a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 #

letra de enough sterling in the pocket - marsy mars

[introduction]
and now we present, as they
stand in contemplation before some
dutch painting in the national gallery
thoughts of a farmer of london’s preferred crop:
sterling

[verse 1]
without alarm i spend, through the vales of a label
whose peace my uneasiness tends
buy mink as a favour to the wolf
and something in a print of leopard for the shepherd;
without charm i spend, hermes for love’s casing
the ‘main for the girl whose love i’m wasting
alienated from the principlе that’d make me
conspicuous spending’s own rogеr cas-m-nt
without aim i spend, except maybe the simulation
of well-dressed fame that’s freedom’s approximation;
but only its approximation – applaud a revolutionary’s stand
and then buy the revolutionary’s trainers
principles, they once would’ve died for ‘em–
now they beg a sweat shop stitch in time for them
i always fancied myself incorruptible
before i saw how you made corrupting fun
before you showed me how what i take’s what i’m worth
but then that somewhere in the sterling murk lurks
some untold relation of the fact of our consumption
and the rapidly diminishing inheritance that is this earth
and that anyway, the sterling don’t stop a man
from putting his abuse on me, based on the shade of blue on my back
the melanin he has or he lacks
the sterling don’t pop the whip’s crack
but the sterling don’t care
[chorus]
the sterling goes ch-ching-ch-ching-ching;
i try to clip the spending dove’s wings
but its songs of excess grounded still sings
we’re mated for life by register’s rings

[verse 2]
premonitions of my end arriving high on a pitiless
horizon, like i were a dutch isis fighter
with a dutch painter’s finer sensibilities
i will not beg ‘em like shamima
but face my end with the depth and taste of dutch paint
and the queens pon my riches bear no tears admiring in
their eyes at my heroic sacrifice, if anything their smile more beguiles
like i must be a hero to be so rich
you see, the fault, my friend, is within ourselves; we spend
treat all ends as means to their own end
in a madness of the very fortunate, importunate
within all those once shamed to be poor
innit a shame that only gated in excess
can our sense of security securely reside?
that i feel dirty enough to die without
enough sterling in the pocket to clutch
enough sterling in the pocket to clutch?

[verse 3]
in a madness of the very fortunate, i’m extorted
by the force of my own fantasia
i’m not so rich as i paint myself, though i must
say, i paint myself very well
i pay only for entry into the state of ignorance, and
maybe ignorance is the one blessed state – set it high on foresight
and life becomes the slow matter of the unlivable
much like the dutch isis fighter’s
[coda]
it’s not about gold, it’s about souls;
and deep down, everybody knows

- marsy mars

letras aleatórias

MAIS ACESSADOS