şükela:  tümü | bugün
  • efsane bir the comet is coming şarkısıdır. müziği ayrı, sözleri ayrı şahane. londra'dan çıkmış bir jazz. spotify'dan dinlenebilir.

    sözleri de şöyle (copy-paste):

    all the many corpses begin to speak
    what ignorance is cannot be argued over anymore
    it is too late for pleading white picket dreams
    print you off, the shemps, the world is shrinking
    rooted in a trivial concern, in interconnectedness
    in the need to make face and keep up
    and drown out the many voices within
    imagine a culture that has, at its root
    a more soulful connection to land and to loved ones
    but ı can hear the lie before you speak
    there is nothing but progress to eat
    and we are so fat and so hungry
    and the black wrists are cuffed in the pig van
    while the white shirt and tie in the tube car, distractional picture
    pictures of beer and guilt about urges
    sexual distrust and abandoned to nothingness
    give me something ı can nail myself to
    give me a sharply-dressed talking head
    who has something about them ı trust and despise
    and what of it, anyway? these windows don't open
    they were designed to stay closed
    shower, smoothie, coffee, commute
    check the internet, never stop, never stop
    there is a scar on the soul of the world and it needs you to look
    the blood of the past is here, it remains
    the blood of the murders, the bodies like sacks leaking brain
    all stacked, chest aback on the planes, it remains
    to acknowledge without guilt, to accept without condition
    and to listen when other people tell you how you have behaved
    truth is, it's for us to feel and be moved
    but ı hear the clatter of bone against steel, it is coming
    it will not be stilled, it is there
    in the air, scorched white
    the reflection of sunlight on glass bouncing back into sunlight
    and glass bouncing back, industrialized
    denial, business as usual
    so roll your eyes, shake your head, turn away and call me names
    i'm okay with that, too proud
    unable to listen, we keep speaking
    moted by blood, unable to notice ourselves
    unable to stop and unwilling to learn