Repetition 3D (Binaural Version - Headphones Only) [feat. James Yorkston]
๐ต 2841 characters
โฑ๏ธ 5:28 duration
๐ ID: 30886088
๐ Lyrics
This is where I begin
Our garden is overflowing, but on the road there is no sign of life
All sprayed relentless away, grey black dust soot
But no mind as within a minute, our four feet
Are upon the moss of the curved basin rocks
And there is too much life to take in here
We climb past the petrified tree, sat like a giant's badly thrown pot
Discarded, but hanging on, lopsided
Climbed upon by generations and generations
And hardly an obstacle for you at all, now
We creep down the slide of the ashen grey glass
Careful, careful
And as the water rushes to meet our further neighbours
The secret beach is exposed
And this is where we shall go
Twice a day, passing the igneous and the sandstone
The rock pools and idiot yellow forests
Slowly drying in the sun but sleepy still
You can hold my hand, yet you run off to the heights
I call out warnings, terrified of the
Ending of my world in a few moments time
Should you slip or focus on a maroon red
Shell-less snail just a little too closely
And here the sand is a renewed virgin
Here my feet slowly sink
The water creeping to my toes reminding me of my own childhood
The grit under the nail
A blink, and I am there
Charcoal in my hand
Decorating the rocks with the evil munged faces
The skull and the cross bone
And then a yelp
And I'm back to you and your calls for attention
I watch the waves, the gulls, the guillemots, and you
I watch you
I breathe the air and I momentarily confuse
A trickle of water with a fat broken heel
I lift and I pop seaweed for a scent
Achievable nowhere else but my memory
And soon my son, you will be me, and I will be gone
And when I die, lay my body down
Far, far along this furthest strand
We cannot control the long lines
At best I can skim a stone, seventeen steps with luck
But after that I have no control
Of the trajectory, the weight, the ripple of the water
So it is important we throw with grace and precision
The collapse of the flight, the illusion
And I teach the curl
Explain my understanding of the cup of the base of the stone
A traditional black weight slate coin
Perhaps not the best
For me
And every few moments you will hurl a brick and laugh
For it always works to hurl a brick, for us
I tire, skin, I nut a discarded crab
And with a shard I remember a friend
Battered by life's slow easy tide
In its own life changing harbour wave
Its own tiny tsunami
Three nine three nine
And what a life to lay
For that fellow, what a time to realise
That this surge will be the last
That he cannot survive this swell
A crash and a panic and a struggle to breathe
Perhaps
He did not find his new, washed shelter
Now just give me a minute
Like warmth, you return
Holding the silk shaped stone
Curved and perfect and look, I can use it to draw with
And you carve swift sharp marks
One, two, three
And will they still be here tomorrow?
We shall see
Our garden is overflowing, but on the road there is no sign of life
All sprayed relentless away, grey black dust soot
But no mind as within a minute, our four feet
Are upon the moss of the curved basin rocks
And there is too much life to take in here
We climb past the petrified tree, sat like a giant's badly thrown pot
Discarded, but hanging on, lopsided
Climbed upon by generations and generations
And hardly an obstacle for you at all, now
We creep down the slide of the ashen grey glass
Careful, careful
And as the water rushes to meet our further neighbours
The secret beach is exposed
And this is where we shall go
Twice a day, passing the igneous and the sandstone
The rock pools and idiot yellow forests
Slowly drying in the sun but sleepy still
You can hold my hand, yet you run off to the heights
I call out warnings, terrified of the
Ending of my world in a few moments time
Should you slip or focus on a maroon red
Shell-less snail just a little too closely
And here the sand is a renewed virgin
Here my feet slowly sink
The water creeping to my toes reminding me of my own childhood
The grit under the nail
A blink, and I am there
Charcoal in my hand
Decorating the rocks with the evil munged faces
The skull and the cross bone
And then a yelp
And I'm back to you and your calls for attention
I watch the waves, the gulls, the guillemots, and you
I watch you
I breathe the air and I momentarily confuse
A trickle of water with a fat broken heel
I lift and I pop seaweed for a scent
Achievable nowhere else but my memory
And soon my son, you will be me, and I will be gone
And when I die, lay my body down
Far, far along this furthest strand
We cannot control the long lines
At best I can skim a stone, seventeen steps with luck
But after that I have no control
Of the trajectory, the weight, the ripple of the water
So it is important we throw with grace and precision
The collapse of the flight, the illusion
And I teach the curl
Explain my understanding of the cup of the base of the stone
A traditional black weight slate coin
Perhaps not the best
For me
And every few moments you will hurl a brick and laugh
For it always works to hurl a brick, for us
I tire, skin, I nut a discarded crab
And with a shard I remember a friend
Battered by life's slow easy tide
In its own life changing harbour wave
Its own tiny tsunami
Three nine three nine
And what a life to lay
For that fellow, what a time to realise
That this surge will be the last
That he cannot survive this swell
A crash and a panic and a struggle to breathe
Perhaps
He did not find his new, washed shelter
Now just give me a minute
Like warmth, you return
Holding the silk shaped stone
Curved and perfect and look, I can use it to draw with
And you carve swift sharp marks
One, two, three
And will they still be here tomorrow?
We shall see