and do it fast The desert sand, the secret plan Lord’s own knowledge is in your hand Grab a hold and ride that freight Be yourself, don’t hesitate Mary Anne, hold my hand Pretty babe, I understand You say it’s time to grab it blind Cheering crowds they screw my mind Just one time, I tell you now Do your thing girl and do it loud The desert sand, the secret plan Lord’s own knowledge is in your hand Grab a hold and ride that freight Be yourself, don’t hesitate |
First some Nick Cave songs, and then other stuff, and end with T. Rex:
"I kick every goddamn splinter Into all the looking eyes in the world Into all the laughing eyes Of all the girls in the world" "This desire to possess her is a wound and it’s naggin at me like a shrew but, I know, that to possess her Is, therefore, not to desire her" "No carpet on the floor And the winding cloth holds many moths Around your Ku Klux furniture I cum of death-head in your frock We discuss the murder plan We discuss murder and the murder act Murder takes the wheel of your Cadillac And death climbs in the back" "And a murder of crows did circle round First one, then the others flapping blackly down " "No carpet on the floor And the winding cloth holds many moths Around your Ku Klux furniture I cum of death-head in your frock We discuss the murder plan We discuss murder and the murder act Murder takes the wheel of your Cadillac And death climbs in the back" "And when they're on a roll she pulls a razor from her boot and a thousand pigeons fall around her feet" "And every day I agree you throw me down by the Christmas tree I watched your lights blink on and off while you start your fun with me I, I know your reasons and I, I know your goals We can fuck forever but you will never get my soul" "I took a record of pretty music I went down and baby you can tell I took a record of pretty music now I’m putting it to you straight from hell I’ll stick it deep inside I’ll stick it deep inside cause I’m loose" "Now I’m walking on downtown, in a town that is not my home, and shopping for breakfast, to be eaten all alone and dreaming of houses, none of them that I own -- but that’s not my provence -- that’s not for what I am known." "Architecture students are like virgins with an itch they cannot scratch, Never build a building till you’re 50 what kind of life is that?" "To hold the t.v. to my lips, the air so packed with cash then carry it up flights of stairs and drop it in the vacant lot To lose my train of thought and fall into your arms' tracks and watch beneath the eyelids every passing dot" "Today you're gonna be sick so sick you'll prop your forehead on the sink say oh Christ oh Jesus Christ my head's gonna crack like a bank Tonight you'll fall asleep in clothes-so late like a candy bar wrapped up for lunch that's all you get to taste poverty and spit poverty and spit Nausea bloody red eyes go to Nausea bloody red eyes go to Nausea bloody red eyes go to sleep You're talking out of harmony you can't remember what you said cut it out you feel retarded take the scissors saw the head" "I'll call you thing just when the moon sings and place your face in stone upon the hills of stars and gripped in the arms of the changeless madman we'll dance our lives away in the ballrooms of mars" "My life's a shadowless horse If I can't get across to you" "Standin' on a corner by my old high school, I let this female call me a fool I got on my knees and begged to the sun And I knew that my manhood had begun" |
Broadcast - We've Got Time
You and I, got something Why don`t we try What fools cannot buy What lives cannot hide You wrote your name, in silver light The question still unanswered Just in case it`s not right We`ve got time to work it out We`ve got what numbers cannot have Who knows we`ll work this rhythm out Miricle man possessing all that you can Will you change the circumstance Let it happen by chance You wrote your name in silver light The question still unanswered Just in case it`s not right We`ve got time to work it out We`ve got what numbers cannot have Who knows, we`ll work this rhythm out. We`ve got time to work it out We`ve got what numbers cannot have Who knows, we`ll work this rhythm |
I really like alot of Jeffrey Lewis' lyrics, especially his song life...
Life is a story don't you doubt bad times give you something to talk about the next time you feel you're all worn out remember life is a story don't you doubt it only takes a day for everything to turn around Love is a story they tell to you but the way they tell it ain't quite true you'll wake up one day and you're twenty-two you know love is just a story that they tell to you love takes a lot of work like everything else you're gonna do Friends are just the people that you can talk with somebody to talk about that somebody to talk about this but everyone changes and forever is a myth friends are just the people that you can talk with a lot of them'll leave but only a few you're gonna miss School is the place where I did my growing they fill your brain to overflowing they tell you this is all stuff you need to be knowing school is the place where I did my growing just when I got to like it it was time to be going The world is the place where it all happens they draw lines on it and call it a map in between every line's a different flag flapping the world is the place where it all happens six billion people all taking turns eating in a napkin Animals are critters just like you and me the only difference is that they don't worry about things that they can't smell or see animals are critters just like you and me so we buy pants and deodorants and claim not to be Songs are just something to waste your time I listen to yours and you listen to mine before we know it the day's gone by songs are just something to waste your time so is everything else to do whatever makes you feel fine God's just a story someone made up long ago before they had books and tv shows I don't believe in him and I ain't afraid to say so you know god's just a story someone made up long ago but it's hard not to be superstitious despite all you know Everyone's born and everyone dies everyone has a time and wonders why the ocean's blue so is the sky everyone's born and everyone dies the old lady cries, the new baby cries...and sighs Kisses are weird but they can be fun instead of shaking hands it's like shaking tongues I wish I got to do it more when I was young kisses are weird but they can be fun I hate going months and months without kissing anyone At this point it's been since uh...how many months 1 2 3 4 5 6...7 I think if kissing someone could make them pregnant the last person I kissed would have had their kid by now *snort laugh snort* Dreams are weird but they can be fun too they happen more often than kisses it's true in some I was naked and in some I flew dreams are weird but they can be fun too I wonder if you're dreaming about me when I'm dreaming about you Now that you heard everything I said there ain't nothing new inside your head if you want, disregard it all go ahead now that you've heard everything I said there are probably one or two things you coulda been doing instead Life is a story don't you doubt bad times give you something to talk about the next time you feel you're all worn out remember life is a story don't you doubt it only takes a day for everything to turn around and i also really like some of the lyrics from the fiery furnaces' rehearsing my choir "i reached for the arm of the armchair and missed" |
Hefner-Love Will Destroy Us In The End
All day, staring at the ceiling making friends with shadows on my wall. All night, hearing voices telling me that I should get some sleep, cause tomorrow might be good for something hold on, feeling like I'm headed for a break down, and I don't know why, But I'm not crazy I'm just a little unwell I know right now you can't tell, but stay a while and maybe then you'll see a different side of me. I'm not crazy I'm just a little impaired, I know right now you don't care, but soon enough you're gonna think of me, and how I used to be me, Talking to myself in public, dodging glances on the train. and I know, I know they've all been talking about me I can hear them whisper, and it makes me think there must be something wrong with me, out of all the hours thinking, somehow, I've lost my mind. But I'm not crazy I'm just a little unwell I know right now you can't tell, but stay a while and maybe then you'll see a different side of me. I'm not crazy I'm just a little impaired, I know right now you don't care, but soon enough you're gonna think of me, and how I used to be. I've been talking in my sleep, pretty soon they'll come to get me, they're taking me away, I'm not crazy I'm just a little unwell I know right now you can't tell, but stay a while and maybe then you'll see a different side of me. I'm not crazy I'm just a little impaired, I know right now you don't care, but soon enough you're gonna think of me, and how I used to be, yeah how I used to be, how I used to be, I'm just a little unwell, how I used to be, how I used to be, I'm just a little unwell |
Have you ever seen the face
You know the one i'm talking about Have you ever been to that place You know i'm not supposed to say Have you ever seen the face You know the one i'm talking about Have you ever been to that place You know the one i'm not supposed to say Holding on for something have you ever held on Holding on for someone Feels like holding on too long Have you ever held on It's not me I am pretending I'm not saved he turned me down He turns down It is so nice to meet you Who's gonna look at for you It's not me, I am pretending I'm not saved he turned me down He turns down Have you ever seen the face You know the one i'm talking about Have you ever been to that place You know the one i'm not supposed to say Holding on for something Have you ever held on Holding on for someone Feels like holding on too long Have you ever held on It's not me I am pretending I'm not saved he turned me down He turns down |
Quote:
I fuggin' loves Hefner I does. The Fall's Mark E Smith has written oodles of great lyrics. I shan't reproduce any here. |
Losing the star without a sky
Losing the reasons why Youre losing the calling that youve been faking And Im not kidding Its damned if you dont and its damned if you do Be true cause theyll lock you up in a sad sad zoo Oh hidy hidy hidy what cha tryin to prove By hidy hidy hiding youre not worth a thing Sew your fortunes on a string And hold them up to light Blue smoke will take A very violent flight And you will be changed Sand everything And you will be in a very sad sad zoo. I once was lost but now Im found was blind But now I see you How selfish of you to believe in the meaning of all the bad dreaming Metal heart youre not hiding Metal heart youre not worth a thing Metal heart youre not hiding Metal heart youre not worth a thing cat power, 'metal heart' |
Quote:
|
| All times are GMT -5. The time now is 06:13 AM. |
Powered by vBulletin Version 3.5.4
Copyright ©2000 - 2024, Jelsoft Enterprises Ltd.
All content ©2006 Sonic Youth