Lyrics:AC Newman/Get Guilty
From Geartome
Contents |
There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve...
There are maybe ten or twelve things I could teach you -- after that, well, I think you're on your own. And that wasn't their opening line, that was the tenth or the twelfth. Make of that what you will. Once there was a haunted loop of your deep fallen tears, forehead resting on a record shelf amid moving boxes stacked. I'm still waiting for the right words. Make of that what you will. And the eyes, they were a color I can't remember, which says more than the first two verses. And it is the devil, you know, that will slam the door harder. Make of that what you will.
The Heartbreak Rides
Just out of the woods and yelling down the mountain, all I really wanted was to go downtown, and so we ride. The heartbreak slides. Rushing at the modern sunset to your window, gestured with a plain-jane hand; she said "Let's go." "Allez!" she cried. The heartbreak rides for free. Yo-ho... California adds some casual bedlam; something in the basic swing of things led them to victimless crimes. The heartbreak climbs. Playing with your words, a girl and two headlights. Blinders on the interstate, we want the good life. "LA!" she cried. The heartbreak rides for free. Yo-ho... Just out of the woods and yelling down the mountain, all I really wanted was to go downtown, and so we ride. The heartbreak slides. Rushing at the modern sunset to your window, gestured with a plain-jane hand; she said "Let's go." "LA!" she cried. The heartbreak rides for free.
Like a Hitman, Like a Dancer
Like a hitman, oh, like a dancer, all muscle. Like the old champion about to go under, I owe my soul. Like a changed man, but not a changed man, you're gonna change sides but you wanted to wait. Like a fourth wall, a car chase on bluescreen, all eyes roll. Like a snowfall that blankets a city, swallowed whole. Like a changed man, but not a changed man, you're gonna change sides but you wanted to wait. Like a hitman, oh, like a dancer, all muscle. Like a balancing act or a stage whisper, it's all I know. Like a changed man, but not a changed man, you're gonna change sides but you wanted to wait. Like a hitman, oh, like a dancer.
Prophets
I was a silent partner. I found myself with the rabble who stood on the mount, hipshot, thinking, but not out loud, "There are too many prophets here." On the unlucky side of a stab in the dark, I took it in silence, I took it to heart. I carried it quietly over the wall. There were too many prophets there. I was behind it, one-by-one... Strike on, zero. I was a silent partner for once, and I had been split into two sections. Here is my heart and here is my song. There are too many prophets here. I am divided, one-by-one... Strike on, zero. I was a silent partner. I know the part of the forest where you shouldn't go. Now out of the woods and out in the day, I see there's too many prophets here. One-by-one... Strike on, zero.
Submarines of Stockholm
Stop twisting your words into shapes, shapes you can only make out when you squint. Traveling with heads full of myth, our submarine pulls into Stockholm. Oh, stop. It was one in a series of highlights and holy lows. One in a series, go. Forget yourself; he's somewhere else. Few have the luxury of B-sides; no, but I do. I got buckets full. Our submarine pulls into Stockholm. Oh, stop. It was one in a series of highlights and holy lows. One in a series, go. Up with the gold, down with the day. Continents away, we bless our ship. We do what it says, kick with our legs. Our submarine pulls into Stockholm. Oh, stop. It was one in a series of highlights and holy lows. One in a series, go. Our submarine pulls into Stockholm.
Thunderbolts
We used to throw thunderbolts. They rained down on passing cars. We played it too Greek to start, to play it with any art. You don't need those glasses, but you just look so good in them. We used to throw thunderbolts. good ideas even then. They let you, let you ride. We used to throw thunderbolts. Twilight on the overpass. We rest them at gravity. Color fast and cool with me. And we had some direct hits, we shone in that villain light. Teeny yellowed hand in love in whatever's shining down. It let you, let you ride. We used to ride thunderheads. We rode them around the bend. You don't need those glasses, but you just look so good in them. They let you, let you ride.
The Palace at 4 AM
In some Polynesian dive, downwind from the badlands, the palace at 4 AM. We kick through the diamond dust halfway between Vancouver and the bingo game that made the man. kicking around in promiseland. Just one flick of the wrist, one flick of the wrist, and look, you're in the palace at 4 AM, when the daydreams threw the covers back, back before you saw the ribbon tied around your bomb when you were kicking hearts around. With a straight shot, a straight shot, but lady, would you call it art? Now no more pushing words around, no more pushing words around the palace at 4 AM. You're asking for the book to be thrown down; it opens with a thud, with the dumb luck that was the plan, kicking around the promised land. With a straight shot, a straight shot, but lady, would you call it art? Now no more pushing words around, no more pushing words around. Straight shot in the palace at 4 AM...
The Changeling (Get Guilty)
It's not war, it's more like a warning. There with front row tickets to the public burning found in the strip search, the skins have beaten the shirts. Love will travel, yeah, let's say it will. We know where it goes, you know the drill. Get guilty, kid. Get guilty, go with the same cruel sense of humor that you came with. Change your mind! Change your mind! She kissed the back of my hand and she smiled, and walked away whispering into the wild, "Get guilty, kid. Get guilty, go," with the same cruel sense of humor that she came with. Change your mind! Change your mind! And I will die with my foot in my mouth, more magnetic if anything, because I had to get guilty, kid. Get guilty, go with the same cruel sense of humor that I came with. Change your mind! Change your mind!
Elemental
It's elemental, when the story opens. It's elemental, come sunset's gone. And no surprise then when someone was delivered; he's had a long day. Talk to the living. It's not my way, true, to show my best side for you. I fought my way through to the west side for you. It's elemental, deeper than the daylight. And like a werewolf, there's someone on the inside. It's not my way, true, to show my best side for you. I fought my way through to the west side for you, not because I wanted to. It's elemental, watching from the rooftops, and no surprise then come sunset's gone. It's not my way, true, to show my best side for you. I fought my way through to the west side for you, not because I wanted to.
Young Atlantis
Way down in the land of twins, we tell ourselves apart like this: by clues we leave, spare things that breathe, down at the bottom of the sea. We're on the wrong side of young Atlantis. Fashioned out of rags and straw, tough love took you only so far. Your face, my shade, my soul, your page. You changed, you knew that I loved you blue, and on the wrong side of young Atlantis, I loved you blue. Yes, I loved you blue. Some treasure stripped from sunken ships from brave who sailed and lost their shit, but not their way. They sail with me, they drive with me, they ride for free. And on the wrong side of young Atlantis, I...
The Collected Works
There was a tempest roaring in the deep blues, there just to put the revolution in you. You compared the cost of the war with walking into a wall. Though we saw you coming, including me -- the empty bottles of coup d'état at your feet -- you repeat the same free advice, the kind of entrance you'd have expected from the collected works of exits. And you have defended the chemistry of the divine, but careful walls of conversation aside, a beat too late and it's gone, a twist on natural law. Then you arrive with an impact rivaling science -- sealed, delivered, a gift to the magi sign, to my old friend anew who dropped in recently, unexpected from the collected works of exits. You faked your way through legend and into the black, your careful walls of conversation stacked in towers so high that you thought, 'Here is the entrance I'd have expected from the collected works of exits.'
All of My Days and All of My Days Off
The sequins in your wake find their way, 'cause someone left the lights on, and the noon; it is a powerful one. The sun shower's outside and I've found something in the swing here, an idea whose time had come. And now I give you my days, all my days. It broke open the door, flipping chairs, tipping over tables. Reminded why I love this one. Go trip down the lane, take my name; the flashbulbs strobe eureka like an idea whose time had come. And now I give you my days, all of my days off. The sun shower's outside and I've found something in the swing here, an idea whose time had come. Thunderbolts will strike where they may, like a drunken master, like an idea whose time had come. And now I give you my days, all my days and all of my days off.
