From the other side of gender-neutral bathroom stall
“Of all the assholes in this town I hate him most of all”
Every vodka mixer in the club was not enough
Nowadays it’s Live Laugh Love and listen to Death From Above
Forward, morning after, cleanse your sins inside a dock dry bath tub
Between the hunt sabs, ACABs, sobbing, being sick
Hearing your name in the chorus left me prostrate in the pit
There is nothing here to set the scene
No notable geography, or pathetic fallacy
You’re the only thought in my head
You’re the only thought I’ve got left in my head
Don’t get me wrong I love my friends’ kids, sure they’ll grow to be good leftists
Bet they’ll make their parents proud and make the best of what they’re left with
But they don’t buy the beers I drink, and they don’t drink the beers I buy
No children and no profession, walking dead at 37
Forward, morning after, naked if not for two blister plasters
She held a cold can of Summer Fruits between her warm thighs
Condensation glistens, sweat beads drip into my eyes
She’s turning me to God no joke
Mother, daughter, holy smoke!
There is nothing here to set the scene
No notable geography, or pathetic fallacy
You’re the only thought in my head
You’re the only thought I’ve got left in my head
Other lyrics by Los Campesinos!:
0898 Heartache
Cavalcade through antemortem, terminal suburban boredom Summon second magpie for a small dopamine hit You wait and watch your own self die, not final act but in real time …
A Psychic Wound
Tied to the pulse of the sea Wake me up from drooling on my shoulder To watch the Teignmouth waves go rolling by the window Is it a glorious view unless you say so? Unto …
Adult Acne Stigmata
The full moon is a wound A blemish on the beauty of the sky at night It’s bathing me in blood While you reflect its light You can change your mind Like sun and …
Clown Blood; Or, Orpheus' Bobbing Head
Entry of the Gladiators’ tinnitus plays in my skull Climb the Anhedonian Mountains just to circle the plughole It’s with regret I am succumbing to nostalgia …
Feast Of Tongues
Love lies bleeding in dead bouquet, dread the dripping years and wish away each day Swear I’d live through all of your nightmares if it meant that I could sleep …