Cloud Rat все тексты (слова) песен, переводы, видео, клипы

I am the worm that moves from page to page,
Reaching for his arm, patched-up stripped sleeve.
Steel spirals shine from their vests.
This is madness. Pure darkness.
Burning death-flies and contorted flesh.
Looking from the line, they mumbled.
Streams of steam tumble.
Drifting from our gums...

Dealing. I'm always just dealing.
Strewn about, pulled too thin.
Thinking about what’s about to rip.
"I think I know you from a past life."
Being cautious, always watching my back.
I’ve been attracted to you like a fly to a mucus trap.
I’ve always been wrestling your internal pain.
Woke up from dreams where I undressed you from a priestly gown.

Rising from under a sheet, a corpse that still has skin.
Painted nails, navy blue. “Urine ball little girl.”
Take her boots off one by one.
Apa smiles as he runs away. A silent crushed ant.
Let her kick you in the face.
Booze dressed on her every day.
Driving the kids, not to play, but to be the spectacle.
Stolen prizes you cheated to get us,

...The rising heat of a blistering cell, pulsating.
Brass teeth that gnaw and grind.
A collared neck that is raw.
A woman alone holding a child,
Playing unharmed and sweet.
Fungus that evolves into the next type of species.
Radiation silence. Aging man in a chair.
Violence. Mourning. Courage. Resistance.

"I like pulling out your baby teeth."
Looking down at the twelve-year-old girl,
String-to-finger.
Scalping her bones. Shunts in the brain.
No remorse to the little one.
Growing. Closing. Losing her sense of wonder.
Why wander anymore? It’s safer now.
Shit-sack of bones in a bow,

Nothings going to ever feel like this.
It’s not going to feel fine, but you can break my skeleton,
And you will eat at my mind.
But it’s flowing lively through my heart. It blooms through my eyes.
And the deceit which you grew will fester and rise.
We don’t belong here, eventually we will be cast out.

(Original lyrics, translated)
On a sad Sunday with a hundred white flowers,
I was waiting for you, my dear, with a church prayer,
That dream-chasing Sunday morning, The chariot of my sadness returned without you.
Ever since then, Sundays are always sad, tears are my drink,
and sorrow is my bread... Sad Sunday.
Last Sunday, my dear, please come along, There will even be priest, coffin, catafalque, hearse-cloth.
Even then flowers will be awaiting you, flowers and coffin.

Don’t look at me for answers. Look to the sky.
Swear on your life. So ashamed of your lies.
You won’t be forgiven.
Constantly questioning your motives.
Confused by the process of your thoughts.
Sick to death of guessing games.
Tired of your dull-edged blame.
Aren’t you ashamed?

Couch-dweller, he hides in secret.
The last pair of eyes under the hall closet.
Can you balance? Can you show me yourself?
A mission to the junkyard
(Just trash stretched across industrialized land).
For the first time,
I've found something I've been searching for.
Anything.

You cant you can’t you can’t
Treat me like this.
Wicked and winged rubbing my eyes.
There’s no limit to what a mind can absorb.
A pounding, pulsating anger that is no longer humyn.
Glorified Dawn, I spit in your face.
Come at me, try and eat your most precious host.
Give me the soul of a giver, teacher-preacher.

70 percent prairie, I care no more for laws.
Crushed under tongues.
Can I be a potter? One that can build subterranean tombs,
Just like the cops?
Ornamentals of truth, Out of reach of our children.
Gagged and molested.
Don't trust the bonds. Flat-faced; replaceable.
Nations pass. Half day, half night.

Crawling up my cold feet, I sink into the end of the couch.
Looking at your entrails, I bite my tongue.
I feel a whisper of dead pleasure swindling away what I stand for.
You lick my throat as my eyes roll back into my skull.
Lifted up and rolled over, an invisible rope is strewn across the arm rest.
Tell me this is how you cracked all your other puppets.
You smile and wait for me to decide what’s best.
Set in stone, my fate was never complex.

What’s the mother tongue? Thin vein. Bolt gun.
Up and down. Close and part.
I lay, aimlessly staring at the wall.
Outer space; the void. I can’t sleep again.
Laying on my face: one white-numb hand.
Stars above my head. Pull-out peace. Any chance of sleep?
Everyone on this planet is humming the same sound.
Outer space; the void. I can’t sleep again.

Sometimes I think of how hardly alive you are at all.
Dodging bullets. Dodging raindrops.
December’s here, and this rattling can,
Of a group “home” (we call a home) can’t stay warm.
There are no colors. The world feels dusty.
The thoughts that swim in & out make a traitor out of me.
Suspend myself from the ceiling and watch us all live.
I break and slip porcelain plates.