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Текст песни "Shooting Rockets (From the Desk of Night's Ape)" |
 Caution, hot ashes
The girl says to her first kiss
They stuck eternity inside a bird's fist just to watch it fly
Just to make it go
Just to let them slip away
Don't ask me how I know
I just do
Night surgeon dons his robes
To take apart a fellow amateur
Well I've heard it once said
One gives what one gets
Oh I didn't go out into this world
Just to get stung by rich mans hornets
Who amongst us has left these things undone
Who let these animals into my kingdom
A blind doe learns to work the rig
A once thin man turns into a pig
The endless groves where my soul pukes the night away
The problem as I see it
I was messed up
On a tangent I was wrong
They mix them strong
And I was partial to the feeling
It's a terrible feast we've been stuffing our faces on
A terrible breeze from the east coming on
Bearing the scent of our one hundred first kills
You love her you leave her
You try to achieve
But the vision that she has from the start
I've got street despair carved into my heart
I've got street despair carved into my heart
My dear didn't you hear
A chorus is a thing that bears repeating
And the problem as I see it is
Girls stay away from that shit
Saw you in Swan Lake you were great
Saw you down in Strathcona square devouring an AfterEight
Who cares I didn't mean it
For your last encore
You sawed yourself in half
It was just you and your raft and this crummy requiem
Shooting rockets
Run or fly
At some point I had to ask why
I had to show you a world not tethered to disasters
But this would prove impossible
I snuck a look inside your skull and said
Don't look now
But Gretchen's seeing red again
The truth is a thing to coax out of it shell
The truth on this you and I are going to tangle
Off treacherous bliss off
First you come in all sweet
And then on tiger's paws you retreat
Into a darken nether shadow region
Hey are they still serving that piss
Shooting rockets
And it'd be true what they say
Were they to say why yes I dig the scourge
It's not that I quit
It's not that my poems are shit
In the light of the privilege of dreams
Alive she cried once now alive she screams
Shooting rockets
Praise be the delightful muezzin tending his flock
Praise be those alabaster hands running amok on your body
They love you in spite of your lame scene
We live in darkness the light is a dream you see
Shooting rockets
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