Testo Impossible Story - Urthboy
Testo della canzone Impossible Story (Urthboy), tratta dall'album Spitshine
I could never tell you the impossible story
Words will never get close to the colour of your morning
You know that I am so sincere, but what is that helping?
I can't be the author of a story that is not mine to tell
Make the fuckers talk, standing in the flames
Fire, fire
Say it like it is, shout it like you mean it
Fire, fire
As angry and as urgent as a teen, try to set the scene
Natural human instinct is to intervene
The same that cut the ones who dare to dream
'Cause shit is so naive, we're cutting
Down the very thing that the people need
'Cause everything's already been seen
And already been deemed to be agreed and disagreed
And it seems we're first past the post-seize
In a post-modern, post-truth world, truth's ghostly
For what it's worth, you can quote me
And I'ma lay it like an IED and trigger it remotely
No wonder these bars get banked for boasting
Privilege does not necessarily mean you're coasting
So keep a pen close to burst the bubble
Some earnest motherfucker that has gone to the trouble
Of being a grave digger, digging the dead to life
There's nothing to suggest that salvation will arrive
To remind me of it is so contrived
I don't need a broken record to bring me down on my high
I just need these green eyes to roll back and sigh
As much as I wish that I had the answer why, I
Make the fuckers talk, standing in the flames
Fire, fire
Say it like it is, shout it like you mean it
Fire, fire
I could never tell you the impossible story
Words will never get close to the colour of your morning
You know that I am so sincere, but what is that helping?
I can't be the author of a story that is not mine to tell
This is not the body that is grown out of the squalor
This is not the optimism born from living horror
The guilt can make a brother wanna lose his white collar
But, uh, he need it today, he'll give it up tomorrow
The dirt under the fingernails was never the grains
That the bones have replaced to the rubbish-tipped grave
The sweat they wiped off when they put their knives away
The same sweat we get when we dance the night away
And if I could turn the sun around and illuminate the hell
'Cause you best believe it can be found where humanity dwell
And I could write a book about a book that wouldn't sell
Be the author of a story that was never mine to tell
But where would that lead us? Preach to believers
We need our relievers, but I am no teacher and resent the grievance
And if I don't at least try, it's like I deceive you
The story must be told, some narratives must
But it won't be delivered by the man in the tux
Nor will it be heard over the inner city folks saying
"Fuck it all, fuck it all, fuck it all" for all twelve months, 'cause
I could never tell you the impossible story
Words will never get close to the colour of your morning
You know that I am so sincere, but what is that helping?
I can't be the author of a story that is not mine to tell
Credits
Writer(s): Bobby Braddock, Timothy James Levinson
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