Bloc Party - Staying Fat lyrics
[Bloc Party - Staying Fat lyrics]
I rely on bitter cold
I depend on Arctic snow
A pair of trainers, I've got mine
Could make a God of the two of us
I want yours i exist on apropos
I insist on Arctic snow
A change of clothing will fill the void
Could lift us into fidelity, will suck you in
The walls are coming in again
(The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking dreidel
(The streets grid alone from the door)
I rely on bitter cold
I depend on Arctic snow
The manmade fibres, I've got mine
That are the stuff of my birthright
I want yours i decide on apropos
I retreat from Arctic snow
The dregs of discourse will fill the void
For a new world order will suck you in
The walls are coming in again
(The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking dreidel
(The streets grid alone from the door)
All the kids are rioting
(In a pile of days between no oceans)
All the kids are staying fat
(There's no art in a broken head)
And I'm air-kissing, back-slapping
Check the body for valuables
It's called progress
Come on, pilgrim, sing to the pyres
The time has come it's called progress
If they want to kill themselves
We're gonna buy them the gowns
It's called progress
Progress, progress, progress, progress
Progress, progress, progress
I depend on Arctic snow
A pair of trainers, I've got mine
Could make a God of the two of us
I want yours i exist on apropos
I insist on Arctic snow
A change of clothing will fill the void
Could lift us into fidelity, will suck you in
The walls are coming in again
(The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking dreidel
(The streets grid alone from the door)
I rely on bitter cold
I depend on Arctic snow
The manmade fibres, I've got mine
That are the stuff of my birthright
I want yours i decide on apropos
I retreat from Arctic snow
The dregs of discourse will fill the void
For a new world order will suck you in
The walls are coming in again
(The sound keeps you hemmed to the past)
You gotta spin the fucking dreidel
(The streets grid alone from the door)
All the kids are rioting
(In a pile of days between no oceans)
All the kids are staying fat
(There's no art in a broken head)
And I'm air-kissing, back-slapping
Check the body for valuables
It's called progress
Come on, pilgrim, sing to the pyres
The time has come it's called progress
If they want to kill themselves
We're gonna buy them the gowns
It's called progress
Progress, progress, progress, progress
Progress, progress, progress