歌曲 | Uncast Shadow of a Southern Myth |
歌手 | Parquet Courts |
专辑 | Content Nausea |
下载 | Image LRC TXT |
[Andrew Savage] | |
I’d seen the bloodlands of Antietam | |
The shotgun shack in Tupelo | |
But a brick circumference left hollow by Sherman | |
Crumbling before me how it moaned | |
His shape swallows my recollection | |
That phantom silhouette implied | |
Strange fruit rotting from an airborne and hotter than hell | |
Is this the king’s last man I’ve spied? | |
I stood there beside my companion | |
Scratching a rumor he had heard | |
Do you have a gun? | |
What? He said, yeah, you mean this one? | |
Straight down the barrel was his word | |
And I smelt the fumes he inhaled swiftly | |
Each word was hinged upon his choke | |
Like kudzu creeping up a state tree discretely | |
Forever bending as it broke | |
And I heard the jangling keys of Graceland | |
Ring from his teeth stained brown from coke | |
Drunk and stumbling like a man of distinction | |
They clamored shaking as he spoke | |
Of droves of pilgrims at his doorway | |
Of Reagan, Carter, Clinton, Gore | |
Fortunes offered them, refused routinely | |
This ain't no damn auction house he swore | |
Black male standing around 6 foot something | |
Ebbs through the waves of small town blight | |
A minute coldly from southern affection | |
Collides secretly into night | |
Forgive those who trespass against us | |
Began as the dead intruders plea | |
Into the very muzzle I’d once peered into | |
He gives the last words he will speak | |
But that broken glass supports forced entry | |
Reminds his lawyer through the phone | |
What southern judge do you know, comforting gently | |
Who jails white men who defend their home | |
No souls were present for the moment | |
His bombed out brick walls finally fell | |
Lying face down in the throes of atonement | |
Checked out of the Heartbreak Hotel | |
He was the uncast shadow of a southern myth [x5] |
Andrew Savage | |
I' d seen the bloodlands of Antietam | |
The shotgun shack in Tupelo | |
But a brick circumference left hollow by Sherman | |
Crumbling before me how it moaned | |
His shape swallows my recollection | |
That phantom silhouette implied | |
Strange fruit rotting from an airborne and hotter than hell | |
Is this the king' s last man I' ve spied? | |
I stood there beside my companion | |
Scratching a rumor he had heard | |
Do you have a gun? | |
What? He said, yeah, you mean this one? | |
Straight down the barrel was his word | |
And I smelt the fumes he inhaled swiftly | |
Each word was hinged upon his choke | |
Like kudzu creeping up a state tree discretely | |
Forever bending as it broke | |
And I heard the jangling keys of Graceland | |
Ring from his teeth stained brown from coke | |
Drunk and stumbling like a man of distinction | |
They clamored shaking as he spoke | |
Of droves of pilgrims at his doorway | |
Of Reagan, Carter, Clinton, Gore | |
Fortunes offered them, refused routinely | |
This ain' t no damn auction house he swore | |
Black male standing around 6 foot something | |
Ebbs through the waves of small town blight | |
A minute coldly from southern affection | |
Collides secretly into night | |
Forgive those who trespass against us | |
Began as the dead intruders plea | |
Into the very muzzle I' d once peered into | |
He gives the last words he will speak | |
But that broken glass supports forced entry | |
Reminds his lawyer through the phone | |
What southern judge do you know, comforting gently | |
Who jails white men who defend their home | |
No souls were present for the moment | |
His bombed out brick walls finally fell | |
Lying face down in the throes of atonement | |
Checked out of the Heartbreak Hotel | |
He was the uncast shadow of a southern myth x5 |
Andrew Savage | |
I' d seen the bloodlands of Antietam | |
The shotgun shack in Tupelo | |
But a brick circumference left hollow by Sherman | |
Crumbling before me how it moaned | |
His shape swallows my recollection | |
That phantom silhouette implied | |
Strange fruit rotting from an airborne and hotter than hell | |
Is this the king' s last man I' ve spied? | |
I stood there beside my companion | |
Scratching a rumor he had heard | |
Do you have a gun? | |
What? He said, yeah, you mean this one? | |
Straight down the barrel was his word | |
And I smelt the fumes he inhaled swiftly | |
Each word was hinged upon his choke | |
Like kudzu creeping up a state tree discretely | |
Forever bending as it broke | |
And I heard the jangling keys of Graceland | |
Ring from his teeth stained brown from coke | |
Drunk and stumbling like a man of distinction | |
They clamored shaking as he spoke | |
Of droves of pilgrims at his doorway | |
Of Reagan, Carter, Clinton, Gore | |
Fortunes offered them, refused routinely | |
This ain' t no damn auction house he swore | |
Black male standing around 6 foot something | |
Ebbs through the waves of small town blight | |
A minute coldly from southern affection | |
Collides secretly into night | |
Forgive those who trespass against us | |
Began as the dead intruders plea | |
Into the very muzzle I' d once peered into | |
He gives the last words he will speak | |
But that broken glass supports forced entry | |
Reminds his lawyer through the phone | |
What southern judge do you know, comforting gently | |
Who jails white men who defend their home | |
No souls were present for the moment | |
His bombed out brick walls finally fell | |
Lying face down in the throes of atonement | |
Checked out of the Heartbreak Hotel | |
He was the uncast shadow of a southern myth x5 |