The Faint
Martes, Enero 6, 2009 18:04Entre hojas de:
Igrando: MGS4
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Listening to: The Faint - Ballad Of A Paralysed Citizen
via FoxyTunes
Permítanme decirles que me han desilusionado, me impresiona la poca cantidad de gente que conoce The Faint. Llevo una semana más o menos, preguntando si conocen algún disco chingón de Faint y la respuesta son las variantes de: “No lo he escuchado”.
Para aquello de que a lo mejor terminan llegando por esta, su cloaca de confianza, les dejo un par de grandes videos de unas graaaandes rolas, claro con todo y lyrics.
The Faint - Agenda Suicide.
you could follow logic
or contest it all
the work solution makes the common house a home
the element of progress
that you mention is gone
it de-evolved to something you were headed toward
as i lay to die the things i think
did i waste my time, i think i did- i worked for life
all we want are just pretty little homes
our work makes pretty little homes
like a cast shadow
like a fathers dream
have a cut out son
what’s a worse disease
to get that pretty little home
as i lay to die the things i think
i don’t want to regret what i did- and work for life
all we want are just pretty little homes
our work makes pretty little homes
agenda suicide, the drones work hard before they die
and give up on pretty little homes
(like a cast shadow)
our work makes pretty little homes
our work makes pretty little homes
agenda suicide, the drugs work hard before they die
and give up on pretty little homes
The Faint - Glass Dance.
feel the vapour pressure drop as the dark
steam pours out the entrance. real cold world is
swirling into a club that keeps the real
life world out. where every sense seems deathly
weak from the frozen time you spent in transit.
the glass dance world flickers on and the
low end thaws your anxious body
maybe i feel detatched, i may just look too shy,
it’s a disinterest not that i’m a timid guy.
i call them bodies but, they are attentive too,
i feel the social glare i feel the attitude.
watch as mirrors clear themselves with the
breath of frigid air that eased in.
made up babies all rotate as a siren
spins a beam of amber. time sliced beat
by beat in a row, in a club.
in a line, in the city. the glass dance world
flickers on because the cycle happens enough:
a baby falls out warm, it’s screaming for it’s life,
an infant tries to dance as it grows up then dies.
that’s simplified but uh. . .when your complexion dries,
you wake up cold and think, you wish it’d been this way.
Aaaah!!! Gloriosas.
