Альбом Death Cab For Cutie

it's gotten late and now I want to be alone
all of our friends were here, they all have gone home
and here I sit on the front porch watching the drunks stumble forth into the
night
"you gave me a heart attack; I did not see you there. I thought you had
disappeared so early away from here."
And this is the chance I never got to make a move. But we just talk about the
people we've met in the last 5 years. And will remember them in ten more?
I let you bum a smoke, you quit this winter past. I've tried twice before but

whenever I come back, the air on railroad is making the same sounds.
and the shop fronts on holly are dirty words (asterisks in for the vowels).
we peered through the windows: new bottoms on barstools but the people remain
the same, with prices inflating.

as if saved from the gallows.
there's a bellow of buzzers and the people stop working and they're all so
excited.

passing through unconscious states.
when I awoke I was on the highway.

with your hand on my shoulders, a meaningless movement: a moviescript ending,

and the patrons are leaving, leaving.

now we all know the words were true in the sappiest songs (yes, yes).
I'll put them to bed, but they won't sleep, they're just shuffling the sheets,
they toss and turn, (you can't begin to get it back).

passing through unconscious states.
when I awoke I was on

when we laugh indoors, the blissful tones bounce off the walls and fall to the
ground.
peel the hardwood back to let them loose from decades trapped and listen so
still.
this city is my home, construction noise all day long and gutter punks are
bumming change.
so I breed thicker skin and let me lustrous coat fill in and I'll never admit
that
I loved you guenivere.

I've always fallen fast with too much trust in the promise that "no one's ever
been here, so you can quell those wet fears."
I want purity, I must have it here right now.
but don't you get me started now.

December's chill comes late, the days get darker and we wait for this direness
to pass.
there are piles on the floor of artifacts from dresser drawers, and I'll help

I intentionally wrote it out to be an illegible mess
you wanted me to write you letters, but I'd rather lose your address
and forget that we'd ever met and what did or did not occur.
sitting in the station, it's all a blur
of dancehall hips, pretentious quips.
a boxers, bob and weave.

and here's the kicker of this whole shebang
you're in debt and completely fooled, that you can look into the mirror and
objectively rank your wounds.
sewing circles are not solely based in trades of cloth: there's spinsters all
around here taking notes, reporting on us.

as information travels faster in the modern age, in the modern age
as our days are crawling by so slowly
information travels faster in the modern age, in the modern age
as our days are crawling by so slowly

information travels faster in the modern age, in the modern age
as our days are crawling by so slowly
information travels faster in the modern age, in the modern age

I'm in los angeles today: it smells like an airport runway. jet fuel stenches in
the cabin and lights flickering at random.

I'm in los angeles today: garbage cans comprise the medians of freeways always
creaping even when the population's sleeping.

and I can't see why you'd want to live here.

I'm in los angeles today: asked a gas station employee if he ever had trouble
breathing and he said "it varies from season to season, kid."

it's where our best are on display: motion picture actors' houses maps are never
ever current so save your film and $15.

and I can't see why you'd want to live here.
billboards reach past the tallest buildings,
"we are not perfect but we sure try."
as UV rays "degradate" our youth with time.

the vessel keeps pumping us through this entropic place in the belly of the
beast that is californ-i-a, I drank from a faucet and I kept my receipts for
when the weigh me on my way out (here nothing is free).
the greyhounds keep coming dumping locusts into the street until the gutters
overflow and los angeles thinks, "i might explode someday soon."

it's a lovely summer's day and I can almost see a skyline through a thickening
shroud of egos. (is this the city of angeles or demons?)
here the names are what remain: stars encapsulate the gold lame and they need
constant cleaning for when the tourists begin salivating.

i don't mind the weather
I've got scarves and caps and sweaters
I've got long johns under slacks for blustery days.

i think that it's brainless to assume that making changes to your window's view
will give a new perspective.

and the hardest part is yet to come

i don't mind restrictions or if you're blacking out the friction
it's just an escape (it's overrated anyways)

the hardest part is yet to come

I put on my overcoat and walked into winter - my teeth chattered rhythms
and they were grouped in twos or threes, like a morse code message was sent from
me to me. cars on slippery slopes, they're stuck: people pushing through their
mittens as I was beginning to feel it soaking through my shoes, getting colder
with every step I took to your apartment, dear.

and I was a kaleidoscope: the snow on my lenses distorting the image of what was
only one of you and I didn't know which one to address as all your lips moved.


this is when I forget breathe all the things I scripted, they sound unfounded.
And the look that you're giving me, it tells me exactly what you are thinking:
"this ain't working anymore."

they got their mothers worked into a panic
sledding down hills into oncoming traffic
the parents layered clothes until the children couldn't move then kept them
outside til their noises were blue and I got left there, too.

i put on my overcoat and walked into winter, my teeth chattered rhythms. and
they were grouped in twos or threes like a morse code message was sent from me

there's a saltwater film on the jar of your ashes: I threw them to sea but a
gust blew them backwards and the sting in my eyes
that you then inflicted was par for the course just as when you were living.

it's no stretch to say you were not quite a father but a donor of seeds to a
poor single mother that would raise us alone, we'd never see the money that went
down your throat
through the hole in your belly.

thirteen years old in the suburbs of denver
standing in line for Thanksgiving dinner at the catholic chuch. the servers wore
crosses
to shield from the sufferance plauging the others. styrofoam plates, cafateria
tables charity reeks of cheap wine and pity
and I'm thinking of you. I do every year
when we count all our blessings
and wonder what we're doing here.

you're a disgrace to the concept of family
the priest won't divulge that fact in his homily and I'll stand up and scream
if the mourning remain quiet, you can deck out a lie in a suit but I won't buy
it.
i won't join in the procession that's speaking their peace. using five dollar
words while praising his integrity. and just cause he's gone it doesn't change

sitting on a carousel ride without any music or light. everything was closed at
coney island, and I could not help from smiling.

i can hear the atlantic echo back roller coaster screams from summers past. and
everything was closed at coney island, and I could not help from smiling.
brooklyn will fill in the beach eventually and everyone will go except me.

debate exposes doubt
the workadays were propping the bar quietly erasing the week and I was in a
cornerbooth thinking (pretending to read) about the impossiblity of one to love
unconditionally and the words that we drive into the ground: their repetition
starts to thin their meaning.

then everything got frighteningly still as they entered and intersected the
floor and I tried to choke my stare at the perfection that others would kill
for. but all of the parts are the same on every face (few variables change). the
differences pale when compared to the similarity they share

finally there is clarity and there is purpose after all, but every night ends
the same as I'm collapsing once more by your side.
finally there is clarity: this tiny life is making sense. and every drop numbs

we'll correct collegiate mistakes. a shower of formal ideals. completely soused.
the hearts on our sleeves, as they drowned we could hear them screaming, "oh,
what a tragic way to see our final days."

I attempt to talk up the town: "the answers are in the arches of the 20th
century towers and in comfortable cars in motion." and yet it still remains,
this incessent refrain: "you're just like the rest. you restlessness makes you
lazy."

keeping busy is just wasting time and I've wasted what little he gave me. (all
around) I know the conscious choice was crystal clear, to clear the slate of
former years: when I sang softly in your ear and tied these arms around you.
all is full of love (by bjork)
you'll be given love
you'll be taken care of
you'll be given love
you have to trust it
maybe not from the sources
you've poured yours
into
maybe not
from the directions
you are
staring at
twist your head around
it's all around you
all is full of love
all around you
all is full of love
you just ain't receiving
all is full of love
your phone is off the hook
all is full of love
your doors are all shut
all is full of love

the workadays were propping the bar quietly erasing the week and I was in a
cornerbooth thinking (pretending to read) about the impossiblity of one to love
unconditionally and the words that we drive into the ground: their repetition
starts to thin their meaning.

then everything got frighteningly still as they entered and intersected the
floor and I tried to choke my stare at the perfection that others would kill
for. but all of the parts are the same on every face (few variables change). the
differences pale when compared to the similarity they share

finally there is clarity and there is purpose after all, but every night ends
the same as I'm collapsing once more by your side.
finally there is clarity: this tiny life is making sense. and every drop numbs
the both of us, but I alone am staggering.

starched white shirts so neatly pressed by domestic muses feed delusions that
everything is working out right. but your ribs can't withstand the increasing
weight as your heart gets heavier and sooner or later it falls to the tips of
your toes. and everyday tastes like inhaling when you just lit the wrong end
(that plastic burning scent). your only friends are on the exit ramps of
gridlock caravans. you try to ask how they've been. but the metal and glass is
too thick.

time for the final bout. rows of deserted houses: all our stable mates are
highway bound. give us our measly sum: getting the air inside my lungs is
heavenly. we're starting out with nothing but crippling doubt. we'll rest easy
(justified). I've suffered a swift defeat, I'll endure countless repeats. the
gift of memory is an awful curse. with age it just gets much worse, but I won't
mind.