Song | The Long Vein Of The Law |
Artist | Subtle |
Album | A New White |
作曲 : Dalrymple, Dowers, Drucker ... | |
When the long vein (x5) | |
of the law | |
When the long vein of the law bites his right eye at you | |
from behind his stingy brimed black hat of all facts | |
And yours can only choke | |
filing blanks all over the floor in front of you | |
until your mouth half lights | |
and all your body water rushes to the soft fillets of your back | |
Before you can speak, | |
he touches a very serious finger to the neck of your hand | |
and your skin breaks out in | |
solid map | |
all spreading from a sizable city some three hundred miles east of Dallas, Texas | |
Dallas appearing just below the cheap lamp of throat shakra | |
the thirty five cent running the length of your torso | |
and disappearing over the soft cost of your hip | |
Some moments later, | |
your west central Texas skin begins to purple, | |
and suddenly he's feeling for thorns on the stems of your eyes | |
You jerk them back to the twice focus shot | |
of your glasses blur black rim and hiss | |
and fiddle in your pockets for a first stuffed animal or some obscene note | |
You have a good idea of what's coming | |
You reach for your mouth to cut words | |
But | |
He speaks: | |
Son, you seize the grass and sun tight in the film beneath your face | |
and wrong between half writ books on outcoals and medium no medium no | |
He shows you a feather that he grew in his femur | |
You reach for your mouth to cut words | |
But all you can say is | |
Everyday Hard(x4) | |
And so he points to a hole now spreading carefully on your sunken chest gently shakes his clear blue head and teaches you the word Vacation before dissappearing into the open mouth of his face fixed hat of all fact | |
And then it all goes black | |
A R (x2) | |
When you come to, | |
something in your throat feels more forgiven, | |
and the sunrise seems to have put back the knife it sometimes pulls on you | |
(x4) | |
Hopefully, next time you see one another, | |
He'll be all "What's up?" with his hat off, one hand full of coconut and small umbrella | |
A young George Washington lounging there beside him, | |
sucking centers from one hundred watt bulbs with a two dollar bill, | |
scoping his navel full of sweat as it steeps in the sun |
zuò qǔ : Dalrymple, Dowers, Drucker ... | |
When the long vein x5 | |
of the law | |
When the long vein of the law bites his right eye at you | |
from behind his stingy brimed black hat of all facts | |
And yours can only choke | |
filing blanks all over the floor in front of you | |
until your mouth half lights | |
and all your body water rushes to the soft fillets of your back | |
Before you can speak, | |
he touches a very serious finger to the neck of your hand | |
and your skin breaks out in | |
solid map | |
all spreading from a sizable city some three hundred miles east of Dallas, Texas | |
Dallas appearing just below the cheap lamp of throat shakra | |
the thirty five cent running the length of your torso | |
and disappearing over the soft cost of your hip | |
Some moments later, | |
your west central Texas skin begins to purple, | |
and suddenly he' s feeling for thorns on the stems of your eyes | |
You jerk them back to the twice focus shot | |
of your glasses blur black rim and hiss | |
and fiddle in your pockets for a first stuffed animal or some obscene note | |
You have a good idea of what' s coming | |
You reach for your mouth to cut words | |
But | |
He speaks: | |
Son, you seize the grass and sun tight in the film beneath your face | |
and wrong between half writ books on outcoals and medium no medium no | |
He shows you a feather that he grew in his femur | |
You reach for your mouth to cut words | |
But all you can say is | |
Everyday Hard x4 | |
And so he points to a hole now spreading carefully on your sunken chest gently shakes his clear blue head and teaches you the word Vacation before dissappearing into the open mouth of his face fixed hat of all fact | |
And then it all goes black | |
A R x2 | |
When you come to, | |
something in your throat feels more forgiven, | |
and the sunrise seems to have put back the knife it sometimes pulls on you | |
x4 | |
Hopefully, next time you see one another, | |
He' ll be all " What' s up?" with his hat off, one hand full of coconut and small umbrella | |
A young George Washington lounging there beside him, | |
sucking centers from one hundred watt bulbs with a two dollar bill, | |
scoping his navel full of sweat as it steeps in the sun |