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Los Campesinos!( Los Campesinos )
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Straight In At 11
Lyricist:Thomas Bromley, Gareth Paisey
I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock Feels like the build up takes forever but you never get me off You pull your dress over your face and I stare down towards my chest Chastise both our greasy hair, wonder whose gut is the softest
Stand with my ear to the door listening to the landing floorboards Working out when we'll be safe to dash the mattress to your bathroom Where I ball my fingers into fists until my knuckles glow bright white Press the heels into eye sockets 'til I see the flashing lights
Stop me when my stories change, when they have started to repeat 'Cause last time I was a mess of sleep of icy feet
So baby, all apologies It was going to happen inevitably
I think we need more post-coital and less post-rock Feels like the build up takes forever but you never touch my cock And what exactly do you mean now by what can you even eat? And how does that affect how I'll get off this evening?
I flew down south to Mexico, had a minor realization I understood why kids draw the sun with its rays emanating And the beams broke the clouds, the sky were like a concertina A town in my pocket for weeks folded up from a picture
Find more lyrics at ※ Mojim.com I've been playing straight chicken with gay girls, it's never enough She keeps on pulling the peace sign and it seems like a torch She licked the glaze on her lips, they shone like Battleship Grey She never liked the wisdom I gave
Some people give themselves to religion Some people give themselves to a cause Some people give themselves to a lover I have to give myself to goals
So baby, all apologies It was going to happen inevitably And if it helps, I mean even slightly at all It's best you dust yourself down and get straight back on the horse
I condescend a smile and wink directly at the camera And leave you letting both our senses, I tiptoe out the backdoor I skip down, I see streets in view my face in the reflection Of a High Street lingerie store though it wasn't my intention
I phoned my friends and family to gather 'round the television The talking heads count down the most Heart wrenching break-ups of all time Imagine the great sense of waste, the indignity, the embarrassment When not a single one of that whole century was mine
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