Translation

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lyrics

I've heard a story
about old wooden people
with malnourished ideas
in between the frown

Boiling oil, the guts, sparkling hay
Boiling oil, the guts, sparkling hay

A log, well combed and maimed,
soft, plastic, it was never a tree.
A steak that was never a pig
it slides much better through the throat
A sphere without hair they have wrote
It feels so pleasant

Then a translator
speaks to us from math lights
that sprinkle our face in measured flickers.

Patient lapses
gather up the sighs with artisan hands.
Private implosions without hemorrhage.
Tears that swell but will never drop.

(Go on, go on
Go on, go on)

That's enough for now
We leave the room laying on the bed
The money on the night stand
and the floor is a mess that won't let us leave



(Go on, go on
Go on, go on)

We clean our mouths and
we leave the room laying on the bed
The money on the night stand
and the floor is a mess that won't let us leave

credits

from Mystery of the White Flesh, released October 20, 2013

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