Kyle Huntington
10/06/08, 11:57 AM
These are my band's lyrics, I didn't write them personally, but as we all share songwriting/vocal/instrument duties in the band I thought I would post. I'm posting three in here, because it seems pointless making three seperate threads and can comment on each of them in one place if people so wish. Thanks.
Weathervane
Let's take it back to the concrete steps,
Touching teeth and smoking cigarettes,
We made them our own like skin and bone,
We captured the camera lens.
You sampled a taste of being tailor made,
A quick-wit brain behind a custom face,
It all unfolded like a chaotic scene,
It was false like a play viewed through a TV screen.
Your body shakes as the colours fade,
Break the seal and pass the day.
A holiday card they sold to the slaves,
I was placed on your shelf just to boost your wage.
Your body shakes as the colour fades.
They're numbered days in a powdery haze.
Is this all you've got to give or to waste,
Away.
Books About The Sea
All the writer's caught,
A bad case of writer's block,
So they kept the lights turned off.
They live in poetry,
Wear masks of imagery,
In and out of dreams.
Dreams
And they live,
In the ink,
That spills,
From their pens.
Hoping that one day,
It'll make sense.
Open up a shop,
Selling what you don't want,
but it's all you got.
Take your mind off the city,
Read books about the sea,
To help you fall asleep.
Sleep.
So you live,
In the ink,
That spills,
From their pens.
Hoping that one day,
It'll make sense.
Bright Paint On A White Wall
I hate the sound,
And I can't block it out,
I'm going to walk through the country,
Setting songs with the scenery.
I'll let the talkers talk,
Until they've lost their thoughts,
Then replace it with some poetry,
Real words chosen carefully.
I read the lines,
That you left behind,
You were a girl on a London rooftop,
That read quotes from a hardback book.
You said your favourite page,
Was when she fell on stage,
I asked if it made you cry,
You said 'now and then from time to time'
Chorus
We're building bridges made of matchsticks,
You said "it's too hard",
It makes you "feel sick.
How can they be so optimistic?
When we all know,
This is going to shit."
I hate the shapes,
That I watched you make,
Bright paint on a white wall,
All vibrant and symmetrical,
Just like before,
On the marble floor,
You could call it dis-tasteful,
Tainted,
Or just beautiful.
Chorus
Weathervane
Let's take it back to the concrete steps,
Touching teeth and smoking cigarettes,
We made them our own like skin and bone,
We captured the camera lens.
You sampled a taste of being tailor made,
A quick-wit brain behind a custom face,
It all unfolded like a chaotic scene,
It was false like a play viewed through a TV screen.
Your body shakes as the colours fade,
Break the seal and pass the day.
A holiday card they sold to the slaves,
I was placed on your shelf just to boost your wage.
Your body shakes as the colour fades.
They're numbered days in a powdery haze.
Is this all you've got to give or to waste,
Away.
Books About The Sea
All the writer's caught,
A bad case of writer's block,
So they kept the lights turned off.
They live in poetry,
Wear masks of imagery,
In and out of dreams.
Dreams
And they live,
In the ink,
That spills,
From their pens.
Hoping that one day,
It'll make sense.
Open up a shop,
Selling what you don't want,
but it's all you got.
Take your mind off the city,
Read books about the sea,
To help you fall asleep.
Sleep.
So you live,
In the ink,
That spills,
From their pens.
Hoping that one day,
It'll make sense.
Bright Paint On A White Wall
I hate the sound,
And I can't block it out,
I'm going to walk through the country,
Setting songs with the scenery.
I'll let the talkers talk,
Until they've lost their thoughts,
Then replace it with some poetry,
Real words chosen carefully.
I read the lines,
That you left behind,
You were a girl on a London rooftop,
That read quotes from a hardback book.
You said your favourite page,
Was when she fell on stage,
I asked if it made you cry,
You said 'now and then from time to time'
Chorus
We're building bridges made of matchsticks,
You said "it's too hard",
It makes you "feel sick.
How can they be so optimistic?
When we all know,
This is going to shit."
I hate the shapes,
That I watched you make,
Bright paint on a white wall,
All vibrant and symmetrical,
Just like before,
On the marble floor,
You could call it dis-tasteful,
Tainted,
Or just beautiful.
Chorus