Sounds Familiar Songtext
von The Weakerthans
Sounds Familiar Songtext
We emerged from youth all wide-eyed like the rest
Shedding skin faster than skin can grow
And armed with hammers, feathers, blunt knives
Words to meet and to define and to... but you must know
The same games that we played in dirt, in dusty school yards
Have found a higher pitch and broader scale
Than we feared possible, someone must be picked last
And one must bruise and one must fail
And that still twitching bird was so deceived by a window
So we eulogized fondly, we dug deep, and threw
Its elegant plumage and frantic black eyes in a hole
And then rushed out to kill something new
So we could bury that too
The first chapters of life almost made us give up altogether
Pushed towards tired forms of self immolation
That seemed so original. I must, we must never stop
Watching the sky with our hands in our pockets
Stop peering in windows when we know doors are shut
Stop yelling small stories and bad jokes and sorrows
And my voice will scratch to yell many more, but
Before I spill the things I mean to hide away
Or gouge my eyes with platitudes of sentiment
I′ll drown the urge for permanence and certainty
Crouch down and scrawl my name with yours in wet cement
Shedding skin faster than skin can grow
And armed with hammers, feathers, blunt knives
Words to meet and to define and to... but you must know
The same games that we played in dirt, in dusty school yards
Have found a higher pitch and broader scale
Than we feared possible, someone must be picked last
And one must bruise and one must fail
And that still twitching bird was so deceived by a window
So we eulogized fondly, we dug deep, and threw
Its elegant plumage and frantic black eyes in a hole
And then rushed out to kill something new
So we could bury that too
The first chapters of life almost made us give up altogether
Pushed towards tired forms of self immolation
That seemed so original. I must, we must never stop
Watching the sky with our hands in our pockets
Stop peering in windows when we know doors are shut
Stop yelling small stories and bad jokes and sorrows
And my voice will scratch to yell many more, but
Before I spill the things I mean to hide away
Or gouge my eyes with platitudes of sentiment
I′ll drown the urge for permanence and certainty
Crouch down and scrawl my name with yours in wet cement
Writer(s): John Samson Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com