Anatomies
Meanwhile, Back in Communist Russia...

I don't know what I'm thinking.
Deep purple, a little black and a perfect figure
And your trust; I don't believe a word you say,
Picture postcard to hell.
At Windsor Cafe, here with the tea scalding me through,
Singeing my skin, singing; singing in the drizzle;
And the pidgeons, incense the wreckage of amusements long gone.
How are you taking this? Skin warm through fat brick
Wasp, nettles stinging above our heads.
Everytime my coat is a blanket.
I'm not sure what you think of me now.
And the wine, red and white, flashing on and off like blood flying under the skin;
And the noise of it all, clamoring in my ears.
I clench my teeth around cigarettes, and the duvet that's not my own.

I feel there must be something behind this; peel, peel the layers away,
Scarlet surrounding me. Flesh, bright white against the back
The smell of the canvas draws me in; touched, touched by the movements springing under the skin,
Words surround waterfalls, but washed away,
Trace my spine, undulating, and I flinch away.

I feel there must be something behind this; peel, peel the layers away,
Scarlet surrounding me. Flesh, bright white against the back
The smell of the canvas draws me in, and I am touched, touched by the movements springing under the skin,
Words surround waterfalls, but washed away,
Trace my spine, undulating, and I flinch away.


  Purchase "Anatomies"   Purchase Entire Album   Email Video to Friends   Play Youtube "Anatomies" Video   Play Spotify "Anatomies" Song   View Wikipedia "Anatomies" Entry   Receive Emails for Future Meanwhile, Back in Communist Russia... Lyrics

Email:

  Link to "Anatomies"   Share on Facebook, Twitter, and more
  See Recommended Lyrics For You

Loading...

Lyrics by Meanwhile, Back in Communist Russia...

Related Songs