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letra de the metrologist - liz stringer

i’ve never seen you here before
have you got time for just one more?
this rain won’t let up for an hour at least
and i don’t have anywhere i have to be

around here there’s not much else to do
i wouldn’t mind sitting down and spending time with you
a silicone ball measures kilos so they’re the same everywhere
you know i never think about it, so much of what goes on out there
sound wavеs measure a metеr in metric, and imperial
what are the feet, would you say, between our table and that bar stool

tell me more about what you do
i’ve never met anyone who knows as much as you
i could keep asking you things eternally
so much of what you’ve been saying deeply appeals to me
i’ll try to keep my questions linear, try to articulate exactly what i mean
you better bring the bottle back, look like the rain’s gonna settle in

so what’s the weight of the booze, would you measure that in milliliters
how many years have i lost, i’d only count them if i was a defeatist
but the only thing wasted here is that wine if don’t finish my drink
is it numbers and scales to you
tell me how you see the things that i do
man i’d love to be inside of your head
cos mine’s getting harder to bare
things are getting darker, it’s feeling harder, i can’t remember
where were we, i’m sorry

i’ve been trying to keep straight, trying to keep it together
but these tiny little tremors getting heavier and heavier
the numbers confuse me, i don’t understand and now i have this strange swelling in both of my hands
i got the wrong shoes on, not prepared for the terrain
it’s so pretty up here but i’m preoccupied with the pain
can you tell me how long before i disappear
what’s the point look like at which i am no longer here
if my body’s too heavy and my list’s too long
have i failed as a woman ‘cos my measurements are wrong
the goalposts keep shifting, the ball slippery with rain
they want us to compete but they won’t put us in the game
what’s the unit for the negative sh-t in my head that only drowns when i down a solid liter before bed
is it something scientific, is it brain chemistry, or am i just a product of myself, of panic and ennui
and how long is it before you forget who you are
while some talent spider tells you that you’re too fat to be a star
or a critic says your record sounds too much like your boyfriend even though you wrote every f-cking riff on the album
you’re too depressing, too obtuse, too aggressive, too aloof
too demanding, too uptight, don’t live up to any hype
either too old to be relevant or too young to be resonant
addictions picking off mates like they’re all social experiments
all the kicking, all the pr-cks, all the leaches, snakes and ticks
all the hours on the road, lonely brain bound to implode
psyche shrieking out the back, bills are waiting in a growing stack
you’re working like a dog but you got nothing to show for that
you gotta help me understand what you do
i’ve never known anyone that keeps everything as straight as you
there was a time i had all in my fist
now i’m seriously considering becoming a metrologist

- liz stringer

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