Conerstone - texty

31. ledna 2010 v 16:00 | ScaryDolly |  Arctic monkeys


1. Cornerstone

I thought I saw you in The Battleship but it was only a look alike
She was nothing but a vision trick under the warning light
She was close, close enough to be your ghost
But my chances turned to toast when I asked her if I could call her your name
I thought I saw you in The Rusty Hook, huddled up in a wicker chair
I wandered over for a closer look and kissed whoever was sitting there
She was close and she held me very tightly until I asked awfully politely
"please can I call you her name?"
I elongated my lift home
I let him go the long way round
I smelt your scent on the seat belt and kept my short cuts to myself
I thought I saw you in The Parrot's Beak messing with the smoke alarm
It was too loud for me to hear her speak and she had a broken arm
It was close, so close that the walls were wet
And she wrote it out in Letraset
"No, you can't call me her name"
Tell me where's your hiding place
I'm worried I'll forget your face
I've asked everyone
I'm beginning to think I imagined you all along
I saw your sister in The Cornerstone on the phone to the middle man
When I saw that she was on her own I thought she might understand
She was close, well you couldn't get much closer
She said "I'm really not supposed to but yes, you can call me anything you want"

2. Catapult

Both sides,
In softly came the growl from both sides
And if his whisper splits the mist
Just think of what he's capable of with his kiss
Nice try,
You cannot turn away, but nice try
He'll turn your legs to little building blocks and with his index finger flicks you on your socks
I go high pitched
He'll talk and make your voice sound high pitched
Dread to think if he got you on your own and whispered in your ear in that baritone
It's the same stone
His heart was cut out of the same stone that they use to carve his jaw
It's impossible not to feel inferior
And he could catapult you back to your daddy or into any hissing misery
And he will tell you how the day after a triumph is as hollow as the day after a tragedy
He'll extinguish any chance of escape when he slaps you on your arse or kisses your nape
And he's leaving without saying bye
And they would queue up to listen to him pissing and hang around to watch some poor girl blub
And then they'd chase him down the avenue incessantly pestering him to let him join the club
He knows how to put a cork in the fuss and just how to shut up the charming ones of us
And I've seen him talking to your lady friend
There's a dust track waiting for betrayal where he'll teach you all the bits they missed

3. Sketchhead

Sketchead is coming to your party
He's walking up your drive and he's swinging all his keys around
He's seen you with your top off
He already knows your boyfriend, retain your introductions
That cumbersome protagonist
The pips in your quince
The eye behind the spy hole
The itch you can't itch in your ear and the knock that shattered your packet of peppermints
There's poison in his spit
He'll compliment your tits and leave you to your wits
Convincingly insisting the tyres were bald when you gave him the car
Still coming to your party, still walking up your drive and still swinging all his keys round on his finger as a pendulum to unnerve.
And then there's you
You've changed
I approached you like you were the same
But soon it was apparent name was required
New lips went and fired accomplishments at me while I'm captivated by your magazine skin
The tint on your lenses obscures to begin
And you know full well that anyone who says that they don't prefer the sequel still be swinging on themselves tonight.

4. Fright Lined Dining Room

You thrive on dancing in our laps before the more familiar chaps who know the curtain leads to fever
We watched a womanizer cry and in the last sip you and I declared we might require a breather
I am a truth's true truant and I can feign excitement fluently as solidly as I can busk shock.
With well presented merriment and I know all too well I shouldn't break the key off in the lock
The tumble splits the frame revealing silk and fits
in the fright lined dining room throw a gaze towards them while they feast
The days drag their heels when you're not there to crack the whip
And the weeks wait to burst like a sachet of brats
The old pantomime villain follows my coat and he hides where it hangs and he spies through the slats
And meanwhile in the desert's only costume shop the cowls hang and wait to rot away the identities of the willing
I'm back to sugar in the night, rocketing shutter doors despite the shop not opening for hours
You can itch, flap and whistle.
Try to avoid the tock
as I scribbled over drivel you were snoring showing off.
The tumble splits the frame revealing silk and fits in the fright lined dining room
throw a gaze towards them while they feast.

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