My dad copied his music library for me. He generally has pretty good music.

I stumbled opon this while reading a book and reclining on the couch.



I'm pretty sure it's by the guy who played chef on South Park.

My first thought was that I don't want to think too hard as to why this is in my Dad's library. My second thought was "Who's the cool cat who's gonna get Miss Kimmy AAALLLLL up on his Jimmy?"
My third was "He's a complicated Jew, and no one understands him but his mother... cause he's a bad mother!"
My fourth was "My, Shaft has been knocked off a lot."

Nitz!

Anyway, obviously this is what I'm going to listen to on my way to work tomorrow.


The 70s had some weird music in general. I mean, I'd get it if the times were more like how they are portrayed on TV, with everyone being fucking stoned out of their minds at all times, but otherwise, what the hell 1970s?

How can you like this much cowbell all the goddamn time without being just fucking ruined?

And like, what is this all about now?



Lyrics:

In the white room with black curtains near the station.
Black-roof country, no gold pavements, tired starlings.
Silver horses run down moonbeams in your dark eyes.
Dawn-light smiles on you leaving, my contentment.

I'll wait in this place where the sun never shines;
Wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.

You said no strings could secure you at the station.
Platform ticket, restless diesels, goodbye windows.
I walked into such a sad time at the station.
As I walked out, felt my own need just beginning.

I'll wait in the queue when the trains come back;
Lie with you where the shadows run from themselves.

At the party she was kindness in the hard crowd.
Consolation for the old wound now forgotten.
Yellow tigers crouched in jungles in her dark eyes.
She's just dressing, goodbye windows, tired starlings.

I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;
Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.



Like. Never in my life, acid or shrooms or anything like that, been fucked up enough to understand those words. And I understand all kinds of things that aren't even supposed to make sense when I'm on acid. It's catchy enough, but gads.