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Destroyer
Destroyer


Информация
Откуда Vancouver, BC, Canada
Жанры Chamber Pop
Indie Rock
Годы 1995—н.в.
Лейблы Merge Records
См. также Swan Lake
The New Pornographers
Hello, Blue Roses
Bonaparte
Состав
Dan Bejar



Альбом Destroyer


Streethawk: A Seduction (2001)
2001
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12.
. . .


Hey girl, come on and take a whirl in my machine
Though, I'm telling you now, it leaves scars on the wanton
Behind these bars there's a house built for haunting

Now, go or don't go
Just don't say no
'Cause the listeners of the world are on her side
The listeners of the world are on her side

She said the city was dead and gutless
I cried for the city

You gotta move to stay alive
You do the very modern jive
Oh, once I knew what that wisdom was for
September Girls think those pearls just wash up on the shore

Now, go or don't go
Just don't say no
With the listeners of the world all on her side
the listeners of the world all on her side

She said the city was dead and gutless
I cried for the city
She said the city was dead and gutless
I cried for the city
She said the city was dead and gutless
I cried for the city

Streethawk tempts the huntress:
"Let the girls go insane!"
As we lay down our weapons and sure enough
We are slain by that stuff

. . .


Absolve, absolve, absolve
We spent the better part of the day
Waiting for the wave to hit our side of town
It didn't

Absolve, absolve, absolve
I wash my hands of the stuff of legends
And what news of the horizon?
I hear it's all just a horizontal myth
So stop your cruising, start your criticizing, oh

Indulge yourself for once
Feel medium between them

Goddamn your eyes
They just had to be twin prizes waiting for the sun
And goddamn your eyes
They just had to be twin prizes waiting for the sun
They just had to be twin prizes waiting for the sun

See them sporting those eagle iron-ons
You made me swear never to wear?
Why did you spend the 90's cowering?
Why did you spend the 90's cowering?

And they're singing those inspirationals
You penned back in '72
And the hotels of choice are now toasting your voice
As the spas ring out
"What's another word for 'sacrament?'"

The world woke up one day to proclaim
"Thou shalt not take part in, or make, bad art."
In these tough, tough times friends like mine
Would rather dash than dine
On the bones of what's thrown to them

When a wave of her wand has us back at the pond
Taking notes for our crooked underground

The world woke up one day to proclaim
"Thou shalt not make or take part in the bad arts."
You see, the singer sold us out
The guitarist lost his clout on Life-Of-The-Mind Day

When signs become impure again
The crowd doesn't know where or when
To let it all hang out
Bloodlet yourself, street style

You've got the spirit, don't lose the feeling
You've got the spirit, don't lose the feeling
You've got the spirit, don't lose the feeling
You've got the spirit, don't lose the feeling

Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit) Don't lose the feeling
(You've got the spirit)

. . .


Beggars might ride you into doing one thing
When humiliation gets taught
And humility does not have the ability to move a muscle
Don't do The Hustle

Beggars might ride
You've heard of the sea versus the scenery
Where, everytime a man goes overboard
It sounds like somebody's scoring on Beggars' Night

Hey, Distro. King for the Hearing Impaired
I'm starting to think I know why you were spared
Paradise felt fine, what's yours was mine
Collaborators fuck us every time
Beggars might ride

You're taking rides with the Sensitive Miser
Taking sides with the New Sympathizers
Girl, what could have been till you gave up the violin
For a slight, but distasteful, penchant for men

Beggars might ride
You've heard it said and it's true
For someone so beautifully scarred
I imagine it must be hard
To stay away from a life of public relations

But try, girl, you've got to try
You've got to stay critical or die
Stay critical or die

. . .


So you had the best legs in a business built for kicks
But was this changing of the guards really supposed to make you sick?
It's alright... The Sublimation Hour!

Medium rotation, the shock of the new
And a memo from Feldman saying, "Everything is true."
It's alright... The Sublimation Hour!

Don't spend your life conceiving
That the widows won't get sick of their grieving
Till everyone walks out
Hey, isn't that what rock 'n' roll is all about, Princess?
Express your bloated self, willful and indignant
In the face of somebody's lord

You try to summon up the spirits live on Face the Nation
But the Port Authority just taxed incantations
It's alright... The Sublimate Hour!

Auction off the temple, it's money well-spent
Hey, are those tears in your eyes as the wind cries, "enlargement"?
It's alright... The Sublimate Hour!

Don't spend your life conceiving
That the widows won't get sick of their grieving
Till everyone walks out
Hey, isn't that what rock 'n' roll is all about, Princess?
Confess your bloated self, willful and indignant
In the face of somebody's lord, ah

So put your hands together, I hear it's a must
Until this phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust
It's alright... The Sublimation Hour!

I guess the streets will suffice till everybody makes nice
But there's a rumor going round even Destroyers have a price
It's alright... The Sublimation Hour

Don't spend your life conceiving

. . .


Soldier, you got to get out more
There is life after property
Everyone has got a finder's fee
Find something difficult to do and do it

Write your english music
Write your english music
Write your english music
Run free

She tasted of the Christmas wines and said
"So many things have run through me.
I know the altar boys, they just wanna do me and that's fine.
You got to have faith. Yeah, you got to have it."

Once again, it's a quarter-to-three by Ambleside-by-the-Sea
And something's telling you boy, it's time to take sides
And something's telling you boy, it's time to take sides
And something's telling you boy, it's time to take sides

And write your English Music
Though you know it will come to no good
When brilliance has a taste for suffering
And you're softer than the western world

. . .


Was it the movie or the making of '"Fitzcarraldo"
Where someone learned to love again?
'I can't remember' is not the same as 'I don't know,'
Virgin with a memory

Was it the movie or the making of "Fitzcarraldo"
Where your mother decided to fashion herself
After the sad deity we left on the shelf?
She wanted blood, all she got was sacrifice
She wanted blood, all she got was sacrifice
She wanted blood, all she got was sacrifice

Virgin without a memory
Now's your chance to be free
Of all those favorite bands you ditched for one that's grander
No Use For A Name to The Make-Up
It's all the same

The singer not the song, no
The singer not the song, no
The singer not the song, no

Formative years, wasted
In love with our peers, we tasted life with the stars
Anticlimactic as Mars was, still
A red earth with no way of knowing
The silver colossus exists just to be growing
A red earth with no way of knowing
The silver colossus exists just to be growing

Was it the movie or the making of "Fitzcarraldo"
Where someone learned to love again?
Where someone learned to love again?
Where someone learned to love again?

. . .


Screwed on the chemical floors of the dance world
Now you see why I'll always be a dancer
Plucked by the transcendental brats to the trance world
But desertscapes on the face of a girl were not the answer

And we are not the answer
We are not the answer
No, we are not the answer

No, don't worry my dear, nothing's been sold
It's just a golden bridge I'm burning whose fire is the real gold
No, don't worry my dear, nothing's been sold
It's just a golden bridge I'm burning whose fire is the real goal
Fire is the real goal

So, there'll be moonlight over Michelle tonight
And another west coast morning
Fuck it, I'm warning
You can look, you can touch but no, not that much
What's one more police action when I'm cancelling the truce again

So, there'll be moonlight over Michelle tonight
And another West Coast morning
Fuck it, I'm warning
You can look, you can touch but no, not that much
What's one more police action when I'm cancelling the truce again

. . .


You come down from the mountain
They lose your scent in the fountain
You cross over, cross over and make it big

Women whistle while they work
And men make sense when they prevail
From debtor's jail, you have never looked so beautiful, no

"Tread lightly through the fog," said the Apothecary's daughter
"You don't want to go, but you gotta, into the half-light of dawn."

The elegant attack, the omnivorous, but careful, strokes
The forger's folks are proud of their son
He has traded beauty in for fun

From a sick bed I read the nurse's notes you took the night before
You made the signs come alive
You made me strive for the door, ah

"Tread lightly through the fog," said the Apothecary's daughter
"You don't want to go, but you gotta, into the half-light of dawn."
"Tread lightly through the fog," said the Apothecary's daughter
"You don't want to go, but you gotta, into the half-light of dawn." Oh

You come down from the mountain
You lose the dogs through the fountain
You cross over, you cross over and you win

. . .


Helena, the ramifications are very large tonight
The stars say don't pick a fight or barge things around
See apparently, our bloodlines are botched beyond redemption
Luckily, you don't believe in redemption
This may work in your favor, I'm told

So throw the old furniture in the fire
As the children go barbaric behind the wire
They're just children

It's a drag, the way your flag
Had to come down with one of the above
America, so ferociously in bloom

But pistols at dawn can only work for so long
Curved appetites took flight when you decided to call the song
"A Pacific-Northwest Bitch Gets Shown To Her Room."

So throw the old furniture in the fire
As the children go barbaric behind the wire
They're just children

And this one goes out, just like the one before
To the 17th version of "How I Won the War"
Oh, first Destroyer and now the Underground

Helena, the ramifications are very large tonight
The stars, they don't pick a fight or barge things around

Just throw the old furniture in the fire
As the children go barbaric behind the wire
They're just children
They're just children
They're just children

. . .


It was back amongst the living
Your smile was giving me a thrill
Enough to come so close to closing the deal
The steal of a century
A century stolen from our hearts to a house on the hill

But if that is what it takes
If that is what it takes
If that is what it takes
To be a stone, a stone's throw from your throne
No man has ever hung from the rafters of a second home
No man has ever hung from the rafters of a second home

It's true
I needed you more back when I was poor
The wealthy dowager, the patroness, she guessed it
The answer wasn't yes

But her maxims were fine
The ethos that flew about her mind
Like swallows in search of a burned-down bell tower church

But if that is what it takes
If that is what it takes
If that is what it takes
To be a stone, a stone's throw from your throne
No man has ever hung at the temporary age of 24
Both feet on the floor

Listening to the bonafide stasis of sound
The eaves dripping yesterday's
Ill-timed August rain
If there is such a thing as ill-timed August rain

. . .


Why do you work when you're sick of lifting
When you're sick of lifting?
The festivities left you on the shelf
Why are you always trying to please everybody but yourself
That which bears witness to it's own failure
Are you so sure?

Why do you work for the festival
When you're sick of lifting spirits
Spirits, spirits to the sky
"Body" and "Soul"
Two words for that same nameless thing you have never known

Why do you work
In place of bearing witness to your own inclusion
Inclusion
Inclusion

And strike
And strike

Strike
Strike
Strike
Strike
Strike
Strike
Strike
Strike

. . .


There ought to be a law
There ought to be a railroad
To take me away
To take me away

There ought to be a law
An ocean of escape
To take me away
To take me away

There ought to be a law
There ought to be a railroad
That takes you away
That takes you away

There ought to be a law
An order of restraint
That takes you away
That takes you away

I heard those symphonies come quick
Now that you are sick of breathing new life into the form
Hey Streethawk, you've been spotted hanging out outside the storm
Why don't you fly?

. . .


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