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» Idiot Bliss
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| Genre: |
Indie |
Not Yet Rated
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| CD: |
The Suburb E.P. |
| Label: |
Fat Guy Rock |
| Credits: |
Dan Cray |
| Download: |
Get This Free Song Download Now! |
| Lyrics:
| Click To View Or Hide Song Lyrics |
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In the pallet bonfire light
you drink warm beer
and watch them fight,
The meatheads and the stoned,
the jocks and the drones,
the bullies and the bruised,
the useless and the used.
And all the pretty girls
are stuck with simple thoughts.
And all the simple boys
are hung with mammoth cocks.
And all the small-pricked,
thoughtful clowns like you,
are bound to fall in love with booze,
because you fell in love
then lost her
to a blissfull idiot.
You're drowning in the deep end
of the gene pool.
With all the poets and the altruistic artist fools.
The lifeguard can't swim,
he just sits there
and grins
in idiot bliss.
In the bar's forgiving light,
you drink cheap gin
and watch them fight.
The yuppies and the tools,
the knaves and the fools,
white collars and blues,
the useless and the used.
And all the pretty girls
are stuck with simple lives.
And all the simple boys
are fucking each others wives
And all the drunken,
thoughtful clowns like you,
Are divorced but still in love with booze,
because you fell in love
then turned into
a blissful idiot. |
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| Genre: |
Alternative |
Not Yet Rated
|
| CD: |
The Suburb E.P. |
| Label: |
Fat Guy Rock |
| Credits: |
Dan Cray |
| Download: |
Get This Free Song Download Now! |
| Lyrics:
| Click To View Or Hide Song Lyrics |
|
It's a long walk home,
and your feet and your head
are already sore.
And the telephone is ringing
back home by your bed.
So you figure you'll make the most
of each painfull step.
It's allright,
you've got your own remedies,
ashtrays full of burned out memories,
And things you wish you'd said
turning cartwheels round your head.
And it's all night
cause it's all that you know,
Always to drunk to drive,
Too dumb to let go
of the voices in your head
as they lay you down to rest.
on the floor by your word,
with a coat for a quilt.
in the ashes you dropped
and the liquor you spilt.
and the voices in your head
choose to ignore you.
It sounds insane
but it feels so right.
Your incremental suicide
is all that keeps you alive. |
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| Genre: |
Indie |
Not Yet Rated
|
| CD: |
Little Help |
| Label: |
Fat Guy Rock |
| Credits: |
Dan Cray |
| Download: |
Get This Free Song Download Now! |
| Lyrics:
| Click To View Or Hide Song Lyrics |
|
A running list of all the worst of my mistakes,
All categorized and ranked,
With some highlighted.
Kept on hand in case I forget what you said,
For when I cant get out of bed,
And youre not done fighting.
You tagged every time that anyone
Has ever done you wrong.
If I could read your mind, love,
Id have to burn the athenaeum down.
No ones talking,
If they tell you where it hurts,
Youll know where to hit them first.
All those words
You wasted on the hurt,
When it finally goes to press,
Does it hurt you any less?
Im all done, I guess I said too much tonight,
Gave you way too much to write,
I see youre still writing.
But someday youll read it back,
And I hope by then youll laugh,
Youll laugh at all that crying.
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| Genre: |
Alternative |
Not Yet Rated
|
| CD: |
Little Help |
| Label: |
Fat Guy Rock |
| Credits: |
Dan Cray |
| Download: |
Get This Free Song Download Now! |
| Lyrics:
| Click To View Or Hide Song Lyrics |
|
I got a thank you note
from an old dead friend.
It said, Thanks for thinking of me,
Theyll be thinking of you next.
I got a valentine
From an old girlfriend.
She said, I think about you often,
But Im dying to forget.
I got an old dead letter,
Its one I wrote to me myself.
It says, Ill write when I get better.
And I havent written yet.
Its like a tattoo carved
With a dull and rusted needle.
You stay drunk enough,
It only hurts a little.
But it eats at you non-stop,
Like birdshit
On a rag-top.
I got three cracked ribs
That I re-crack every year.
I guess Ill never really learn,
To take it easy on the stairs.
I got a hole in me
That I tried to fill with booze.
I cant quite top it off,
But it makes a damn fine swimming pool.
I got 32,000 tugs of tar in my lungs.
Ive hosted 2200 Russian quarts in my gut.
And Ive walked my own damn dog,
Around 16,000 times.
Ive smoked twice as much as I spanked,
Less than a tenth of what I drank,
Quart-wise.
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