Forecast Facist Future - Of Montreal
The language of the frost
Lobs dead balloons over ruins today
In view of wan wordless crowds
That chase waifs to spires with fiery plumes
And incite the firmament's portrait of "A Drowning in Styx"
That gives impotents kicks
Boredom murders the heart of our age
While sanguinary creeps take the stage
Boredom strangles the life from the printed page
Masking vapor trails from Mercury
For a killer on Umbria who crippled birch mares
Now briars replace their old cotton limbs
Who will tell? I mean, would it make a difference?
Look, metal flower petal
Tears do not even appear in the Myopic Mirror
The moon was sagging in the sky
As I held her face to mine
All our thoughts were coming in so clear
Beyond the Myopic Mirror
We were darting from the place where we just couldn't fit
For away from all the violence safely flying in our own orbit
Why do I always have to tell you
"Forget about the precient signs"?
Forget about the life we knew
May we never be stripped of anything we love
May we grow so gentle, never go mental
May we never go, go mental
May we always stay, stay gentle
What was my number?
I don't care!
No, no, no, no, no