Paroles Record Player de Comet Gain

Textes et Paroles de Record Player

In our pockets, receipts and machinesIn our estate the lift doesn't workWork gets hard, 'cos here it's meant to beIn our flunky fingers, silver rings and sweatFrom all that worried waiting for things to happenYou know they should, if only they wouldBut in our heads, visions of getting beat up in back alleywaysToo much mincing aboutLondon's schemes devalue its youthIt's inside your burning veinsI'm in love with the solidarity that no longer existsThe 80's soul boy misunderstood lettersAll those obscure books and films and 45sLet convictions strengthen love for you, more than you can knowIn our bones it feels like I'm going cold, physicallyAm I disappearing from sight? No friends, or lovers, or lettersIn our hearts a secret Behind phone box languageBugs in the tap'Cos there are no secrets kept hidden in this big cityIn our mouths contempt, tops of alcoholic lies dribbling proletarian junk, like a spasticEvery year you get a little sadder, a little drunkerA little more violent, cynical, waiting for direction or a new disciplineIn our pants, hard cocks, a ruffian on the stairsWriting dirty words in Archway"So the only reason you play bad guitar is to get a bad reactionAll this clone collective band shit hides your boredom, contempt, and no ideas"Our only ambition is just to dieSolidarity with other bands is good, we have no ideasIn our palms, silver rings to give to young bridesKept safe for now, in our souls poor decisions waitInside creeping out, pushing you forward into an abyss of future uncertainty, of torture, treated clothClimbing like a monkey to reach the top of stairs, lift broken downGet into the car, (?)Go home quickly 'cos we have no ideasIn discos chatting up girls, dropping gins, slurring stupid words, Nicotine fingers reaching outGo home and listen to your cracking needle records in stained sleevesPut it all into unfocused clarityEstates all over London full of despair and violenceLoud radios are settling our nervesWe look to get back into tubes and chords We sing and cry all nightAnd in the morning it starts again, and again, and againMakes the guitar snap, all through the pissed-up slumberYour body is getting colder, there's no more purposeLost, nowhere to go, have they chucked you out of school?Made you clean the parks?I wanted to be a monkey, not end up a cartoonWe have no ideas

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