Balls of Rice

Tag: Lyrics

  • Lyrics of the Month: March 2015

    Bands with managers are going places.
    Bands with messy hair and smooth white faces.
    But you don’t believe when I say that it won’t be alright.
    Vans with 15 passengers are rolling over.
    But I trust T. William Walsh and I’m not afraid to die.
    But you don’t believe when I say that it won’t be alright.
    That it won’t be alright.
    Cause it won’t be alright.

    –David Bazan, Achilles Heel, Bands With Managers

  • Lyrics of the Month: September 2012 – Hadron Collision

    Ride fucking free, forty below, it’s the car that kills the punk. Pedal for momentum, feel the fucking vibe, blaze through traffic, burn the red, push my luck. There’s not much I need, I ride a single speed, my toque and mitts protect me from the freeze. Hadron Collision. I’m ripping through a cloud of exhaust. A fucking conniption, in their cages on wheels they fucking rot. I might be trapped in a world going backwards but nothing’s in vain – right now I’m happy just to clog up your lane. There’s not much I need, I’ll leave you with your greed to wallow in your shit ’til you can’t breathe. A head-on collision, a species that’s lost all control. We’ll learn by extinction: we don’t need all that shit we’ve been sold. We might be headed for the brink of disaster but nothing’s in vain – right now I’m happy just to clog up your lane. If all that I can do is just stay on the move, keep a few cents from your grasp – that’s all I need to prove. I’ll see you on the bus. It’s the car that kills the punk.

    –Propagandhi, Failed States, Hadron Collision

  • Three Years of Life (Lyric of the Month: April 2012)

    It is my three-year near-death birthday. Three years since enlightenment. My enlightenment included little more than an awareness that haircuts are unnecessary, and therefore this three years has only yielded two haircuts.
    The first signified the start of my second life, done hours after my near-death, done with vegetable scissors. We buried the hair in the garden.
    The second was done inside of Primetime Bar directly after a Habs third-round loss. The hair was buried in post-lost beers.
    Maybe I will wait until another significant life moment to rid myself of this ponytail mess. Maybe my graduation from a prestigious university, the birth of my first child, or legitimately publishing something deemed acceptable. But more likely, it will be here to stay until I get run over by a train riding my bicycle and paramedics cut it off in order to sew my face back on.


    I sleep best with the rain upon this shed
    Still counting miles but I’m not sure how many good ones I’ve got left
    In some ways I know that I should settle down
    But it ain’t in me right now
    So I’ll keep it slow
    And keep looking all around.

    A mind don’t turn
    With feet nailed to the floor
    Keep a pounding heart full of love for all
    Turn no one away but keep close what’s yours.
    Man, life ain’t half bad here, but it sure as hell ain’t ideal.
    Can’t sort what’s been gained, to what’s been stole
    And how hours can add up to all these years.

    Morning’s best when health’s leaning on my side,
    Have some coffee, get on a walk for some air
    Just to clear my mind
    Come afternoon, although I’m tired and drained,
    I get my work done without a sound and wonder if it’s even worth the pain
    By nightfall when I’m alone and can’t hardly move,
    I can’t call it common sense, but I fight to not drink, I fight to play my next move
    I shouldn’t be this tired yet, I shouldn’t put so much into not knowing
    If I should’ve stayed or gone
    Or who I could’ve let down
    Or what I did right
    Or what I did wrong

    Carry me on, let me get some rest
    I know I said that I’d be alright when you left.
    But carry me on, let me get some help.
    It’s hard to admit now, but I can’t do this by myself.

    –Tim Barry, Shed Song, 40 Miler

  • Lyric of the Month: August 2011

    People, David Bazan, Strange Negotiations.

    when i was young
    i saw people helping people
    all the time
    because you were
    people-helping-people
    in your prime
    i thought people-loving-people
    were the norm
    because you were people
    loving people
    before the long dark storm
    but now you’re selfish and mean
    your eyes glued to a screen
    and what titillates you
    is depraved and obscene
    and i know that it’s dangerous to judge
    but man you’ve gotta find the truth
    and when you find that truth don’t budge
    until the truth you found begins to change
    and it does i know i know
    when you love the truth enough
    you start to tell all the time
    when it gets you into trouble
    you discover you don’t mind
    cause if good is finally gonna trump
    than man you’ve gotta take stock
    and you’ve gotta take your lumps
    or else they trickle down
    into someone else’s cup below
    you know
    i wanna know who are these people
    blaming their sins on the fall
    who are these people
    if i’m honest with myself at all
    these are my people
    man what else can i say
    you are my people
    and we’re the same in so many ways
    then your eyes turned green
    and you broke the machine
    that when handed to you
    was still kind of functioning
    and i know…..