Song | This Is the Place |
Artist | Sims |
Album | Field Notes |
You’re all waiting, yeah we’re all waiting for the call on the telephone | |
When I laughed back at the laugh track | |
I laughed hard from all my soft parts | |
and my smarts tempted to fix it | |
to fit it into the rigid edges of what I live in | |
attempted but it didn’t | |
I’m sketching up something different | |
a picture that was never pitched on thirty second clips, this is it | |
and no amount of that will reconcile what’s missing, or isn’t | |
but don’t it beckon louder if you listen | |
there’s goes the recipe | |
find the pressure that’s pressing me | |
then tempter my tendencies | |
too much to render a memory or forge an identity | |
at the edge of my empathy, I’ve had enough | |
and the walls they just might cave | |
or I just might find that train to come and take me away | |
but it’s sealed in cellophane, a melamine escape | |
what better way to celebrate while I sit and waste the hell away? | |
We’re all waiting, yeah we’re all waiting for the call on the telephone | |
Hold on tight she begged me dearly | |
I promise darling, I’ll won’t let you go | |
The city lights seemed to dance so clearly | |
behind the soft focus of the falling snow | |
huddled close as the wind came tearing | |
through the concrete canyon | |
my fingers long since lost their feeling | |
but I could feel hers creeping underneath my coat | |
or that one summer evening | |
in the grass, fireworks above | |
we laughed between our kissing | |
as the ash rained down on us | |
and I never even looked to the sky to see the explosions of light | |
every rocket took flight was reflected alive | |
in the pale blue eyes of my love | |
but I’ve never seen her before | |
she just lived when my eyes closed | |
but I could feel her so real, I swear her lips grazed my ear lobe | |
I seen our family grow | |
I lived those problems we faced | |
I memorized her every line and know just how her skin tastes | |
so go on and leave me to rest | |
speak only sweetness on breath | |
cause in my dreams we live and breathe and when I awake I am dead | |
but that’s just tricks of the mind | |
the lie the loneliness buys | |
some dreams are so damn beautiful you hope you never wake up | |
You’re all waiting, yeah we’re all waiting for the call on the telephone | |
And I’ve always got one eye on the clock | |
and a nagging thought, something else and I knew it | |
and it may not stop and it might be my ruin | |
a spinning top on top of my “what the hell am I doing?” | |
but this is it, this is the place, don’t let that high go to waste | |
I can’t pull me down | |
I don’t care what grass what shade | |
I’m a turbine spinning blade | |
I’m an oil rig drilling but it runs me dry | |
sometimes I stare at your picture wondering how did I get here | |
and compare your time to mine | |
but that’ll get me nowhere probably | |
I could blame it on the human body | |
evolution of the movement sloppy | |
breaker, breaker, does someone copy? | |
With my hands up and my guard down | |
and it pumped up, but it let down | |
and it said jump but I stayed ground | |
and nothing happened | |
but something happened | |
There goes the recipe | |
find the pressure that’s pressing me | |
then temper my tendencies | |
too much | |
to the edge of my empathy | |
maybe I’ve had enough |
You' re all waiting, yeah we' re all waiting for the call on the telephone | |
When I laughed back at the laugh track | |
I laughed hard from all my soft parts | |
and my smarts tempted to fix it | |
to fit it into the rigid edges of what I live in | |
attempted but it didn' t | |
I' m sketching up something different | |
a picture that was never pitched on thirty second clips, this is it | |
and no amount of that will reconcile what' s missing, or isn' t | |
but don' t it beckon louder if you listen | |
there' s goes the recipe | |
find the pressure that' s pressing me | |
then tempter my tendencies | |
too much to render a memory or forge an identity | |
at the edge of my empathy, I' ve had enough | |
and the walls they just might cave | |
or I just might find that train to come and take me away | |
but it' s sealed in cellophane, a melamine escape | |
what better way to celebrate while I sit and waste the hell away? | |
We' re all waiting, yeah we' re all waiting for the call on the telephone | |
Hold on tight she begged me dearly | |
I promise darling, I' ll won' t let you go | |
The city lights seemed to dance so clearly | |
behind the soft focus of the falling snow | |
huddled close as the wind came tearing | |
through the concrete canyon | |
my fingers long since lost their feeling | |
but I could feel hers creeping underneath my coat | |
or that one summer evening | |
in the grass, fireworks above | |
we laughed between our kissing | |
as the ash rained down on us | |
and I never even looked to the sky to see the explosions of light | |
every rocket took flight was reflected alive | |
in the pale blue eyes of my love | |
but I' ve never seen her before | |
she just lived when my eyes closed | |
but I could feel her so real, I swear her lips grazed my ear lobe | |
I seen our family grow | |
I lived those problems we faced | |
I memorized her every line and know just how her skin tastes | |
so go on and leave me to rest | |
speak only sweetness on breath | |
cause in my dreams we live and breathe and when I awake I am dead | |
but that' s just tricks of the mind | |
the lie the loneliness buys | |
some dreams are so damn beautiful you hope you never wake up | |
You' re all waiting, yeah we' re all waiting for the call on the telephone | |
And I' ve always got one eye on the clock | |
and a nagging thought, something else and I knew it | |
and it may not stop and it might be my ruin | |
a spinning top on top of my " what the hell am I doing?" | |
but this is it, this is the place, don' t let that high go to waste | |
I can' t pull me down | |
I don' t care what grass what shade | |
I' m a turbine spinning blade | |
I' m an oil rig drilling but it runs me dry | |
sometimes I stare at your picture wondering how did I get here | |
and compare your time to mine | |
but that' ll get me nowhere probably | |
I could blame it on the human body | |
evolution of the movement sloppy | |
breaker, breaker, does someone copy? | |
With my hands up and my guard down | |
and it pumped up, but it let down | |
and it said jump but I stayed ground | |
and nothing happened | |
but something happened | |
There goes the recipe | |
find the pressure that' s pressing me | |
then temper my tendencies | |
too much | |
to the edge of my empathy | |
maybe I' ve had enough |