algebra suicide - connoisseurs of lightning lyrics
it never thunders in paris. i can see us there, small and polite
waiting for someone to offer us a cigarette, waiting for a street child to pick us at random
present us with a flower. a tulip, perhaps. so out of context
each time we enter buildings, we are greeted by groups of violinists who adore us
and we love it well
how wonderful it would be. no time for revolutions, we’d laid down our guns
too much fluff to enjoy, and we do
no time to think of dead parents, no time to write our own epitaphs
which in any case would read: “had lots of fun. thanks.”
wе would glow and sweeten the air, more brilliant than any manhattan nеon
oh, paris, paris, i know you’re there. i know you’re there like heaven is there
not very lonely. not dying to see me
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