Альбом The New Pornographers

The sound of God is the screech of tires,
lights and magnets,
bolts and wires,
strayed from the road,
this very one.

Still to come,
the sound of tires is the sound of God,
the electric version.

The power and blood will pulse through your song,
just as long as it sounds lost,
streaming out of the magnets.

Strung together like Christmas lights,
twelve whole seconds of history
might lead you from where you went off the track welcome back.

Our electric version calls,
you alone create the full spectrum of light,
so what could go wrong?

Just as long as it sounds lost,
streaming out of the magnets.

The card you're dealt by the crowd goes wild,
make believe you are an only child.
Here are the clothes,
please put them on.

Still to come,
a new parade of faith and sparks,
the electric version harks back to the day
when there was no wrong just as long as it sounds lost,
streaming out of the magnets.

When the contact high from the real life adventures wear off,
you find, in the tiny moments that bomb,
your old files rain down from the sky.

And would they fall down,
like cymbal crashes,
would the alarm bell sound?

Would your eyelashes keep all this in time?
If not, I won't mind... it can be impractical.

So can you tell me why in every version of the events shown here,
there's another season that crawls by like years,
from blown speakers clear?

It came out magical.
Just a contact high,
one in every mood I've ever declined to fight,
one in every single exchange you might find.

From blown speakers,
time came out magical.
It came out magical,
out from blown speakers.

It was crime at the time but the laws, we changed íem
though the hero for hire ís forever the same one.

Introducing for the first time,
Pharaoh on the microphone.
Sing all hail,
what'll be revealed today.
when we peer into the great unknown,
from the line to the throne.

Awakened to cheers after years on the faultline,
we are shocked to be here in the face of the meantime.

Pharaoh, all your methods have taught me,
is to separate my blood from bone.
It will all fail,
feel what I feel today.
when we peer into the great unknown,
from the line to the throne.
Form a line through here,
form a line to the throne...

Alone in the chain, it remains to be seen how,
how well you can play when the pawn takes a queen now.

Introducing for the first time,
Pharaoh on the microphone.
Sing all hail,
what'll be revealed today
when we peer into the great unknown,
from the line to the throne?
Sing all hail,
what'll be revealed today
when we peer into the great unknown,
from the line to the throne?
Form a line through here,
form a line to the throne...

It was crime at the time but the laws have changed, yeah.

The angel cries "you bastard!"
as we analyze the accent,
so look out,
you rock'n'rollers.

Over forty million served and that's a record for the master,
it stood forever after.

So are we,
are we,
are we,
are we facing the end of all,
of all the drugs
we're lacing with common sense and courtesy
and other things we thought would be the end of us,
but now they won't allow us our intentions.

Oh the mother of invention,
it's her pleasure to repeat with feeling:
Are we,
are we,
are we,
are we facing the end of all the medicine we're taking?

Somewhere in the system
there's an open ended list of all the lies we tell unblinking,
thinking, What could we be living?
Is it life or is it even in the realm of possibility?
You see it when you're missing who you came to see.

Is this thing even on and on and on?
Are we,
are we,
are we,
are we facing the end of all the medicine we're taking?

One holy ghost for a home made girl,
in a green T-shirt that read,
I quote: What price damnation now?

In the school of thought,
in the halls of state,
with a leap of faith,
the loose translation must have lost her.

It must have caused her to go back...
to the civilization caught between here and the real one,
just to say what you'd begun to say once.

We have been enrolled in the wrong schools all through the pride of fall,
the falling price of education.
There have been no clues in the last few takes,
in the steps retraced,
the education must have cost her.

It must have caused her to go back
to the civilization caught between here and the real one,
just to say what you'd begun to say once.
The education must have cost her.
The loose translation must have lost her.
It must have lost her, yeah.

I stole a page from your book
and a line from your page
and flew into a lesbian rage
Cursing mine and my own rotten luck
Another nude descends a staircase to get fucked

A city scene, darkness falls
Now skate hard down the gallery walls
Explore those themes
I hear your work is informed by queens
Hey, so is mine now

There is a plague on
There is a rat-tailed ensemble burying all of our hits in the sand
The same sand a desert uses
The same sand a desert uses
Now wipe that look from your face
The world is that which is the case
It is okay to be seen
Don't dethrone the drama queen
Just for putting everybody in their place

There is a plague on
There is a rat-tailed ensemble burying all of our hits in the sand
The same sand a desert uses
The same sand a desert uses
Now wipe that look from your face
The world is that which is the case
It is okay to be seen

Now wipe that look from your face
The world is that which is the case
It is okay to be seen
Don't dethrone the drama queen
Just for putting everybody in their place

Go, don't stay, just throw it all away.
There is you and then there is your body.

Go, don't stay, just throw it all away.
There is you and then there is your body.

Go, don't stay, just throw it all away.
There is you and then there is your body.

Exploding international,
the scenes,
the sounds,
and famously the feeling that you can't squeeze 'round,
while tearing off another page of loose change outrage.

It's another perfect day until the night shows.
Exploding international,
the wind did howl.

The sky above was thick with rings of smoke and clouds,
and hanging on the bleeding end of conscious,
who's this?
Was there anything I missed,
as far as you know?
Was it all for swinging you around?

Exploding international,
the sun,
the sights,
the moments you are viewing through a beam of light,
propel you through the golden age.

We crash-land the first page on a crumbling world stage,
into the front rows.
All for swinging you around.
And off your feet,
all the love you found,
spinning 'round.
We're twisting incognito with no time,
can't talk,
can't tell if this is fantasy or culture shock,
or remnants of a golden age that's near mint unplayed,
or a welcome overstayed beneath the lightshow.
All for swinging you around.

It's the how-to guide to become the new face of zero and one.
So fall into the new line,
hanging off the truth of the times.

Parade of sisters through New York,
a trail that,
once it began snaking its way through the memory
of faking its way through the hallelujahs,
became a parade of sisters through New York,
a trail of sisters through New York.

You can't tell what the controls hide
from the door that locks from the outside.
But you'll know why,
one day when,
when you cross the line into godsend.

In the night, asleep on the case,
trust has turned from dreams we've come to know.
In the night, asleep on the case,
changed the words from chase and back to follow.

Should you go lookin' for a testament to youth in verse,
variations on the age old curse,
you blame the stations when they play you like a fool
and like a fool you get played with.

Baby, think twice,
maybe it's not all,
maybe it's not alright.

Finally a decent picture of the exodus,
I don't know much but other singers know less,
and can we control ourselves for once?

Keep our hands off each other,
keep our minds on the sum of each other.
So should you go lookin' for a testament to youth in verse,
dedications to the same old curse.

Don't blame the stations when they play you like a fool,
and like a fool you get played with.
Baby, think twice,
maybe it's not all,
maybe it's not alright.

Oh my sweet witness,
can't you hear the voices?
They're telling the children to rock for their choices.
The bells ring no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no....

Both eyes drinking cool water,
not the first daughter
so I can't see why you're wrestling with words at last,
a tradition you've long outclassed.

Come true for the new martyrs,
with your hair parted like the Red Sea.
You're addressing the world from your bed,
all alone in the crowd like you said.

Come true,
it's only divine right.
Here's Leda in her white glory,
all her back-story has been wiped clean.

Just another apocryphal mess,
never promised 'em anything less.

So come true,
these are safe waters for the first daughter,
so I can't see why you're pushing the pull that you've had,
while the rest of the girls go bad.

Come true it's only divine right.
Slip back through the plot for the new shock,
seeing us then,
when we were the real people.

Face down in the old money,
left the crowd wondering what your next move's gonna be
in the moments ahead,
while the rest of the girls go bad.

Come true, it's only divine right.

Pray for content,
settle for free rent,
the tenements recall Rome.

High five,
look up,
look alive,
as the scions of history guess another mystery wrong.

Recite your lines,
and I'll quote scriptures.
Everything was fine until membership lost its privileges.

Everyone in town wanted to be around you,
this went on for awhile until they finally found you.

Ever so careful,
on the strip we cruise,
crippled in someone else's shoes.
Who knew?
Mind you,
I never had to stand in line,
you did,
in the ballad of a comeback kid.

Watch your step as you step down from the podium,
returned from the war to a hero's welcome,
what's more you just had to win.

Blazing new trails,
waving goodbye to the audience,
held captive,
the crowd was inactive,
it made such perfect sense.

Ever so careful on the strip we cruise,
crippled in someone else's shoes.
Who knew?
Mind you,
I never had to stand in line,
you did.

But you won't,
Kelly says she could have.
Like a bat out of hell,
time has come for you.

Come clean through the waves of debris.
The mind's eye is first to go,
so hang onto that number like gold.

And get thee back to the old truth,
July Jones,
'cause baby there's a lot we don't know.

One of the greats,
on the way,
hold on.

Behind the daylight,
who knew what it could feel like?
Class war held your hand through your plans and not me,
but stay free.

Baby, there are worse things to be.
So lay free in your faith beside me,
but lay low,
'cause baby there's a lot we don't know.

Class war kissed your lips,
left you stripped to your toes,
and I know that baby it's so much to outgrow.

So get thee back to the old truth,
July Jones,
'cause baby there's a lot we don't know.

Our words move aimlessly through empty city squares,
collecting into mobs and angry like their prayers.
They breathe the air we fought to leave behind.

This kind of blank adventure happens all the time,
because nobody knows the wreck of the soul the way you do.
We fought to find our thoughts,
the runway walked us through.

The swimsuit portion of the evening cancelled due to rain.
The pageant's called again.
You'll find this kind of blank adventure happens all the time,
because nobody knows the wreck of the soul the way you do,
Miss Teen Wordpower.

So we float through the streets,
breathe city lights,
claims of the crown forgotten.
So we float through the streets,
float through the streets,
the way you do,
Miss Teen Wordpower.

Nobody knows the wreck of the soul the way you do,
Miss Teen Wordpower.