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Description
I made this a year or two back in an especially angsty crisis of summer youthfulness. The glockenspiel was played with a drumstick with a sock wrapped around it. Innovation.
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Lyrics
Chandeliers flush the cobwebs out of space with
Tidal waves of polished golden chains.
Our snowglobe is shaken before a fat child's face and
Put away in a sticky cardboard box full of stains.
Your thoughts are like a dead channel.
Your thoughts are hypnotic, aquatic.
Zirconium, bullet-proof, reinforced aeroportals,
Eyes fixed upon ceilings (you can't see what you're leaving).
Drinking thin purple liquid and faking quadragesimals,
In your smile and in your blink there is no self-deceiving.
Like a stare in a silence the hammers meet eggs.
Like a stare in a silence the hammers meet eggs.
Tidal waves of polished golden chains.
Our snowglobe is shaken before a fat child's face and
Put away in a sticky cardboard box full of stains.
Your thoughts are like a dead channel.
Your thoughts are hypnotic, aquatic.
Zirconium, bullet-proof, reinforced aeroportals,
Eyes fixed upon ceilings (you can't see what you're leaving).
Drinking thin purple liquid and faking quadragesimals,
In your smile and in your blink there is no self-deceiving.
Like a stare in a silence the hammers meet eggs.
Like a stare in a silence the hammers meet eggs.
VicDiesel
Who was it that said "youth is wasted on the young"?
But hey, if you spend your younger years making this sort of brooding song, then they're not quite wasted.
I liked this. Very moody.