Stereolab - French Disko

Stormer til stillhet

[Verse 1]
She says,
It helps with the lights out.
Her rabid glow
Is like braille to the night.

She swears
I'm a slave to the details,
But if your life is such a big joke,
Why should I care?

[Chorus]
The clock is set for nine,
But you know you're gonna make it eight,
So that you two can take some time,
Teach each other to reciprocate.

[Verse 2]
She feels that my sentimental side
Should be held with kid gloves,
But she doesn't know
That I left my urge in the icebox.

She swears
I'm just prey for the female—
Well then hook me up and throw me, babycakes,
'Cause I like to get hooked.

[Chorus 2]
The clock is set for nine,
But you know you're gonna make it eight.
All the people that you've loved—
They're all bound to leave some keepsakes.

I've been swinging all the time.
Think it's time I learned your way.
I picture you and me together—
In the jungle, it will be okay.

[Bridge]
I'll bring you when my lifeboat
Sails through the night—
That is supposing that
You don't sleep tonight.

[Verse 3]
It's like learning a new language,
Helps me catch up on my mind.
If you don't bring up those lonely parts,
This could be a good time.

It's like learning a new language—
You come here to me.
We'll collect those lonely parts
And set them down.

You come here to me.

[Outro]
She says brief things,
Her love's a pony,
My love's subliminal.

She says brief things,
Her love's a pony,
My love's subliminal.

She says brief things,
Her love's brief,
My love's subliminal.

She says brief things,
Her light is brief,
My darkness eternal.

———

A fractured hymn to passing time and fleeting connections—“The Clock” ticks through love’s ironies beneath a post-punk moon.

———

Genre: Post-Punk Revival
Key: F Major
BPM: 150
Time Signature: 4/4

———

A tribute to the legendary band 'Interpol'.

Light

The Clock

🕰 Lip Service Serenade – For when your existential crisis wears eyeliner and watches the evening news.

🎸 Indie Rock × Jangle Pop × Post-Punk
📺 Mood: Bittersweet • Detached • Melodic Jangle • Echoes of Resilience

Ever stared at a politician's lips and thought, “This beat slaps harder than your speech”? Welcome to Lip Service Serenade — a melancholic foot-tapper for anyone who’s emotionally exhausted but still ironically stylish.

Picture this:
You’re sitting on a couch with commitment issues.
A lukewarm tea judges you from the table.
The TV talks nonsense, but those jangle guitars? Pure emotional literacy.

🧠 For fans of:
– Guitars that shimmer like your fading trust in democracy
– Lyrics that sip cold tea with you
– Beats that understand quiet rebellion better than your last date

Whether you’re slowly vanishing into a memory foam pit or just too emotionally fluent to yell at the news, this one’s for you.

🎶 Lip service, baby — sing me away.

Lyrics: 

He’s back on screen in a pixel suit
A halo made of static, a tie too mute
He talks like rain on a plastic sheet
But I just hear the humming of my heartbeat

I sip my tea, it’s gone too cold
The curtains dance like they're growing old
His promises break like Monday plans
But I just watch with folded hands

🎶 His lips move slow, like a vinyl glitch
Sayin’ nothing dressed up as a pitch
I don’t cry, I don’t rage — just fade
To the jangle hum of a TV parade
Lip service, baby — sing me away
In this bittersweet, post-punk ballet 🎶

My couch has grown a memory foam soul
Where I sink like hope through a rigged black hole
The world outside wears campaign masks
But I just count the lightbulb’s cracks

He gestures wide like a silent film
But the meaning’s thin and the vibe is grim
Still, I tap my foot to the distant lie
Like a lullaby dressed in suit and tie

🎶 His lips move slow, like a vinyl glitch
Sayin’ nothing dressed up as a pitch
I don’t shout, I don’t vote — just stay
With the jangle chords in shades of gray
Lip service, baby — fade me away
In this bittersweet, indie cliché 🎶

And maybe tomorrow I’ll care again
Trade silence in for a paper pen
But tonight he’s just a mouth on glass
And I’m a ghost with time to pass

🎶 His lips move slow, like a vinyl glitch
Sayin’ nothing dressed up as a pitch
I won’t dream, I won’t pray — just play
This post-punk hymn in my own delay
Lip service, darling — lead me astray
In this bittersweet, jangle ballet 🎶

Dream Baby Dream (Single Edit)

Suicide

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