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Final Fantasy




Альбом Final Fantasy


He Poos Clouds (2006)
2006
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She drives a little white car to the seminar on Modern Romance
Possible possible ideas for a date include... a shooting range
And her chest is full to bursting with thoughts of an evening
Nobody nobody nobody will ever know her longing
She's got a heart that will never melt
She's got a heart that will never never melt

Shields up! Shields up! Bar the door, and keep your dukes up!
Tell lies, tell dirty lies, tell diggory lies, until you're lying in his bed

He has a tendency, a tendency to fall for shining eyes and baby fat
But the quarry don't share his taste for Anne McCaffrey
And he dresses alright but the conversation is wrong, all wrong
Nobody nobody nobody will ever know his longing
He's got a heart that will never melt
He's got a heart that will never never melt

Shields up! Shields up! Bar the door, and keep your dukes up!
Tell lies, tell diggory lies, tell chiggery lies, until you're lying in his bed

Now you can endure the fear now you can endure the hell
Now you can endure the lies now you can endure the fear

. . .


Lazy, you lazy poet, your words are reckless, and I can't feel it
But hey, hey, all the boys I have ever loved have been digital
I've been a guest, on a screen, or in a book!
I move 'em with my thumbs, I move them with my thumbs
I write his name in nothing, he whispers to the author
That I will be the only one

Escape! Escape! This time, for real!
We fool around in the service lane
He's the only friend I have who doesn't do cocaine
And all the boys I have ever loved have been confidential
Had a broken home, or a seedy past
So I know it's gonna last
And move him with your thumbs, I move him with my thumbs
He needs, he needs my guidance, he needs, he needs my time
Though I am not the only one

He swam! To the edge of the wall of the world!
Followed my voice, and he cried
Master! The answer is maybe... Maybe not... Maybe not...
Maybe not! I have goals!
Gotta fulfill the seven prophecies!
Gotta be a friend to grandmother!
Gotta rescue Michael from the White Witch!
Gotta find and kill my shadow self
Gotta dig up every secret seashell
You may have been made for love...
But I'm just made.

. . .


No hope for the village, no hope for the village
There's a merchant in our midst and with a barrel fist
He's coloured every surface, he's slapped up a portrait
And yes, it is his own! He's gonna take your home!
Have you seen our visitor? Look over the treetops!
Newly conjured erections are making him a killing
And Richmond Street is illing, so the graduates are willing
To buy in to the pillage, now there's no hope for the village

Prisoners, be silent, be silent and be sharp

When he was a young man, he conjured up a firemare
And burnt off both his eyebrows and half a head of hair
And then as an apprentice, he took a Drowish mistress
Who bestowed upon his youthfulness a sense of Champagne Chic
His seduction, his seduction to the world of construction
Now his mind will start to wander when he's not at his computer
And his massive genitals refuse to co-operate
No amount of therapy can hope to save his marriage

Prisoners, be silent, be silent and be sharp
Can you hear them talking? Listen through the wall:

Nothing to do, nothing to do
Living rent-free is boring me
Got no use for my PE Degree
Got no use for my pedigree

I feed you every morning and ask so little
Hedi Slimane
But you belittle all the work that I do
And Agnes B
When you take that walk without permission
I'm not content
I'm not defensive, I'm just saying this cause I love you
I'm not content
You know I hate it when your friends are in the pool
Donna Karan
Old money stinks, send those faggots back to Forest Hill
And Kara Saun
Contentment? What contentment? I am bald and impotent
I'm not content
Is that what it's about? Oh honey, honey, shut your mouth
I'm not content

. . .


Heave ho, farewell to the quay! Merry sailors, sailors we!
The horizon is our proscenium! Our dead will come to know the sea
Our cook is a wanted man, 1000 thalers for each hand
Our captain lost his good sense, driven by a Lazarus' words

Have you not been told of Lazarus? He felt the icy grip
Brought back by a morphine drip, he told the captain this:

Tragedy, tragedy! Death has you fooled!
No throne of bone, no terranean pool!
No scythe, no cowl, no skeleton
His greatest trophy is this myth
Every sailor, salmon, every carp will follow rivers to the source
Only the dead will know the course, and furthermore...
Do you really want to know of the afterworld?

. . .


A taut wire,
her father's evil empire
Jenna dreams of being physically able
to behead herself at the dining room table

. . .


Nippon, won't you take me into your arms and make me
Into a sergeant, emboldened and enlargened
For some the spell was shafted, but I am in your sway
Yes, I am still enchanted by the ways of yesterday

To the public park I walk with my new wife
And in the summer heat, I lose my head
I tell her that the army needs a modus operandi
I tell her where I really went that evening in Chelsea
I tell her I don't think I'll last another single night
She says, Yeah, right

If I do it with an ice pick, will I come back as a jock?
If I fast until starvation will I be born again a Christian?
I hear that death by burning means returning as a girl
But only by seppuku can I retain my virtue

But all my efforts have only made
An army of greedy gays
Will no one read The Sound Of Waves?
Oh, oh, I am afraid.

. . .


Got a daughter who'll eat anything
They like to feed her words, words, words
And tell her, Watch for the plague, girl, check your stool
Or we'll send you to reformatory school
And make a man out of you
They'll press what is left into new
They'll press what is left into new
They'll press what is left into new

Out of dust, out of empty space
From the bedroom to the marketplace
You be bold, but not too bold, and frame it all in gold, in gold
Your credibility is broken in two
But we'll press what is left into new
We'll press what is left into new
We'll press what is left into new

Let's sing a song about a woman's rage
Sing a song about an empty stage
A song, a song about how to sing
A song song song about everything!
You're tough, for a girl, and you're smart, for a girl
Stop, stop your ears from burning and fill my stomach with your singing

Concern concern concern yourself with the invisible!
Concern concern concern yourself with the incredible!
Don't turn to motherhood so fast, you have been blinded
There's a word for all you keep inside
And though you try to hide it, we will write it!

. . .


Hey Timothy
I wish for clairvoyance
I wanna see my wife and kids
And how I will live and how I will die
(Son you should!)

It's out of fright
It's self-absorption
I wanna learn from my mistakes
Before they can scare me away from the drugs
(Son you should!)

I picture a man who misses his father
He never learned to cook for himself
And spends all his time on his waistline
(Son you should invest!)

I picture a man who lives in the past
He keeps a book of photographs
Of his younger self, clairvoyant self
(Son you should invest!)

. . .


This kitchen has a king!
This hand, this hand is a cunning little bugger
With a habit of turning every A into a B

Unless it's put to work
There's a twitch twitch twitch and a rash, and an itch
For a job, for a magic job, and a magic diet and exercise plan

There are things I cannot do
I cannot not not turn a skinny little shit
Into a winsome Brit who spent his youth in honest pleasure

For all my wily ways
I cannot not not turn back into the boy
It's a tearful day when a boy must learn his limitations

Take a look at this brochure:
Inject, inject, strip away, peel away
The scars of self abuse with a couple of hours in a private clinic

What have I left in life?
The Knife! the Knife! this knife! this knife!
Every inch, every inch of me will come to know its magic!

. . .


Oh! your eyes, your greedy eyes!
Your dry and desperate tongue
You've told a lie! a lie! a lie!
For every pretty note your reddy voice has sung
Do we believe in devils? No.
Winged men? The healing pow'r of love? No.
Enchantment? Social justice? No.
Dead child actors in a white, white world above? No.
Then why are all your songs about the things that don't exist?
Do not resist! You'll burn these lies tonight and never let them live
Oh, stoke the fire, you'll burn these words tonight
I cannot let them live

The Pooka wings away
His power o'er me's at an end
And I put down the violin
I leave it down, never again!

. . .


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