The soul of an angel

Ardoyne FAP 2014

ARDOYNE JOYRIDERS!

I taste the headlines on my tongue, each line a neon sign
They print the obvious in uppercase.

You mailed me sky-stamped postcards, cobalt calm I show approval
But there's graphite in the margins, a verb that hides its removal.
Polite clichés in gilded frames, applause on polite repeat
I want the flat, plain sentence, not the secret folded in the beat.

The secret in the beat, ayy… yeaaahh
Aaaaaaa-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh
Uuuhhh.... eyyyy

You sent me sky-stamped postcards, I smiled and kept the card
There’s ink that hides in margins, quiet things that stay unscarred.
Polite applause in tidy rows, the same lines on repeat
I want the flat, plain sentence, not a secret in the beat.

Say less, mean more.

Say it straight, don’t say it sideways
Don’t spoon-feed, let me find my own
Hide the full map, leave a clue, let me do the rest

Say it straight, don’t say it sideways.

Everyone’s a billboard now, selling chorus-lines like bread
But coal can hold a secret; under dark a small light’s fed.
I crease the page, tuck edges in, I like a line that burns
I love a simple sentence that surprises when it turns.

Say less, mean more.
Say less, mean more.

Say it straight, don’t say it sideways
Don’t spoon-feed, let me find a way
Hide the full map, leave a clue, let me do the rest
Say it straight, don’t say it sideways 
Say it straight, don’t say it.
Don’t spoon-feed, let me find my own
Sideways.
Say it straight, don’t say it sideways.
Don’t spoon-feed, let me find my own 
sssssiiiiiiiiiddwaaaaaaaaayss
Don't say it sideways.

A little bit of this

Ethan Varndell