Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Unpleasant Breakfast, artist - The Hold Steady. Album song Open Door Policy, in the genre Инди
Date of issue: 18.02.2021
Record label: Positive Jams, Thirty Tigers
Song language: English
Unpleasant Breakfast |
Every morning we burn the bread |
Walk it down to the waters edge |
See the seagulls eat cigarettes |
Check your breath in a spoon |
All your stuff in the storage shed |
Twisted sheets on the trundle bed |
And the anti-psychosis meds |
Made you feel all marooned |
Last summer at the shore when I was working cleaning carpets |
At some hotel that was haunted by some sailor who supposedly was murdered |
After losing all his treasure in the harbor |
That’s back when I found romance in these ghosts |
I was honestly more bothered by the hundred miles of hallways |
Than the clanking of the shackles or the shadows in the doorway |
And we snuck into the ballroom and made echoes in it’s empty |
And I grabbed you and I spun you and we both just started laughing |
All the burns on the windowsill |
Says she’s crazy about horses still |
All these anti-psychosis pills |
So much power and grace |
Up there on South Ocean View |
All the shells made me think of you |
We bought into a three for two |
And a strawberry shake |
First it’s April then it’s August |
It’s the cost of doing business |
You were scared and over cautious |
The whole breakfast was unpleasant |
You just can’t keep throwing up and then cover it with sawdust |
And expect us not to notice and pretend it didn’t happen |
Last summer at the shoreline |
When you walked into the water |
Went out up to your waistline |
And turned back to face the camera |
Rolled your eyes back in their sockets |
Then you raised your middle fingers |
Defiant and undamaged |
That’s when I took the picture |
And this year we were standing |
Looking out off the veranda |
You said, «Yeah, I guess it’s pretty |
But I’m a shell of what I once was» |
That girl in last year’s picture |
Is now haunting her own hallways |
I no longer see the romance in these ghosts |
This coffee’s cold, this toast is gross |
I no longer see the romance in these ghosts |