Wait until the day says, it's closing And public is put away Write by the light of a pay phone Your list of "I meant to say" Like "Winter comes too soon
Tradução: Weakerthans, el. Barbecho.
They called here to tell me that your're finally dying, through a veil of childish cries. Southern Manitoba prairie's pulling at the pant leg of your
Wait until the day says it's closing, and public is put away. Write by the light of a pay phone your list of "I meant to say". Like "Winter comes too
I have a headache. I have a sore back. I have a letter I can't send. I have desire, it falters and falls down, it calls you up drunk at three or four
Had one of those days when you want to try heroin, drunk driving, some form of soft suicide. Sitting in silence and staring at ceilings or peeling the
Takes a dried up ball-point, lemon juice and water, keeps a diary invisibly In the kitchen corner of a basement bachelor suite there's a certain search
Morning bright, rise. Go over your lines. Iron your carefully crafted disguise. We'd all like to sing. It's easy to sigh; to sprinkle a handful or plausible
All night restaurant, Norh Kildonan. Luke warm coffee tastes like soap. I trace you outline in spilled sugar, killing time and killing hope. This brand
Held like water in you shaking hands are all the small defeats a day demands. 10-6 or 9-5 trying, dying to survive. Never knowing what survival means
You always stole all my last words. Here's no exception then, one more for me to send. And nothing happens in the end. I'm thinking of you less, more
Knock so I'll know you're still there, half listening, interpreting the air. Full of failing foreign tongue, my dialect of stammer come undone. I've
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
The night's a spill, a permanent stain; the city soaks in silence, salt and dirty snow. A blue glow from the tv again, the cutains never open, faces
