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
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…..