Текст песни Pontiac, the Nightbrink (Frontier Ruckus) с переводом

The nightfall’s like a house of mirrors

The shuttered deadmall and the Sears

Where my mother worked for years

In the nineties

The drugstore dried out parking lots

A fluorescent crest of snow still rots

Piling in the handicap spot’s

Blind-freeze there

The touching-towns have special wants

M-59 and the salad-bar-restaurants

Something in it always taunts my

Nostrils

When I’m smoking goddamn Pontiac

And the hidden end of the Amtrak

Woodward and the good word crack and the

Exhaust fills the air

Where

A cul-de-sac

Has sweetly softened

The coughing memory

Dulled and black

Far too often

Black ice on the greenery

And all the women

Sap me with their sadness

And now I’m sad too

But Pontiac’s not

The heart of darkness

But freezing on the brink

Where I am at

Some fading starkness

Where the brains of darkness think

The firmly-fixtured-fast-food-beacons

Do not dangle, do not weaken

Neither does the heart I’m seekin'

In you

Mary-Lynn you wouldn’t know

But you do too have holy glow

But how am I supposed to show

You you?

‘Cause your voice through those holy nodes

Marked me like the salted roads

Chalky white, the night forebodes

The coming

‘Cause your throat throttled northtown boys

From the Rochesters and Troys

They will also hear your noise

Drumming low

The wilderness of floating text

The endless half-conscious of present tense winter sex

Do you see how it connects

In me?

Because they touch in such awful blurs

Their cough is full with all it remembers

Draining the stripmall containers

To find me there

Where

The Silverdome, the Palace

The silt-slush road and all its malice

Sweethearted and waiting for me

Your face flushed like a toilet

Where I could only soil it

To unearth all my worth so futilely

St. Joseph is black-ice-gripped

And all the mailboxes are very tightlipped

With the way they know my name

And all the black ice ever gives

Twenty swerving adjectives

Repeating and cheating in our game

In Pontiac the night falls like a whim

Looking back, the night just seemed to brim

Down the track, dangerous and grim

In the black we all look so dim

And the night has a yellow-gray-glow

It’s as though

The whole world’s my halo

The grocery story bright light

Aisles of the night

Piling the blackwhite

The whole strip-mall plaza

Wheezing with asthma

On your miasma

The night has a yellow-gray glow

It’s as though

The whole world’s my halo

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