Crying Lightning - Arctic Monkeys @ Coachella
(Source: idontwantafavour-iwantamargarita, via ipdipdogshitrockandroll)
In my other recurring dream I mentally rehearse the end scene. The one where it’s getting dark and I mistake a girl for Jordana. A girl with the exact same frame and the exact same hair. But when she turns around I see that her face is nothing like Jordana’s, and she asks, “Do I know you?” And I look traumatized and say, “No. You don’t know me. You don’t know me at all.”
(via sircrowley)
(Source: blackringo)
The voice of my generation - Alex fucking Turner.
The voic of my generation - Alex fucking Turner.
The smiles as she walked in the room
have all turned into frowns
am I to quick to assume
that the love is no longer in bloom?
the tantrums and the tears
play a very different tune
to what they did before
her heads red raw
and the ending doesn’t sound like
the happiest around
when you sobbed before
it felt much more
like the product of a squabble
now there’s reason for it
to be something more
and there would be
oh, it’s uncertain
whether the curtain has
shut for good she said
“see if it’s still raining
I’m not dressed for it
and if you loved me”
I interrupted received a scowl and stare
but still decided to stop her there…
would it be outrageous to say
we’re either shouting or we’re shagging
locked in tempestuous ways
or at least that’s how it felt yesterday
the eyes are getting heavier and whether
you’re asleep or awake is a mystery…
would a kiss be too much to ask?
when you fit me
like Sunday’s frozen pitch
fits the thermos flask, it’s a pity
it’s just hit me, we can’t go back
to the chest touching on the back.
The voice of my generation - Alex fucking Turner.
arctic monkeys.
Lately I’ve been seeing things
belly button piercings in the sky at night
when we’re side by side
and I don’t mean to rain on anybody’s cabaret
one of those games you’re gonna lose
but you wanna play it just in case
now it’s getting dark and the sky looks sticky
more like black treacle than tar, black treacle
somebody told the stars you’re not coming out tonight
and so they found a place to hide
does it help you stay up late?
does it help you concentrate?
is it true you win when you chew your chin?
am I ruining your fun?
and you talk the talk alright
but do you walk the walk or catch the train?
you wanted it, you got it
but you don’t want it now
now I’m out of place and I’m not getting any wiser
I feel like the Sundance Kid behind a synthesizer
and I tried last night to pack away your laugh
like a key under the mat
but it never seems to be there when you want it
black treacle, black treacle, black treacle.
The voice of my generation - Alex fucking Turner.
Arctic Monkeys.
