Don't get it

Music : Iom
Lyrics : Peewee Peeper

Come on and help yourself one more pint
We need more booze to have a good time
Don't get it, now you say 'my head aches, you know'
Do you really care about hangovers during all day, oh no!
I really don't get it…

Teasing the girl at the back of the shell
Used to be your favorite moment
Don't get it, now you say 'my back hurts, you know'
D'you remember when with a half-smile she was the one who go 'ouch!'
I really don't get it…

Hanging around till the sun goes up
Don't tell me it's not all good clean fun
Don't get it, now you say 'it's getting late, you know'
Have you lost your guts
You can't just
Give it up
Screw it up
Are you nuts, boy

Now that you get
Neat and done
You're well-behaved
Like you're gone
Cause I'm the one left
And all alone now
To mess around
Up to no good… no fun

You wear fucking suits even ties
Enough to freak me out
You're married with your chick
Man you're going downhill

I don't care if that's how things should be
True that you look healthy and happy
I get it that you say 'I'm all right, you know'
Though you're such a bore, sure I'll change my mind when it's my turn, oh no!

Instant

Uh, mais y a un truc pas anglais, là-dedans...

Music : Tinylite
Lyrics and vocals : Peewee Peeper

Peeper Moaning

IOM's 50 Rock!

Music : Iom

All the people 'round you
Look at one and others
Who's that one who's getting out
All the ones you'd let in
And the ones who'd let you in
Every guy you wonder then who they are, well
They just come and go
Only passing by your way
But you wanna know and guess all their stories, how
Come that one is looking sad
And that one is looking glad
Who'll come across your lane
Pacing up and down the town
So you dive into the crowd
What the hell they think about
All the secrets hidden in
You want them to let you in
What's the matter with them
What's the matter with you
All you do is hang around
Cause you think it's better out
With so many people out
All you do is hang around
Cause you think you're better out

You want them to let you in
And you keep looking around
Wondering 'bout what they can hide
You want them to let you in
All the ones who'd get you out
And you keep looking around

You are a peeper moaning
About your empty life
You like those people coming
Under your eyes

Ballad around a navel

I have no grins to serve
Say in other words
I don't care 'bout them birds
Getting on my nerves

Wipe out the trash
Pebbles I'll cast
When they're at last
Neat and class
And mean

I'm afraid I forget
To keep up the pace
If you have time to waste
Tell me go to hell

Navels are my
Favorite pastime
Sometimes I lie
Please touch mine
And leave

I could serve my head up

Promo city

Et hop, un peu de pub pour mon futur mari, et son "Drunk Women and Sexual Water" :



Edit : rien à voir, mais si vous avez un p'tit peu de temps à perdre, je vous conseille de jeter un oeil à Blob's Life. Et je réponds aux mails qui s'entassent dans ma boîte bientôt, promis. Dès que j'aurai compris ce qu'est la gestion de projet. Bon, ok, c'est pas gagné.

Sequence

A word or two
A sound or none
Across the soothed
The void in-between
Where silence needs
Nothing to grow
The first gentle crack
But no so deep
It might come back
Ever and ever
As some would hush
Again and rush
Away from tears
And other more
The sweetest wound
To fill in holes
That came too soon
That came too blue
When skies would like
Would intertwine
Once maybe twice
Come side to side
Rid of disguise
To find out then
New colors to wear
I pressed my finger
To my mouth
As I thought I
Would go for a spin
Once in a while
Instead of circles
Eating up
Cause some will hush
Again and rush
Away from tears
And maybe more
Cause some have torn
Off what you know
And what you need
Again you've seen
That I can't help
That I can't tell
Enough to break
Down walls you make
Though I could climb
If shadows would line
Up like shaky steps
It's just another middle way

I hear Charlie Parker playing

C'est fou comme j'ai le temps de rien, en ce moment, à peine celui d'aller pisser, donc encore moins celui de mettre des trucs ici. C'est vrai quoi, je dois m'occuper de mes bestioles à poils (ou pas), les nourrir et leur faire plein de câlins, tout en poursuivant les travaux de démolition de ma tour de bouquins à lire (mais qui a glissé un Tchékhov dedans ?!), et en m'initiant aux chants de vikings en jupette (mais qui a dit que le métal c'était rien que du bruit et des hurlements ? ah c'est p'têt moi, mais j'suis pas comme ça, je partage). Y a aussi la mise à jour régulière en matière de séries, tant venues d'Outre-atlantique que celle du coin (Brenda fera-t-elle crever les fleurs que Kevin lui a offertes ?), accompagnée de dîners qui finissent super tard. Et faudrait en plus que je tienne ce blog à jour ? Pfff… (en même temps, mon stock de photos de chaton commence à devenir conséquent, va bien falloir que j'en fasse quelque chose)

Fort heureusement, c'est bientôt les vacances, je vais pouvoir enfin me reposer… (pas taper, merci)

The Dying Generation

Music : IOM
Lyrics : IOM, Peewee Peeper

... A new generation's sold
For the sake of a crime
To seal off damn holes
Line up in rows to your death
But there ain't no need to worry
Take a few more steps to your grave
To set us free from our misery
Cause the earth must be saved
They hid the truth
They said it would be all right
For you to get old before you're twenty
Fall down before you live
Remember you're to save
A new generation's born
To take over the dead
Cause there are still damn holes
But you got to confine what is left
There ain't no time to feel sorry
Radiation will put you down
Before we're free from our misery
Tell me who's next in line
Tell them the truth
Tell them it won't be all right

Take a breather

You hit me back, I was
So wrong and so on
You'd cuss and stab, I was
Stained like you so long
Nowhere you said and then
No cuts to make, oh well
Though I was scared, I was
Sorry you came

Oh dear, drown it out
That breathing caught me out
I'm blinking at the lack
I'm blinking till I'm sad
How you breathe me
Out till I'm sad

You hit again, I was
Low on you so, I was
Longing to say, I know
Say you could go and all
Only you stayed, I want
Only pristine, I was
Sorry you came then
You feed that warm pain

Strike day

Les jours de grève, ça sert à faire du tri dans ses mp3. On en jette quelques-uns au passage (on sait jamais, si quelqu'un vient fouiller dans tes fichiers, vaut mieux éviter le "Euh… t'écoutes du Britney Spears ?", même si on peut toujours répondre "Oops, I did it again", comment t'es trop drôle, mais en fait non, donc tu le jettes, parce que sinon, comme dirait Herr_D, tu kèneras pas), et puis y en a d'autres, tu te dis tiens, je savais pas que j'avais ça, mais ça vient d'où ce truc, et si je faisais une radio thématique douksavien, ça occupera mon blog.

(si vous reconnaissez un des morceaux comme étant un de ceux que vous m'avez refilés, merci de me le faire savoir, ça m'évitera une interrogation existentielle de plus).