Bit into half of a chocolate CD. Never tasted quite as sweet as ice cream. A sweet tooth that could only be pulled in summer's chair. There's no such thing as forever. Twenty-one was boring, twenty-two was better. Didn't even know till today this was there.
I'm so self-contained like a quicktime. Feet out in front, arms limply to the side. I always liked getting hurt. Being face-down in the dirt. I must miss being a baby. I'll tell you a story. Till I lose you to video games.
Have you tried to see through the city? The ghosts and the glory days peer through the past. Sense them wandering aimlessly. Warning us that nothing lasts. No matter how much I think you'll like something that I like, there's always the off-chance that you'll hate it to death.
And if I think you think I know what you're thinking, it's usually true you're worried about you. Drown your sorrows in the drinking. It's a common thing to do. Who do I think I'm portraying? Who am I to advise you? Advertising places you don't want to go. Telling you things that you might already know.
I said maybe I'd rather marry a city, than a boy who doesn't know what to be.
We tried to leave by walking through each other, we got combined. The bobby pin jumped ship from your hair into mine. We'll stand on the corner, for a whole hour, It's about time that we found each other. Spin through space on Mother's Day.
If that's what I wrote down then that's what I recall. A dream's a dream, three stories tall. Stop singing about it, I don't have to pretend I care what some bitch from you know where is doing coming over here.
So remember me just how I was, recall how constant I could be. For now I'm filthy with distrust, I flicker inconsistently. And if you're on the poster now, then you're in the band anyhow. We're on the beach, we're eating sand.
This is the most to say that I've had for some time. The richest I've been, finding dollars in my mind. But what can I spend these words that I write on? Songs for a boy, filtered through a siphon? Melodies so thick you think you can bite them.
(How many actors can see through an act? And how many are singer-songwriters? Waiting for something momentous? Something
delightful and ridiculous? And is there any more than this? Watching your life on a flat screen when you are only 17?)
We tried to leave by walking through each other, we got combined. The bobby pin jumped ship from your hair into mine. Let's make a new project, better than objects. I'll bring the color, you'll bring the logic. Let's not waste another day.
You'll remember me just how I am, recall how constant I could be. For now I'm flaky as a crust, I cherish inconsistency. And I don't want to be myself now! I only want to be you. It's why I kiss you all the time. It's why I try and bite you too.
ASAP my LOVE
She's thin and cheap like a spiral book. You're the one I'm gonna stick to, look! He's the gold that I am after. I'm the modern-day carpetbagger. Staring from a window seat, on the china bus (February 13th). Avoiding chit-chat with the other cheap romantic distanced lovers.
Coming into Boston, sitting on the right- see all the familiar sights? All ten places I know to have mafia pizza on Comm Ave. Got a pineapple pie with no cheese and climbed the church on Cabot Street. The three of us at 2 AM, when we were so heartbroken.
I'll sing myself into the ground and cringe when I play back the tape. I remind myself of city snow - it's hard to stick when you're a flake! The straining voices of my old aging rock and roll idols, blasting in car stereo out on the Pacific Coast.
1. Palm trees in the wind
2. Hazy pinkish skies
3. Old decrepit signs
4. Neon fucking lights
(Tell me that I shine)
I will get a sunburned face, through plastic windows, scratched and lined. The highway sunlight shows a trace of kisses from my valentine.
"ASAP, my LOVE! Let's run away to Calgary. Let happenstance save the day
I wouldn't have it any other way!"
These shapes sort of look like words, but they fall short of what I mean. This distance stuck between us hurts, but it sure beats proximity.
A behavioral relapse makes me worse than the very worst. My hair's in my face, my lips are slightly pursed. I should stop asking people if they like me and us because hardly anybody does. I should stop telling you, 'you might be the messiah'. Because you think you are too, and you aren't a liar.
The mark of the beast, I think it fits. An itchy rash like a 36. It happened the day I struck it rich. I turned into your main dream bitch. And that doesn't mean that I am mean. I was just a bitch inside your dream. Telling you terrible true things on your answering machine.
We are both wearing nothing but I am much colder than you. You have all the blankets but it's me who's wrapped up in the truth. It's much more than just a sidewalk square jammed between us on a walk. We don't even try to talk. I make sure you're not far off, from the corner of my eye. And you make sure to demand what I have written on my hand.
You're wearing a costume and a mask. And answering questions I never asked. You speak your way into boldness. Don't you see it's all that's left? This is all that's left.
All lyrics ©2006 by Yoko Kikuchi / Dream Bitches.