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letra de leftovers - marsy mars

verse 1-
and in my heart does my love caress
a picture of my soul, that always lived with it;
and in its memory reads and re-reads
“living on”, always their favourite lyric
what will show our son poor is if he comes back with a suntan
having never landed on sand mediterranean
sixteen divided by two rooms, our family, would-be global
worth our weight tax free in total, uncontractedly mobile
our new father of country’s deeply suspicious of he, of
a very deep and dirty root of his own money tree
but if they crib second-hand sensation from our love’s perfumery
to separate us he’d have to see whеre the split twixt us’s between
split, yеah, from much of the self i knew, in no true marriage:
resilience is the inheritance i swim in, fear my favourite carriage
where most of me sank, what was left of me came alive
a vomited son, like the one eaten by every horizon

chorus
heave, ho on the sickening tide
heave, ho on the sickening tide
grin back to the horizon’s smiling
at the leftovers it has spit up the ocean wide

verse 2-
“in the east i was a man
in the west i am but a crop
at home i led a theatre of ops by blood mopped
at new home, my soul just front and stock of shop
uncle in the spare room, grandmother stairs up
souls once cl-stered together for the warmth of tear’d luck
now drift through a sea without planetary course
unbought til by the gravity of the event horizon
i remember a laugh on deck, a kid pinched his friend’s hand
a laugh, yes, i last laughed ‘fore we made land
a laugh delayed in contract til we build paradise to a man
that which no eye can see, though retrospect’s lens can;
that failure of evolution, a heart designed to leap
at what its host cannot peep; it’s nature constitution, writ by air
now that i know i cannot set in the pub that is their day’s end
for the first time i pray not godways then
but to my fellow man for mercy;
is to do so to follow religion as god intended?”

verse 3-
to my mother and father, newly-in-law
“that new house i spoke of, we return there, and
it is new down to a paint fleck’s hair, every day
i return, unlike home, with no blood or oil on me
nothing from that vein that with my nation might bond me
you know the premier here is a childless man?
how can he give us reaping if his heart’s such barren land?
my love, your daughter, is sold; i’m unbought, yet both of us
long to cultivate our love on that reservation
by the bared soles revealed here we walk upon
i wedged my soul into the fusebox of a light switch to keep it on
i hesitate to choose the parallel life; unafraid though shy of combination
but it’s the pub again tonight; they learned some shadu in preparation
everything i know i know by hearing
and here, in this place, i can hear nothing anymore;
i hear the quiet, its dejection of sound that would ply it
i await til fate takes that quiet and into tumult flies it.”

- marsy mars

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