Sunday Covers – Guster: Parachute ~DAM~

Art, prayers and even flowering plants are just about the same. They are beautiful, simple things that can happen anywhere. A hard rain in the desert can cause disastrous flooding, but will spur a bloom to form in the middle of a freeway. A disciplined voice can be heard in the middle of braying-drunk villagers. So this voice is heard from out of a razed place, a Webster place; praying to get out of the ruins. Do the gods listen to tongues that have earned their silver? 

Susanne Sundfør – The Brothel

This: a gorgeous poem/song.
(I cannot vouch for the total accuracy of these lyrics, but they seem close enough.)

Purple pavements
Crooked fingers knocking on windows without souls
Bodies are swinging from rooftops and poles
Howling through hollows
Restless nights in one night cheap hotels
Oh, I’m only drifting to always come back

And I search for something
Oh, whatever I don’t really care
Driving with their lights off they can be anywhere
Rolling down their windows
Open car with open mouths
Golden teeth and golden cards

You cover your eyes, you cover your mouth, you cover your ears
Still you follow my trail
I’ll do it all, I’ll do whatever you say, God has left me anyway

Lava laden pavements
Stars with stains and the heaven and afterglow
Beneath the ashes our echoes are buried alive
They are howling through hollows
Once we’ve shared their temple halls
Now our heads are hung up on walls

We are ruins within ruins
On every corner a gladiator is begging for another century
When no one cut your tongue to know nothing and to know it all
To be both the animal and god

You cover your eyes, you cover your mouth, you cover your ears
Still you follow our trail
We’ll do it all, we’ll do whatever you say, God has left us anyway
You cover your eyes, you cover your mouth, you cover your ears
Still you follow our trail
We’ll do it all, we’ll do whatever you say, God has left us anyway

There are echoes in the garden is anybody listening
There are echoes lost in the garden is anybody listening
They whisper:
The ones who are only living are the ones who are only dying