The Unbearable Heaviness of Having
Quelle: Spotify
[I have often puzzled about what it must be like to go to sleep and never wake up. To be simply not there for ever and ever. Often one has some intimation of this by the interval that separates going to sleep and waking up. When we don't have any dreams but go to sleep and then suddenly we're there again, and in the interim there's nothing. And if there was never any end to that interval, if the waking up didn't happen... that's such a curious thought.]
The train came in sideways. The plane fell down.
Jerk awake from the wreckage in the hotel lounge.
Pat out the fires and call the waiter for a cancerous cheque.
A little sweet malignancy to sour my breath.
I've started laying off my minerals one by one.
My particles are packing up their confessions
because we're far too long dying, far too long spent
in doomed negotiations with the firmament.
Is this it?
Is this it?
Is this it?
Is this it?
Are we just...?
There’s no shivers in livers. No groans in bones.
No shock wave windows beautifying our homes.
There's no gunshots, no enemies, bomb shelter ends.
I’ll sit flicking through my iPhone 'til I choke on my friends.
I’ll welcome every single freckle: I’ll bless you to bloom.
Help yourself to my lymphocytes and memories too.
I hope no maker's waiting glancing at the clock in his seat
cos I'm sick of queueing up and kicking my feet.
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
So suffer little children – see if I care.
Suck a Samaritans' receiver if you don't think it's fair.
There was a God in a moral but the chrysalis split.
The towns filled up with nothing – now we're drowning in it.
The flapping mouths like meatuses promising seed
to reincarnate me to whoever I please.
If I only look snappy and thumb out the notes.
I’d rather place bets with my sweetheart over who will turn first to a ghost.
Are we just sucking in fibre, blowing out shit?
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
The train came in sideways. The plane fell down.
Jerk awake from the wreckage in the hotel lounge.
Pat out the fires and call the waiter for a cancerous cheque.
A little sweet malignancy to sour my breath.
I've started laying off my minerals one by one.
My particles are packing up their confessions
because we're far too long driving the nails through our wrists
Is that all there is? Is that it? Is that it?
Are we just sucking in fibre, blowing out shit?
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Is that all there is? Is that it? Is that it?
Are we just sucking in fibre, blowing out shit?
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Sucking in fibre, blowing out shit.
Is that all there is? Is that it? Is that it? Is that it?
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