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City Country City

This song is by Aaron McMullan.

City smells of paperbacks rolled up in jacket pockets,

Paperbacks that serve to say "Yes I'm well read, now will you fuck me?"

City smells of lonesome singers singing lonesome songs

In a barroom where the shadows they grow longer with each note he fails to catch

The city smells of you, woke up in dope-sick stupor,

I'm here, I lay awake in case you needed me

For when I fall asleep I'm hard to shake, what with the pills I have to take

To force the dreams back to the bottom of the arsehole of my mind

Country smells of taunting spiteful train-tracks,

And the faces that peer out along the way to somewhere I'm afraid to go

Smells of sun-bleached stones and sitting out reading de Sade

On April evenings, with the dusk accentuating every syllable

The country smells of hope, of hope for progression

Progression, and I will progress in spite of what I say,

Country smells of memories and words that I might speak

Or I might sing to you, if you were not so fuckin' far away

City pierces sky, country hugs the dirt, and I here someplace in-between,

Not quite the wind, not quite the soil,

City reeks of loves I long to gain, the country, loves that I destroyed

And destroyed all that they had touched, and they touched me, they silenced me

The night-time smells of scheming and of plotting,

In the morning it's forgotten,

For the morning smells of cold reality

The night-time is that city and that sky with stars obscured by neon etchings

From the gutters to the rooftops, never dimmin, never die

Never dimmin, never die

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