Straight in at 101 Songtext
von Los Campesinos!

I think we need more post-coital
And less post-rock
Feels like the build-up takes forever
But you never get me off

You pull your dress over your face
And I stare down towards my chest
Chastise both our greasy hair
Wonder whose gut is the softest
Stand with my ear to the door
Listening to the landing floorboards
Working out when will be safe
To dash from mattress to your bathroom
Where I ball my fingers into fists
Until my knuckles glow bright white
Press the heels into eye sockets
′Til I see the flashing lights
Stop me when my stories change
When they have started to repeat
'Cause last time I was a mess of sleep of icy feet


So baby, all apologies
It was going to happen, inevitably, oh

I think we need more post-coital
And less post-rock
Feels like the build-up takes forever
But you never touch my cock
And what exactly do you mean now
By "what can you even eat?"
And how does that affect
How I′ll get off this evening?

I flew down south to Mexico
Had a minor realization
I understood why kids draw the sun
With its rays emanating
And the beams broke the clouds
The sky looked like a concertina
I'd sat on in my pocket for weeks
Folded up from a picture


I've been playing straight chicken with gay girls
It′s never enough
She keeps on pulling the peace sign
And it seems like a taunt
She licked a glaze on her lips
They shone like battleship grey
She never liked the wisdom I gave
"Some people give themselves to religion
Some people give themselves to a cause
Some people give themselves to a lover
I have to give myself to goals"

So baby, all apologies
It was going to happen, inevitably
And if it helps, I mean, even slightly at all
It′s best to dust yourself down and get straight back on the horse

I condescend a smile and wink
Directly at the camera
I leave you led in both our scents
As I tip-toe out the backdoor
I skid down icy streets
And view my face in the reflection
Of a high street lingerie store
Though it wasn't my intention

I phone my friends and family
To gather round the television
The talking heads count down
The most heart-wrenching breakups of all time
Imagine the great sense of waste
The indignity, the embarrassment
When not a single one of that whole century
Was mine