1. |
A Year Of Winter Sun
05:44
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Hanging round for something new,
But there's nothing wrong with being blue.
The red sky sent a fiver in a card.
Oh no! Look at what you've done!
This is the year of winter sun.
The record books have all been chucked away.
Fighting blindly through the wreck.
What is that caught around your neck?
Just wait 'til I get you home.
You think you know everything?
Oh no!
You know nothing.
Skipping over sticks and stones,
Your skin pulled taut over bending bones,
And it's getting hard to separate the two.
Looking round for Chekhov's gun,
But this is the year of winter sun.
The story books have all been tucked away.
Fighting blindly through the wreck.
What's that tugging at your leg?
Just wait 'til I get you home.
You think you know everything?
Oh no!
And everybody said there was nothing wrong,
But look at that face - is it starting to break?
Outside they're pulling out shadows again,
But inside we're pushing pins in cushions.
Time pushes on and muffles the noise,
And this is the medicine and this is the poison,
You don't seem to do anything I say,
But you give me that look, and you get away with it.
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2. |
||||
|
Hanging round for something new,
But there's nothing wrong with being blue.
The red sky sent a fiver in a card.
Oh no! Look at what you've done!
This is the year of winter sun.
The record books have all been chucked away.
Fighting blindly through the wreck.
What is that caught around your neck?
Just wait 'til I get you home.
You think you know everything?
Oh no!
You know nothing.
Skipping over sticks and stones,
Your skin pulled taut over bending bones,
And it's getting hard to separate the two.
Looking round for Chekhov's gun,
But this is the year of winter sun.
The story books have all been tucked away.
Fighting blindly through the wreck.
What's that tugging at your leg?
Just wait 'til I get you home.
You think you know everything?
Oh no!
And everybody said there was nothing wrong,
But look at that face - is it starting to break?
Outside they're pulling out shadows again,
But inside we're pushing pins in cushions.
Time pushes on and muffles the noise,
And this is the medicine and this is the poison,
You don't seem to do anything I say,
But you give me that look, and you get away with it.
|
||||
O'Great Bear Derbyshire, UK
1 analogue synth,
1 guitar.
1 machine spewing ramshackle loops.
2 operators...trying to keep up.
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