1. |
The Termites
01:40
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I'd like to follow through, the drowsy calm of you.
To wait's a crime, but never works just fine.
They pollinate the room,
with particles and glue.
Expand my present senses,
until I'm anxiously resenting
all that truth.
The ticks and termites know just what to do.
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2. |
Bombing the Sunset
04:24
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You're not the one, you don't belong.
Can't read lips before the dawn,
hates the heat but loves the sun.
You're too afraid, to act your age.
Always walk when you oughta run,
always cool but never calm.
People like you like people like me,
cause I stay up to pass the time.
Fuck it up, then pass rewind.
Everybody loves you, everybody does.
It's true.
Everybody loves you, just for you.
It's true.
Kids call the cops, cops kill the kids.
Too in love to shake it off,
too in shock to really talk.
I called the moon to share things I drew.
Secret kites and hidden gems, railway cars and oxygen.
Seasons don't change, they just all look the same.
Mother nature's hooked on junk,
Father time has passed out drunk.
Everybody wants you, everybody does.
It's true.
Everybody wants you, when you're not you.
It's true.
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3. |
Chromatism
03:10
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Her favorite color is a Chromatism,
she doesn't need a reason why.
There's beauty in the rust and discoloration,
as her tears rolled slowly by.
She said: "It's lonely at the bottom of my wishful life."
Sometimes I feel I'd be a better person,
if I never went outside.
I'd have water from the tap and plants delivered,
all I'd have to do is sign.
She's on the fire escape, in the pouring rain.
I've got a lot to say, but I'll just
have to wait.
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4. |
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They were silent and stone-faced,
but nobody saw them like I did.
Floating right above my bed,
resting my head.
On a shoulder,
that I used to call a friend's.
Even if we're not speaking, I can always pretend.
You can blame it all on me,
whatever helps you sleep.
And turns all your nightmares into dreams.
I can still feel you breathing,
even when I'm dead I'll hear your voice.
You're calling me a failure (like I haven't heard that one before).
Got too many notebooks, and not enough ideas.
Got too many ideas, and not enough thought.
Put your head in the clouds, give me all that you got.
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5. |
Unkind
03:15
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Without a single word,
burning out on a telephone.
Talking to some stranger I pretend to know.
Would it be unkind to hang up the phone?
Would it leave them all alone?
You're a shell of conversation,
nothing to say to anyone.
Yet still, you'd never wanna be unkind.
So you stay on the other line.
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6. |
Russian Last Name
02:42
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