Your native language

عربي

Arabic

عربي

简体中文

Chinese

简体中文

Nederlands

Dutch

Nederlands

Français

French

Français

Deutsch

German

Deutsch

Italiano

Italian

Italiano

日本語

Japanese

日本語

한국인

Korean

한국인

Polski

Polish

Polski

Português

Portuguese

Português

Română

Romanian

Română

Русский

Russian

Русский

Español

Spanish

Español

Türk

Turkish

Türk

Українська

Ukrainian

Українська
User Avatar

Geluid


Koppel


Moeilijkheidsgraad


Accent



interfacetaal

nl

Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Cookie beleid   |   Steun   |   FAQ
1
registreren / inloggen
Lyrkit

doneren

5$

Lyrkit

doneren

10$

Lyrkit

doneren

20$

Lyrkit

En/of steun mij op sociaal gebied. netwerken:


Lyrkit YouTube Lyrkit Instagram Lyrkit Facebook
Every Time I Die

Guitarred And Feathered

 

Guitarred And Feathered

(album: Gutter Phenomenon - 2005)


This is a cause for celebration here in the belly of the swarm.
The situation demands that we raise our glasses in honour of the spokesman
We've fixated to the floor.
Give us your headline hymns and your saddest verse.

You're not partnered with the half-hearted anymore.
Out legs are spread wide open,
Our weary heads are splitting at the seams
And we all know you're proficient in the idioms of grief.
We are capable of the kind of love about which only the petrified can speak.
Concede him the microphone let him sing the triumph of the frauds to all his loyal sycofanatics.
We all cater to the fire, once the walls come rushing down for shame.
I can say it better than you felt it.
And I can be it bigger than you needed it.
I haven't lived a day of my life apart from the one that everyone's read about.
I'll spark de-evolution.
I was specially bred for the cover page of your magazines.

I've been fatted up for the guillotines.
Sweet talker, you're godamn right I'm a blessed lamb.
I can show you all how to have a good time.
I know why you came here, but neither of us will get what you want out of me.
This room has one too many laureates so I'm keeping my peace.
Every candidate ends his life with a cliché,
And the paths of glory lead to nowhere but the grave.

I've been spoiled rotten.
Every thought I've authorised had curdled.
Not everything is poetry but I can't convince you of that,
I've been drawn and quartered.
I've been twice picked over.
And it's sickening what you've come here today to celebrate.
Fuck yeah we're gonna party tonight.
I am capable of the kind of love about which
Only the intoxicated and the California bound can weep.

klaar

Heb je alle onbekende woorden uit dit nummer toegevoegd?