Parquet Courts все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

I'm trying to forget about someone I love
I'm trying to leave the person behind
I'm trying not to think about someone dear
But trying don't work sometimes
I'm trying not to picture a face I saw
A face that has been burned in my mind
I'm trying not to think of seeing it again
Was that the final time?

Bodies made of slugs and guts
Bodies made of slugs and guts
Rusted bench seats been stuck in ruts full of bodies
Made of slugs and guts
Sludged all the way through the mud to orate to some
Bodies made of slugs and guts
Mister's suit was stained like a sweatshop
I said, "It's my soul, I wanna keep it on the inside."

I was feeling nostalgic for the days when
My thoughts dripped on to my head from the ceiling.
I remember the feeling of the museless existence
Of the drunk, bored and listless,
Endless waiting for something that I knew wasn't coming.

And it seems these days I'm captive in this borrowed time.
Seems these days I'm captive in this borrowed time.

There are no more summer lifeguard jobs.
There are no more art museums to guard.
The lab is out of white lab coats,
Сause there are no more slides and microscopes.
But there are still careers in combat, my son.

There are no more roles on TV shows,
There are no road-cone dispensing jobs.

We measured the distance of the space between islands.
Gazing out into the river Styx she said "It's no river at all.
It's a tidal estuary," was her only line, she delivered it well.
Oh, you're just a caster of worthless spells.
Oh, you're just a caster of worthless spells.

They called it the pyrex age, the glass dawn of our thought process.
Later to be chronicled in violent history books.

Like a red state's Baptist fervor.
Like a small town's unsolved murder.
Some secrets are just best resting in the tombs of buried thought-slums.
As for Texas: donuts only - you cannot find bagels here.
And I'll reserve my highest Hosannas
For the communion song that served with light beer,
And a chorus that inspires the score played in my myth-steeped years.

There's a drawer in my house that I try
To keep closed but it's open. there's
A commitment that I made to be
Somewhere but it's broken. an oblique
Mantra in my head it lies there on
The floor like a bed that would
Collapse like a trap, if it was spoken
You gotta keep it even, even when

I got a gold medal record time, gold record, diamond mine,
Name in print, tongue, t-shirts and minds.
Thread count - high
Commissions - high
Hourly rates - high
A minute of your time?
Forget about it.

Train death paintings, anti-meth murals
Color the ghettos of N. Dakota.
Bismark tractor association, coffee and toothpaste.
This was vacation...
I saw, while squinting, the hidden layer
In those lost-era grain elevators.
Feudal beginnings, amber wave looseness,
Post-Nordic grinning tired and toothless.

What could I even say to you Rene?
If I could stop reacting then I'd be acting like your fool because
What could I even say to you Rene?
I could follow you but then you'd never see me right behind you

I went to a shrink and he found my brain
And I have no ideas is what he found
I went to a shrink and he found my brain

I saw a name in the graveyard that I knew
Glowing, like the neon in a lounge light
Spelled just the same as the twinge that crawls through you
As it, passes slowly through a fast night
Dear everything i've harmed the fault lies on my tongue
And I, take it holy as a last rite
I picked away all the gray hairs that i'd grown
That remained on the

My last guilt-themed solicitation
Delivered slowly in hesitation,
It could not soothe me, could not seduce me
Into repainting these strokes so loosely.
How I remember my ex-blue t-shirt.
Where the hole in it fell...

Plain-dressed, wilting and wired,

I drank right from your tears of plenty and
I exchanged all the gifts you sent me.
Dreary beats over fast-rapped verses
Leaked through windows in hatchback hearses.

Snacker's conference at the buffet table
Double dip in the goose pate mold.
Posthumous pranks left in the casket.

[Andrew Savage]
I’d seen the bloodlands of Antietam
The shotgun shack in Tupelo
But a brick circumference left hollow by Sherman
Crumbling before me how it moaned

His shape swallows my recollection
That phantom silhouette implied

I'm making plans for the day all of this is through
Seeing my path there, hearing the song I'll sing
And food that I'll taste and all the drinks that I'll consume
Return the smile of an unmasked friend
As we take streets I don't walk down 'cause I want to avoid
Fighting temptation, walk at a downtown pace
And treasure the crowds that once made me act so annoyed
Sometimes I wonder how long 'til I'm a face in one?

Pocket contents: Rizla pack, spare change, receipts in wads.
Stacked in camps across my desk, each day another pile.
Time was measured in balls of lent, laundry claim tags and number of cents
It takes to drown your brain into a just-dowsed former fire.

Coffee breaks and lamb's tail shakes aren't arbitrary marks.
Paycheck stubs, good sex and drugs can fade away distractions of the
Mantras of "keep going" that are lodged into my thoughts.

Two young fingers in wet cement,
There's a new impression built in front of my apartment.
BG & EE that's so sweet
I wonder what E's gonna say when she sees.

It's a pretty far walk to the DMV

Storm chasin' hippies at a discount mall

We got dancin'
We got screamin'
We got laughin'
And we got feelin'
We got smokin'
We got dreamin'
We got relations
And we got feelin'