Letras y traducciones de B. Dolan

Her story is getting old
In a night with no company
Stood up by the door
so uncomfortably
Gnawing at her thumb til it bleeds
She's in the way
Bent out of shape
the money makes her wait
The waitress looks her way and makes a face
Staring at the empty plate

Fade up on the scene
As he wrestles with the dream
In the in-between place
Not awake, not asleep
Such a waste. His sunken face
Frozen in a scream
Hypnotized by the click click click
of poker chips on the TV.
Falling
All-In
And the dealer reveals a card

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The earthmovers:
Building cities in the desert. Cities in Antarctica Cities on the moon.
Bulldozer. Back-hoe. Hard-hat. Harvester.
Rough gets smoothed, everything can move.
They got just the tool, everything can move.
Got a foreman and a crew, everything can move
Got a un

This is my account of my account.
I've become withdrawn,
I've borrowed a large amount.
I'm hanging in the balance,
feeling like a toxic asset.
Everything I make I give to God and Taxes.
Bail me out.
My fingers strain
to make the symbols of my name
as they were

P.O.S.:
As I perspire through my pigment
Fire a cigarette, sire some newness
Dire corners stay dim lit
Dim wits stickin to rugers,
Slim kids sticking to coolness
Brollic youth'll get ruthless
Foolish will end up toothless

I slide through
Die when I'm lied to

Feed 'em all their meds til they forget what the drugs cost
People never question what you're selling them guns for
Beat em in the head with the message, with the blunt force
Lead em to the edge, tell 'em this is the JUMP OFF
The run off you dump off in skulls that are soft
L

Joan of arc had a dildo named jesus
Made of wood from the cross of its namesake
She considered the splinters atonement
And when she came it would fill her with light!

Her body was an ocean full of wreckage
Her flesh was a map of hell
That spilled out the sides of her dr

Moving photos of ghosts
Projected against the chemical smoke
It closes all around me
A taste bitter as paint thinner
Switch the sound off, breathe heavily,
They haven't found me--
Slouched over my desk,
with my head pressing the keys or
Sitting up in bed, scene re

6:05, Brooklyn Bridge:
failed and tongue-tied
body aching, hands shaking, bloody inside
still alive.
Sunrise like a pillar of fire,
still running like the static on a blank channel
sunken to the bottom of the barrel of a gun.
braced against the railing looking straigh

Because his father was a man of the cross,
Who said his son was a slave to the flesh
When the spectacle ended, The charges were dropped.
Marvin was left with a hole in his chest.

He could've brought down a mountain
when he pounded on a table
or made the world collapse

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Say hell to Mister Buddy Buddy
The charlatan; the confidence man,
Half man half mannequin
Living in the closet where the objects are inanimate
Jingling his pockets, Talking money in his sleep
Talking funny like a president, Buddy is a creep.
He studied to be a priest

Reptilian Agenda

The camera's eye dilates, focus escapes
A sweeping brush coats the face
Petroleum based cover up
Concealer and blush
to make the cheeks look flush
At least real enough
Every night I watch the filter bend the light
Through the tube, in the vacuum

Sitting up in bed when the sun sets
The room is such a mess
Keep it darker than the crypt
Rumble in my stomach
Wreak of garlic and incense
Stumble from the bed
I dreamed of monsters again
Sharpen my instruments
as part of my dilligence
Polishing springs and pi