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Measure me in metered lines, in one decisive stare,
the time it takes to get from here to there.
My ribs that show through t-shirts and these shoes I got for free;
I'm un-consoled, I'm lonely.
I am so much better than I used to be.
Terrified of telephones and shopping malls and knives,
And drowning in the pools of other lives.
Rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony.
Get clobbered on by courtesy, in love with love, and lousy poetry.
And I'm leaning on this broken fence between Past and Present tense.
And I'm losing all those stupid games that I swore I'd never play.
But it almost feels okay.
Circumnavigate this body of wonder and uncertainty.
Armed with every precious failure, and amateur cartography,
I breathe in deep before I spread those maps out on my bedroom floor.
And I'm leaning on this broken fence between Past and Present tense.
And I'm losing all those stupid games that I swore I'd never play.
But it feels okay.
And I'm leaving. Wave goodbye.
And I'm losing, but I'll try, with the last ways left, to remember.
Sing my imperfect offering.
the time it takes to get from here to there.
My ribs that show through t-shirts and these shoes I got for free;
I'm un-consoled, I'm lonely.
I am so much better than I used to be.
Terrified of telephones and shopping malls and knives,
And drowning in the pools of other lives.
Rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony.
Get clobbered on by courtesy, in love with love, and lousy poetry.
And I'm leaning on this broken fence between Past and Present tense.
And I'm losing all those stupid games that I swore I'd never play.
But it almost feels okay.
Circumnavigate this body of wonder and uncertainty.
Armed with every precious failure, and amateur cartography,
I breathe in deep before I spread those maps out on my bedroom floor.
And I'm leaning on this broken fence between Past and Present tense.
And I'm losing all those stupid games that I swore I'd never play.
But it feels okay.
And I'm leaving. Wave goodbye.
And I'm losing, but I'll try, with the last ways left, to remember.
Sing my imperfect offering.
Lyrics submitted by oofus, edited by EmmaBlwgns
Track duration: 03:21
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"Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack, a crack in everything.
That's how the light gets in."
An interlude is an aside, it is a beautiful melody sung to oneself after the end and before the beginning, to be always departing without ever arriving, isn't that in itself an irony?
A dichotomy?
Beauty lies within oneself and can be displayed to the outside world by a major chord progression fulfilled with unreasonably happiness. Failures are not failures unless one notes them as such on a trajectory upwards through the stratosphere.....
A girl or just something really significant such as family.
I belive its a girl, because he is talking about fear from Telephones and Shopping malls.
maybe he is afraid to be contacted by her, or to walk into her in a mall.
That throws me back to my break up I could jump from any phone call.
and the ending.. is just perfect for the final step of recovering from a break up... the Leaving unsure but being certain it will be better than before.
Measure me in metered lines,
In one decisive stare,
The time it takes to get from here to there.
My ribs that show through t-shirts
And these shoes I got for free;
I'm unconsoled, I'm lonely.
I am so much better than I used to be.
Terrified of telephones and shopping malls, and knives
And drowning in the pools of other lives.
Rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony.
Get clobbered on by courtesy
In love with love, and lousy poetry.
And I'm leaning
On this broken fence
Between past and present tense.
And I'm losing
All these stupid games
That I swore I'd never play.
But it almost feels okay.
Circumnavigate this body
Of wonder and uncertainty.
Armed with every precious failure
And amateur cartography.
I breathe in deep before
I spread these maps out on my bedroom floor.
And I'm leaning
On this broken fence
Between past and present tense.
And I'm losing
All these stupid games
That I swore I'd never play.
But it feels okay.
And I'm leaving.
Wave goodbye.
And I'm losing,
But I'll try,
With the last ways
left to remember. Sing
My imperfect offering.
But even when we think there's nothing worthwhile to show for ourselves and that reality has shafted us, we still try to find meaning.
To be "unconsoled. . . lonely. I am so much better than I used to be." speaks for itself. After heartbreak, nothing can make you feel better. For at least a month you're inconsolably shut off from being happy.
"Terrified of telephones and shopping mall, and knives, and drowning in the pools of other lives. Rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony."
You can be terrified of confronting someone who broke you. And you'll be terrified of confronting yourself when you're alone and maybe happen to have a knife around. Anyone who's tried it knows alcohol neeever helps heartbreak feel better, but it IS really ironic how you'll keep on trying it.
And to be "armed with every precious failure." Well I know you feel guarded and everconscious of where you think you're a romantic screwup, after heartbreak.
I love the way he sings "Get clobbered on by courtesy." :)
And this is one of my favorites.