CORRECTAR LA LETRA
Letra : MATADOR
*wind chimes*
I remember asking him
Over one of the few joints we shared
And quite soon before his death, actually
How he'd dealt with his dad dying
When he'd been 17
And he said
Nothing, for a long time
And then he said
"Dunno. Just did
Parents die, Matt. That's what they do, that's what they've always done."
I don't know. I guess I expected
More
In fact, I could see that there was more
But he wasn't up for sharing
*sigh*
I think he was like me
In a lot of ways
When something big and scary charges straight at you
You do not face it down
You sidestep it
Like a matador
Let it tumble hoof over horns into the deep maze-like vault that extends like tendrils of ant hills for hundreds of miles beneath the surface
You trap the monsters behind that thick, iron door, and you slam it closed
That's
How I am
That's who I am, by default
I learned it from him, I suppose
The Narcissist Cookbook is an attempt to counterbalance that impulse
It's a reminder not to lock the scary things away
Whether they're bulls or ghosts or dragons
We don't run
From these things here
We don't dance around them
Ideally we don't even fight them
We just see them
Look directly at them
Try to understand them
I've been digging through the sand
Filling my bucket up with things that might be gold
And the skin on both my hands is rubbing raw
And the numbness is the only thing between me and the cold
But I ain't going home until I find something worthy of you
Washed up on the shore from somewhere out among the blue
I ain't lonely
I've got the beachcomber blues
I've got the beachcomber blues
Sometimes I swear I can hear the bull
Confused, and frightened
Raking its hooves in the dark
I need to go down there eventually, I know I do
This song's almost finished
Yeah, I've been digging through the sand
Keeping my eyes out for a shine among the stone
(Just one more go-round)
The clouds are turning black
And I don't need to be a sailor
(I think)
To know how hard the west wind blows
But I ain't going home till I find something perfect for you
(Just one more)
Worthy isn't good enough, only the best will do
I ain't lonely
I've got the beachcomber blues
I've got the beachcomber blues
I've got the beachcomber blues
*wind chimes, waves crashing*
I remember asking him
Over one of the few joints we shared
And quite soon before his death, actually
How he'd dealt with his dad dying
When he'd been 17
And he said
Nothing, for a long time
And then he said
"Dunno. Just did
Parents die, Matt. That's what they do, that's what they've always done."
I don't know. I guess I expected
More
In fact, I could see that there was more
But he wasn't up for sharing
*sigh*
I think he was like me
In a lot of ways
When something big and scary charges straight at you
You do not face it down
You sidestep it
Like a matador
Let it tumble hoof over horns into the deep maze-like vault that extends like tendrils of ant hills for hundreds of miles beneath the surface
You trap the monsters behind that thick, iron door, and you slam it closed
That's
How I am
That's who I am, by default
I learned it from him, I suppose
The Narcissist Cookbook is an attempt to counterbalance that impulse
It's a reminder not to lock the scary things away
Whether they're bulls or ghosts or dragons
We don't run
From these things here
We don't dance around them
Ideally we don't even fight them
We just see them
Look directly at them
Try to understand them
I've been digging through the sand
Filling my bucket up with things that might be gold
And the skin on both my hands is rubbing raw
And the numbness is the only thing between me and the cold
But I ain't going home until I find something worthy of you
Washed up on the shore from somewhere out among the blue
I ain't lonely
I've got the beachcomber blues
I've got the beachcomber blues
Sometimes I swear I can hear the bull
Confused, and frightened
Raking its hooves in the dark
I need to go down there eventually, I know I do
This song's almost finished
Yeah, I've been digging through the sand
Keeping my eyes out for a shine among the stone
(Just one more go-round)
The clouds are turning black
And I don't need to be a sailor
(I think)
To know how hard the west wind blows
But I ain't going home till I find something perfect for you
(Just one more)
Worthy isn't good enough, only the best will do
I ain't lonely
I've got the beachcomber blues
I've got the beachcomber blues
I've got the beachcomber blues
*wind chimes, waves crashing*
