Aaron Mcmullan
City Country City
City smells of paperbacks rolled up in jacket pockets,
Paperbacks that serve to say Yes I'm well read, now will you fuck me?
City smells of lonesome singers singing lonesome songs
In a barroom where the shadows they grow longer with each note he fails to catch
The city smells of you, woke up in dope-sick stupor,
I'm here, I lay awake in case you needed me
For when I fall asleep I'm hard to shake, what with the pills I have to take
To force the dreams back to the bottom of the arsehole of my mind
Country smells of taunting spiteful train-tracks,
And the faces that peer out along the way to somewhere I'm afraid to go
Smells of sun-bleached stones and sitting out reading de Sade
Letras de cancionesOn April evenings, with the dusk accentuating every syllable
The country smells of hope, of hope for progression
Progression, and I will progress in spite of what I say,
Country smells of memories and words that I might speak
Or I might sing to you, if you were not so fuckin far away
City pierces sky, country hugs the dirt, and I here someplace in-between,
Not quite the wind, not quite the soil,
City reeks of loves I long to gain, the country, loves that I destroyed
And destroyed all that they had touched, and they touched me, they silenced me
The night-time smells of scheming and of plotting,
In the morning it's forgotten,
For the morning smells of cold reality
The night-time is that city and that sky with stars obscured by neon etchings
From the gutters to the rooftops, never dimmin, never die
Never dimmin, never die
From Letras Mania