Mark Wynn - Captain Fantastic | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Mark Wynn
• Captain Fantastic

The cold the nothing the blah the room that stinks of stale farts the late night tryna understand it putting it into chop chop chop manageable pieces looking at what he said she said he said about what I can't recall

The talk the nothing the blah the blah you have been listening to who cares I'll paint you a pic char dictionary six creases shit pieces of art electronic music in basement room 3.90 a schooner 'what the fuck is a schooner?' platter I should've just stayed at home nonsense

I'm pissed off, that's the chorus. I'm socially awkward, conversationally useless and obsessed with feeling inferior is also the chorus.

Yeah I'm pissed a consistant blah, drugged by mediocrity, rancour. Look at that big word I can't pronounce or spell possibly who cares (are you actually reading this?) rancour anger at peoples inability to look beyond the usual scope the machinery of it all I'm not built for it and these shoes make me feel stupid.

Yeah I'm pissed not knowing what I want how to get it complete dissatisfaction why bother why anything I forgot to by any milk, bollocks, wheat shreds and water, the colons in the wrong place. I know it is. I don't but I do, and who are you. Why why why didn't I ask for her number....

Touchy feely Mark's in a mood with me. Don't touch me, you know I don't like being touched, hence my reaction.

THings not working out, turn on the screen, feel worse for looking at the screen, too much time spent looking at the screen, the fucking screen. You been cutting your hair agen? Aye, and I would like to sleep in close proximity with she again. But I can't, it won't work, because toss becomes bland becomes toss, becomes life, becomes one foot on a stool at a Wednesday open mic night sounding like elevator music. I've just pressed a vinyl he ses to me, I hope you've got the loft space, elevator music.

Social realism, sing about a supermarket, be criticized in the music weekly no one buys anymore...

So it ends sat on a train low battery, I look forward to buying birthday cards which make slights at your age and inability to piss properly. Speaking of which I put a little dog off his pee driving home last night we came down that big hill, Garraby, it was raining, I was a bit pissed my stomach digesting that shit food we got in Brid it was your birthday I wanted what was not mine and the radio going out of tune playing out of time tune into the static and I feel devoid of sensation, Captain Fantastic...

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