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Come, armageddon... come, armageddon, come... EVERYDAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
Trudging slowly over wet sand Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen This is the coastal town That they forgot to close down Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday Everyday is silent and grey Hide on the promenade Etch a postcard : "How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here" In the seaside town ...that they forgot to bomb Come, Come, Come - nuclear bomb Everyday is like Sunday Everyday is silent and grey Trudging back over pebbles and sand And a strange dust lands on your hands (And on your face...) (On your face ...) (On your face ...) (On your face ...) Everyday is like Sunday "Win Yourself A Cheap Tray" Share some greased tea with me Everyday is silent and grey SUPERJOINT RITUAL - http://www.superjointritual.com
A Lethal Dose of American Hatred | |
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Pee on me, please. -------
A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice chianti... "I've just had an apostrophe!" "I think you mean an epiphany..." | |
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IceNine said: EVERYDAY IS LIKE SUNDAY
Trudging slowly over wet sand Back to the bench where your clothes were stolen This is the coastal town That they forgot to close down Armageddon - come Armageddon! Come, Armageddon! Come! Everyday is like Sunday Everyday is silent and grey Hide on the promenade Etch a postcard : "How I Dearly Wish I Was Not Here" In the seaside town ...that they forgot to bomb Come, Come, Come - nuclear bomb Everyday is like Sunday Everyday is silent and grey Trudging back over pebbles and sand And a strange dust lands on your hands (And on your face...) (On your face ...) (On your face ...) (On your face ...) Everyday is like Sunday "Win Yourself A Cheap Tray" Share some greased tea with me Everyday is silent and grey greased tea?  | |
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 Morissey Probably his best song outside the Smiths! | |
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I really hate Morissey. I'd like to give him a good slap.
Preferably with that fucking bushel he's always swinging around.  and true love lives on lollipops and crisps | |
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IstenSzek said: I really hate Morissey. I'd like to give him a good slap.
Preferably with that fucking bushel he's always swinging around. But... you must admit that he really is a great songwriter... however annoying he might be.  SUPERJOINT RITUAL - http://www.superjointritual.com
A Lethal Dose of American Hatred | |
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Ice, what time do you start work? You're always up so freaking early! I mean, like, where is the sun? | |
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Natsume said: Ice, what time do you start work? You're always up so freaking early!
I get up at 4:00 am... it sucks.  SUPERJOINT RITUAL - http://www.superjointritual.com
A Lethal Dose of American Hatred | |
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IceNine said: Natsume said: Ice, what time do you start work? You're always up so freaking early!
I get up at 4:00 am... it sucks. It's 7 AM there? (5 AM on the west coast here) Anyhow, 4 AM does indeed suck... most nights I am up that late, doing homework! 
 I mean, like, where is the sun? | |
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IceNine said: IstenSzek said: I really hate Morissey. I'd like to give him a good slap.
Preferably with that fucking bushel he's always swinging around. But... you must admit that he really is a great songwriter... however annoying he might be. Perhaps I do, be it reluctantly heheh. and true love lives on lollipops and crisps | |
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IceNine said: IstenSzek said: I really hate Morissey. I'd like to give him a good slap.
Preferably with that fucking bushel he's always swinging around. But... you must admit that he really is a great songwriter... however annoying he might be. He was better with The Smiths
CEMETRY GATES A dreaded sunny day So I meet you at the cemetry gates Keats and Yeats are on your side A dreaded sunny day So I meet you at the cemetry gates Keats and Yeats are on your side While Wilde is on mine So we go inside and we gravely read the stones All those people, all those lives Where are they now ? With loves, and hates And passions just like mine They were born And then they lived And then they died It seems so unfair I want to cry You say : "'Ere thrice the sun done salutation to the dawn" And you claim these words as your own But I've read well, and I've heard them said A hundred times (maybe less, maybe more) If you must write prose/poems The words you use should be your own Don't plagiarise or take "on loan" 'Cause there's always someone, somewhere With a big nose, who knows And who trips you up and laughs When you fall Who'll trip you up and laugh When you fall You say : "'Ere long done do does did" Words which could only be your own And then produce the text From whence was ripped (Some dizzy whore, 1804) A dreaded sunny day So let's go where we're happy And I meet you at the cemetry gates Oh, Keats and Yeats are on your side A dreaded sunny day So let's go where we're wanted And I meet you at the cemetry gates Keats and Yeats are on your side But you lose 'Cause weird lover Wilde is on mine Sure ! | |
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Natsume said: IceNine said: Natsume said: Ice, what time do you start work? You're always up so freaking early!
I get up at 4:00 am... it sucks. It's 7 AM there? (5 AM on the west coast here) Anyhow, 4 AM does indeed suck... most nights I am up that late, doing homework!
 West coast!!! !!! !!! !!!  | |
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applekisses said: Snip brilliant lyrics that Morrissey wrote for the Smiths.
Morrissey is an incredible lyricist... no doubt about it. SUPERJOINT RITUAL - http://www.superjointritual.com
A Lethal Dose of American Hatred | |
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Here are two more favs...
FRANKLY, MR. SHANKLY Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held It pays my way, and it corrodes my soul I want to leave, you will not miss me I want to go down in musical history Frankly, Mr. Shankly, I'm a sickening wreck I've got the 21st century breathing down my neck I must move fast, you understand me I want to go down in celluloid history, Mr. Shankly Fame, Fame, fatal Fame It can play hideous tricks on the brain But still I'd rather be Famous Than righteous or holy, any day Any day, any day But sometimes I'd feel more fulfilled Making Christmas cards with the mentally ill I want to live and I want to Love I want to catch something that I might be ashamed of Frankly, Mr. Shankly, this position I've held It pays my way and it corrodes my soul Oh, I didn't realise that you wrote poetry I didn't realise you wrote such bloody awful poetry, Mr. Shankly Frankly, Mr. Shankly, since you ask You are a flatulent pain in the arse I do not mean to be so rude Still, I must speak frankly, Mr. Shankly Oh, give us your money ! *** THE BOY WITH THE THORN IN HIS SIDE The boy with the thorn in his side Behind the hatred there lies A murderous desire for love How can they look into my eyes And still they don't believe me ? How can they hear me say those words Still they don't believe me ? And if they don't believe me now Will they ever believe me ? And if they don't believe me now Will they ever, they ever, believe me ? Oh ... The boy with the thorn in his side Behind the hatred there lies A plundering desire for love How can they see the Love in our eyes And still they don't believe us ? And after all this time They don't want to believe us And if they don't believe us now Will they ever believe us ? And when you want to Live How do you start ? Where do you go ? Who do you need to know ? Oh ... Oh no ... Oh ... La ... | |
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And from where do the lyrics originate? ^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^
Being happy doesn't mean that everything is perfect, it means you've decided to look beyond the imperfections... unknown | |
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sag10 said: And from where do the lyrics originate?
The Smiths/Morrisey back catalog | |
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