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paul goodwin - heat death lyrics
this road is more pothole than road, but then elegantly tumbledown is gold
to all these champagne starving cardboard cut outs who are living in a crumbling film set
and think they’re living in a film
this year broadway’s like a beacon in the sky over brooklyn, where the good bands go to die
and i hope bleecker street is a sad pastiche of what it was in ’63
but that stuff was also pretty thin
so new york is a theme park full of children, venice is a museum full of barmen
and i can walk the world’s great cities and just think about my knees abrading
sagging local royalty with that flawless equine dentistry
shoeh-rned in a party dress, wheeling out her party piece and another story every week
of “luka”, cliques and coattails missed and what she let p-ss by for this:
“but i’d have withered in the suburbs – it’s the centre of the universe where n0bodies are more than two degrees.”
“i could never be contented with contentment” says the never-followed-through eternal student
but is there a sadder sight than someone clinging to their dreams too long?
success is only other people, and they’re mostly not that bright
and, you know, no-one else’s victories can take away from yours
somehow i let life become just getting things and keeping them
and this whole decade past felt like the last years of some golden age –
still not quite too old to spill my guts
but better shut up while you’re still alright from certain angles in certain lights
have you heard “among the leaves”? you’d better leave it to the showbiz london banjo boys
with no edge and no heart
offer up the last dregs of your talent, though it’s mostly spit and bl-ster and rejection
and then take a lot of photographs, like every failed artist does
or start to write a novel not quite good enough to finish
find something in the everyday:
the sky above the motorway
the little faces everywhere that haven’t yet been disappointed
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