The End of History
Album - 7 agosto 2006 - Debaser id 354874

If you happen to read this,
Rose was born.
Child actor-ess,
On the fifth day of the snow.

Be good or be gone,
Be good or be, be gone.

The range is stangering,
Movement and timing.
Frame by frame,
It did unfold.

Be good or be gone,
Be good or be, be gone.

I read to you on saturdays,
Museum has closed down.
Sell all your things,
At the end of the drive.

Be good or be gone,
Be good or be, be gone.

I have become,
An ariel view.
Of a coastal town,
That you once knew.

Be good or be gone,
Be good or be, be gone

The roots too deep below the ground,
I like to walk with you in the evening,
Up the hill and back down,
I watch the mailboat from the clearing

My mind is so confused, I climb back on top of you,
And I'm changing the ribbon, in this old Underwood,
Well step out of your dress, and I'll wear you like a hood,
For hood is a home, for someone who lives alone

I draw a line from A to B, and what happens in between,
It is an open mystery, As far as I can see,

My mind is so confused, I climb back on top of you,
And I'm changing the ribbon, in this old Underwood,
Well step out of your dress, and I'll wear you like a hood,
For hood is a home, for someone who lives alone

They're biting at your heels
Country lanes lead to fields
Who was that fox caught in that trap
Laid with hunters map
When the could rolls back
back
back
I'll meet you by the mill

Depressions in your neck
He's just keeping you on track
Who was that fox caught in that trap
Laid with hunters map
When the cloud rolls back
Back
Back
I'll meet you by the mill

You shake hands with lightning
For an apple on a string
You shake hands with lightning
For an apple on a string

Hey Rabbit, you've had it,
Your fingers are in the coin disposal,
Hey worm, you're tunnelling out,
You would not listen to their proposal,
The springs in, the mattress,
Will never reveal how I entered,
In a hospital ward across a billboard

The girl who collects shells has gone back to the coast,
Hearing voices, in car parks, pull a diamond, from your sleeve

Hey Badger, you're punched out,
Your mouth is around an aerosol can,
Well they want you to sink, but you stood up and swam,
Ideas, are like sparrows,
They dart down the hall the chimney and out of the spout,
Down a worm hole and back up my mouth

The girl who collects shells has gone back to the coast,
Hearing voices, in car parks, pull a diamond, from your sleeve

No one these days says thank you,
When you open doors for them anymore,
Well I made you rich and you made me poor

Down here underneath the microscope,
it's hard to cope.
don't hide your face in your hands,
'cause if your eyes play tricks,
it's outta my control.

it's gonna be a long cold winter.
the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child

if you don't love me, well, don't shove me
out into the dark
without a flashlight or a spark.
any stitches cling like bitches to my arms
for all my charms.

it's gonna be a crooked little winter
the skeletons of trees, my blackwater child

she's walking home
to the devil's flowers.
the broken bones
of heavy hours.
we stayed out late,
it's a lighthouse trait.
and we'll take our time

I apologise,
seem to have arrived,
home with items in my bag from your house.
There's cutlery,
a tablecloth, some Hennessy,
And a book on Presidents deceased.
I'll have them fed-exed to you,
It was a strange thing to do,
I hope we can still be friends.
Ah, it was not me,
but someone else, you see,
Twisting the steering reins.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
artificial li-ii-iight shine,
Leave go-ooo. Mark old and line.

I don't give advise,
But be wise and think twice,
Before getting involved in a game.
Where the minority
Face the majority,
Who are faceless and born without names.
Was it knock synch when
we came across three men,
They had church candles wrapped in newspaper.
I bought two from them,
And I lit one for you,
I hope the message made it's way down the wire.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
artificial li-ii-iight shine,
Leave go-ooo. My golden arm.

The soul of a dog,
he's alive and not gone
To the farm like the others said.
A Rhodesian richback,
Off the beaten track,
In a furniture shop down on the quays.
For the loneliness you foster,
I suggest Paul Auster,
A book called Timbuktu.

Put a penny in the slot and watch the
Drunken sailor boy dance.
She will not let you be
Her lov-ver.
She goes out looking for
The taxi.
Her phone is ringing straight to
Message-minder.
Send out a battalion to
Find her.

Put a penny in the slot and count the
Swans through a te-elescope.
I can't help from cryin'
I wish you were mine.

When I was seventeen,
I followed my dream,
Up into a high-rise block.
The adventures of Augie March,
By Saul Bel-low,
Was all I had for company.
At night time I'd lie
In Beckingham pike,
With tears like flashbulbs.
And recall my treasure-
Searching days,
In the rock pools as a kid.

To the remains of
The cherub plains,
Or around the bonfire in Nailors’ cove.
Good company and grief
Sit like a dark leaf,
Sits beside a stinging nett-le.

Put a penny in the slot and make an
artificial li-ii-iight shi-iine,
Leave go-ooo. My golden arm.

We came down by the factory
Industrial yarns where my father did work
When I was a boy I went to far
I lost the tread in the darkest of space
If I become antique you'll collect me
If I become cheap then you will respect me
My jumper is soaked in pig's blood
I'm coming out looking for you
If you pull a hatchet I'll pull something to match it
How about your wife, I'll give her a good life
My vehicle is in your drive
Hey I'm not that low
The wolves came on the radio
Transmitted through a portal in the snowy Atlas Mountains

There's nobody out there, it's just the noise of the wind
There's nobody out there and nobody is getting in
I hope that happiness finds it's way to your little house

While you were sleeping I, I played a ghost in a sheet
When our frames collide there's nothing left to be

There's nobody out there, the rain is just starting to fall
You get some rest now you'll worry yourself thin
I hope that happiness finds it's way to your little house

While you were sleeping I, I played a ghost in a sheet
When our frames collide there's nothing left to be

The skeletal wings of birds, I'll take the stairs
The ghosts of tiny animals, with the tiniest of feet
The forecast is going down a storm

The grass is screaming long
midnight cars roll past
i've been chasing your room
while the summer lasts
so count it on your fingers if we got it wrong
it's because the days have no numbers
if we leave tonight then we leave it all behind

drinking alphabetically because the beauty's gone all sore
honey dripping pale of skin while there's bodies underneath
the floor
so count it on your fingers
if we got it wrong it's cause the days have no numbers
if we leave tonight
then we leave it all behind