The wind in my teeth The guns at your side We built it up to be scalable Not a one stop shop But it was never meant to be
You seemed lost, waiting on your friends Smoking a Dunhill and needing a light But it was still too dark
The thunder rolls over Tokyo The lightning from the hills to the sky I never wanted to have to ask you why
I just knew You’d never find it again
And I believe in second chances I just still can’t be still I have to be dancing Oh, I’m still learning how to play
Was it the drums or the guitars that helped you slide away? How could I not know You know how to blow me away
The wind in my teeth The guns at your side We built it up to be scalable Not a one stop shop But it was never meant to be
It’s 9 o’clock somewhere And you are getting ready to go out Sometime soon we’ll learn to put it on the line Your hair still breaks I guess I’ll be fine
It’s a bit startling To see you through that dress The wind in my teeth The guns at your side Your hair still breaks my heart I guess I’ll be fine
“celebrating it with plenty of gunpowder and bad brandy, but as yet no balls, except those where perfumed ladies and gentlemen move their feet to the inspiring notes of the fiddle”
staying up very late only because we are in Chicago we can pretend we are home we invented huddling together smoking cigarettes in the snow and debating the validity of the hipster lifestyle as a protest or a movement because we are all too lonely to go home, to listen to acoustic balladeers in the digital wireless, vinyl wilderness
when I am empty you fill me up or at the least we both lose heart together you through the pipe, and my mind already on flight somewhere someone laughs loudly sitting drinking and smiling with warm friends by the hearth like in the scene in the movie where they foreshadow true love come true we can be alone together I think that would be in keeping with the theme of the times
that’s an angel satori structure fabric and character torn wings and teenage dreams and things long remembered
The pace quickens and it’s a little late to run away It’s like having a fever and craving the snow, the wind in your face Maybe because it’s a biting thing, polar opposite from other kinds of pain That’s why you can’t feel it
Which way is freedom? Which way is relief?
Your fever will break by morning The madness will leave you This longing you feel This dissatisfaction
And what will be then left? Is age and death all there is left? Or by some joy of some success or mastery, will some truth of the way beyond this be made plain?
The waters recede from the shore, wave by wave Call it politics or greed or stupidity The end is not just coming The end us already here
now i'm fluttering.: The New Rock-Star Paradigm -
By Damian Kulash Jr. of OK Go for The Wall Street Journal
My rock band has leapt across treadmills, camouflaged ourselves in wallpaper, performed with the Notre Dame marching band, danced with a dozen trained dogs, made an animation with 2,300 pieces of toast, crammed a day-long…
Chasing the wrong dreams Saying the wrong things Space heaters and screen doors
fun tune
when I feel like I might be getting sick, I know more truth and I see it in pictures
only when I allow myself to let the whole world go every piece of stone and rust and dirt and then I know it too well
what is enlightenment? mindfulness? even these concepts are meaningless ideas
what is the world, then really, except the real weight of itself? the world is just a picture of a dream that falls away when I do
and weightlessness and light are my hands and my feet the stone, rust, dirt and the panic of releasing panic the sad, slow peak of what is fleeting without love
![[COVEROKGO1]](http://si.wsj.net/public/resources/images/WK-AW276_COVERO_G_20101216223819.jpg)