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Between All the Letters

from Between All the Letters by Colouring Cats

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lyrics

If I dig my own grave here, I’m sorry,
It’s just that I truly believe there’s a flaw in the plan,
To be charmed by a dream and then crowned and then gutted,
and cut into bits to be strewn across town.

To be made to believe by a director unseen
That you would be perfect for the part,
To be kneeled at and taken by
An auteur with the greatest of plans,
But at the mercy,
Of his hand.

Exonerate, educate, excavate, cultivate,
Yearnings for things that most never would yearn.
In the back of some classroom, eyes taped up and darting,
Between all the letters to make out the words.

Could you be seduced by the language they choose,
Or what some critic wrote on the back?
Could you be alive on the pages they write,
Or the landscapes they deftly describe?
I know they’re cute, but trite’s still trite.

This story tells of a carnival
Where the characters all kill the author.
And exact their revenge on a plot that was forged
In a head filled with notions of fame.

Oh god! He’s a cannibal who just feeds off of all his own bullshit,
Now he’s reaching the heights of the sorriest sights
Where the colours are all the same.

In the footsteps of greatness
We’re balancing plates
On the tips of our fingers
In spite of the burns,
If our guest here collates enough talent to take
To his managers one of us might get a turn,
If opportunity knocks then it’s scarcer than god
Who’s always waiting so eagerly there,
And if the first thing you feel
When they judge you is zeal
Then you’re sure to be changed or stripped bare,
They take what’s familiar and weed out the rest.

This harrowed bride tells a tale with her stride,
Pay attention or you might soon miss it.
She’s escaped the command of her man’s heavy hand
And her actions are far from complicit.

And the firemen all sitting ‘round playing cards,
And the kid who just nailed John B. Goode on guitar,
And the dogshow contestants all lined up so far,
And the mothers all hoping they’ve trained them.

And the chemists concocting some new batch of drugs,
And the fully grown man with his hand in the mud,
And whoever we pay to take pictures of us,
We give them no fucking reason to choose it.
Am I the only one scared that we’ll lose it?

credits

from Between All the Letters, released November 17, 2018

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Colouring Cats Melbourne, Australia

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