1. |
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I heard him sing
"All we ever wanted was everything".
Or just just one sound
to take me on it’s wings.
I heard him sing
Tell me one thing, explaining everything.
Just one word
to take me on it’s wings.
You can tell me anything.
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2. |
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Down the stairs, publicly unstrung.
Trance finger tapping. I’m off the map.
You alone can forgive yourself.
Welcome home to the living.
Come around, feel more like a man.
Drowning in a soup of self.
Ground black in a taste tattoo. (x3)
A loss of vanity propelled me
to the back of the queue, on all fours.
Through the doors to the front by the side.
An impossible encounter.
Thriving on the purr of power.
Can you wait your turn?
Go public and be damned!
Zap! The last Abba original. (x2)
Can you identify the footprints in my ceiling?
Whose are they? (x2)
I’m sending up an exhibitionist to retrieve my memories.
Of “when i was once, young”. (x2)
Of "the finnish scene" and "old polish movies".
Of a fresh fall of snow and a crisp set of tracks.
I need not plan, i’ve got Perry-tone-items. (x4)
The best things are left unspoken. (x10)
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3. |
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Holding hands
Come a breeze
I would fly away
Should you let go
Lift your eyes up to me
I cling to your every glance
And darkness evaporates
Like alcohol
There’s no-one to tell us
Now or ever
Why it ends
Why it always ends
(X2)
Breathing fumes
Turn crystal tears
Just a kiss away
Before we go
As the sky opens up
And sunbeams embrace my love
Darkness evaporates
Like alcohol
There’s no-one to tell us
Now or ever
Why it ends
Why it always ends
(X2)
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4. |
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People talking all the time. (x4)
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5. |
Sleaze (feat. David J)
05:55
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There’s a stink down in the subway and it’s catching on the breeze.
They’ve done a travis bickle, and they’re training the draftees.
To go and waste those towlheads, a blind grudge to appease.
As the poets all are waxing, nostalgic over sleaze.
Sleaze, sleaze.
There’s no sperm on the turn style, no girl on her knees.
They’re not casting for bukkake in the garden of disease.
Where are all the vice dens? And porn queens on the teaze?
Now it’s all gone Disney, baby buggies and S.U.V.’s
There is no paranoia, just plastic and deep freeze.
The golden age of scum is gone, there is no filth to seize.
Or sleaze, sleaze, sleaze.
The cockroach population is feeling the squeeze.
They’ve moved their operation to the upper nineties.
They’ve gone the way of lovelace, soiled velvet, theater fleas, wolf tickets and night hawks, C.B.G.B.'s, whores and sleaze.
Sleaze, sleaze.
So, what have we lost here? And what have we gained?
They call it ‘swings and roundabouts’ and it‘s coming round again.
And again and again and again and again. Yeah, it’s coming round again.
If you’re gonna use the service, you gotta pay the fees.
Come the revolution they’ll be looting flat T.V.’s.
To the politician parasites and turn coat rat trusties.
The time is ripe for hypocrites and the passing of the keys.
Green backs in the pockets of the fat cats and big cheese.
They say the heat’s all over it but cops turn blind to please.
Those who pay their wages yet they’re dusting off their knees.
And rounding up the suspects branded "detainees".
So define "sleaze".
Sleaze. (x8)
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6. |
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Plain gold ring on his finger he wore.
It was where everyone could see.
He belonged to someone.
But not me.
(X2)
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7. |
Sound Generation
03:14
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Somehow we can wrap our minds around the world that we can not perceive or see...
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8. |
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Invitation to the voyage
It is a superb country, a land of milk & honey, so they say, which i dream of visiting with an old girlfriend. A singular place, immersed in the mists of our north & which one could call the Orient of the Occident, the China of Europe, so much has hot and capricious fantasy quarried herself there & patiently & tenaciously illustrated with her knowing & luxuriant vegetation...
You know this feverish malady that posesses us with its chilly misery, this nostalgia for a country one has ignored, this anguish of curiosity?...
How they search & search again, how they ceaselessly reap the limits of their fortune, these alchemists of horticulture! How they propose to reward whoever resolves their ambitious problems! As for me, i have found my ‘black tulip’ & my ‘blue dahlia’!
Incomparable flower, rediscovered tulip, allegorical dahlia, it’s there, isn’t it, in that beautiful land so calm & full of dreams that one must go to live & flourish?...
Dreams! Always dreams! & the more the soul is ambitious & delicate, the more the dreams banish what’s possible.
Every man carries his own dose of natural opium, incessantly secreting & renewing, & between birth & death how many hours can we count on to be nourished by positive joy, by successful & decisive action? Do we never live, don’t we ever meet in this tableau which has colored my spirit, this tableau that resembles you?
These treasures, these furnishings, this luxury, this order, these perfumes, these miraculous flowers, these are you. Ever you, these great rivers & still canals, these vast ships being carried, laden with riches & from which climb the monotone chant of manouver, these are my thoughts which sleep or roll upon your breast. You conduct them quietly towards the sea which is the infinite, reflecting all heaven’s depths in the limpidity of your beautiful soul, & when fatigued by the swell & gorged on oriental fare they return to their port of birth, they are still my thoughts, returning enriched from the infinite to you.
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9. |
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10. |
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In the scheme of things,
our lives pass by.
We never wanted heaven,
we never reached for the sky
As life unfolds,
clouds passing by.
But we can pull the sheets up,
drift away into the night
Night into twilight.
The sun hesitates.
We never wanted heaven,
we always hid in the shade.
Illuminate me
with daydreams in gold.
And we will walk through lush fields.
See their splendour take hold.
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Music for Speakers Netherlands
Music for Speakers was established in 2000 by five acts who share a common view and attitude towards music and serves as a
platform to release their adventurous, genre defying sounds.
Music for Speakers operates from Eindhoven in the South of The Netherlands and is run by Richard van Kruysdijk.
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