Текст песни Not Much Rhymes With Everything’s Awesome At All Times (SUN KIL MOON) с переводом

Things were amazing when you lived in L. A

Things were sublime up in the East Bay

Then you landed in England’s grey London town

Again, things were great

You say you’re a writer but what can you say

When each night ends another perfect day

When a weekend in a hostel was a fabulous stay

You’re just too high to reach

It’s hard to swallow your big bright pills

The one, I ask, how do you really feel?

Can you dim the light for just a few minutes

Lose the phrases, the overused snippets?

You’re living among the grime and the soot

A scene straight out of a Charles Dickens book

Ain’t got no man to give you no love

Kiss on the cheek, a welcome home hug

You say you’re a poet, but I’ve not read a line

Just seeing the notebook, the cover and spine

You say you’re a poet, but how much rhymes

With everything’s perfect at all times?

You left for Rome and Paris, France

Came back home in a born-again trance

You met me for lunch so late one day

Out of breath with so much to say

We sat down together and I stared at your phone

I squinted hard but could not feel your tone

I looked on at endless two-inch frames

Thinking, Christ, they’re all the fucking same

What’s beneath your glow and your gleam?

What’s not in the picture, baby?

Are there scars somewhere on your skin?

Are there more deeper you’re hiding?

Tell me about when you were a kid

Did someone you know drive off of a cliff?

Did you get picked on by your big brother?

What are you carrying, what are you smothering?

Is something crawling on you like bugs?

Is something eating away at your guts?

Is something slithering down in the drain?

Is something swimming around in your veins?

You say that you’re happy here in this place

Staring off into Internet space

Trying to hit a magic button

Waking up lonely next to no one

Next to your laptop and your slick phone

And your book of illogic poems

You’re my friend, you know that I love you

Open up, babe, no I won’t judge you

I’m an artist, it’s all that I’ve got

I know when I see one, and baby, you’re not

A poet knows that not much rhymes

With everything’s perfect at all times

You say you’re a poet, but I’ve not read a line

Just seeing the notebook, the cover and spine

You say you’re a poet, but how much rhymes

With everything’s perfect at all times?

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