Paroles de 'Straight in at 101' par Los Campesinos!

I think we need more post-coital
And less post-rock
Feels like the build up takes forever
But you never get me off.

You pull your dress over your face
And I stare down towards my chest
Chastise both our greasy hair
Wonder whose gut is the softest
Stand with my ear to the door
Listening to the landing floor
I was working out when we'll be safe
To dash the mattress to your bathroom
Where I ball my fingers into fists
Until my knuckles glow bright white
Press the heels into eye-sockets
'Til I see the flashing lights
Stop me when my stories change
When they have started to repeat
Cause last time I was a mess asleep of icy feet

So baby
All apologies
It was going to happen inevitably

I think we need more post-coital
And less post-rock
Feels like the build up takes forever
But you never touch my cock
And what exactly do you mean now
By "what can you even eat?"
And how does that affect how I get off this evening

I flew down South to Mexico
Had a minor realization
I understood why kids draw the sun with its rays emanating
And nothing's broke the clouds the sky were like a concertina
A ?? in my pocket for weeks
Folded up from a picture

I've been playing straight chicken with gay girls
It's never enough
She keeps on pulling the peace sign
And it seems like a torch
She licked the glaze on her lips
They shone like Battleship Grey
She never liked the wisdom I gave

Some people give themselves to religion
Some people give themselves to a cause
Some people give themselves to a lover
I have to give myself to goals

So baby
All apologies
It was going to happen, inevitably

And if it helps
I mean, slightly at all
It's best to dust yourself down
And get straight back on the horse

I condescend a smile
And wink directly at the camera
And if you lay in both our senses
I tiptoe out the back door
I stoop down, I see streets in view
My face in the reflection
Of a High Street lingerie store
Though it wasn't my intention

I phoned my friends and family
To gather round the television
The talking heads count down the most heart-wrenching breakups of all time
Imagine the great sense of waste
The indignity, the embarrassment
When not a single one of that whole century
Was mine