Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Song for the End of the World, artist - Sadistik. Album song Flowers for My Father, in the genre Рэп и хип-хоп
Date of issue: 18.02.2013
Record label: Fake Four
Song language: English
Song for the End of the World |
Just because I’m absent minded doesn’t mean I have to find it |
It’s my pity-party darling please don’t act invited |
I sip Bacardi just to pass the time when |
It gets me started for the clash of titans just past my eyelids |
I’m not a downer in the kill the party market |
But I swallowed all my pride and yet I’m still a starving artist |
And still I’m finding parts of all my silly life departures |
Parts of darkness are so thrilling but it’s filling my apartment |
So please for forgive me if I overstep my boundaries |
I keep forgetting that there’s no one left to count on me |
At least I’m living on my own and get a founder’s fee |
I’m out to see and drifting off that melatonin sound asleep |
Wait up all alone just to dream away the time |
Weight upon my collarbones don’t seem to pay no mind |
The day the world died I didn’t even say goodbye |
I left a love letter in a secret place to hide that said |
I’d give concern but I’m a disconcerted immature kid |
Insecure when I am quickly searching for a bridge to burn it |
If I twist and turn until the blisters hurt it isn’t worth it |
If it’s served with sense of urgency to see me binge and purge it |
I’ve lived and learned and learned to live to misinterpret nervous twitches |
Pistons turning hurt to bliss it’s picture perfect |
And since I’ve learned a circus trick of inadvertent perfect-pitch |
To skim a surface worse than this I’m in to get deserted, when I ask |
On the day the world ends |
A bee circles a clover |
A fisherman mends a glimmering net |
By the rainspout young sparrows are playing |
And the snake is gold-skinned as it should always be |
On the day the world ends |
Women walk through the fields under their umbrellas |
A drunkard grows sleepy at the edge of a lawn |
Vegetable peddlers shout in the street |
And a yellow-sailed boat comes nearer the island |
The voice of a violin lasts in the air |
And leads into a starry night |
I get less comfortable with each breath stomach full of regrets |
Each step’s becoming part of running as a reflex |
Pretend tell me something that relives stress |
Sleepless I’d rather suffocate my weakness |
I’m David Cronenberg mixed with David Lynch stir |
David Berkowitz and a little David Fincher |
They say I mince words that can paint a picture |
Honest and true yes long live the new flesh |
And I’m impatiently waiting to find a day that needs saving |
I say the things that can make me seem crazy |
I chase my dreams like I chase my drinks daily |
I fall asleep to my existential woes |
And the questions with the answers that’ll never get exposed |
I’m not too good with the mental episodes |
But about as sharp as it can get with pen or pencils though |
Evidence is shown in the sentimental prose |
Posing pros and cons to poking on this detrimental road |
I chose to walk walk walk on sediment and stone |
Don’t confuse my temperament as being reticent or cold |
Just let me vent |
And those who expected lightning and thunder |
Are disappointed |
And those who expected signs and archangels' trumps |
Will not believe it is happening now |
As long as the sun and the moon are above |
As long as the bumblebee visits a rose |
As long as rosy infants are born |
No one believes it is happening now |