Lonesome Town demo

Somebody Sleeping

Night Terror

Hrepressed

Wonder

"Room by Room" (A short story of a Pink Man)
by Anna Margrét Björnsson & Thordur Grimsson

The Pink man just passed by the oven in my home,
he lurked and watched as the wind gushed with rain on the window,
he turned his head to the TV and gagged "look at the news."
The news man said "It'll rain tomorrow," 
the Pink Man turned his face around and frowned,
I could almost see the terror in his eyes,
but they were still.
"Once" the Pink Man said, "I was in a flood,"
"I did not like it, that's because I'm pink," he continued
I did not understand him, he spoke it in a foreign language.
"Did you say pink?" I asked and wondered how odd it felt when the 
word came raging out of my mouth.

"Hey fuck you little pink guy, just pour us a vodka tonic," I said.
"Piss off into your little sad corner because you're the doubtful guest,
without any invitation to our nest.
Perturbation is your middle name and we don't care,
we don't want to be perturbed,
we're quite happy thank you."

"Hey, I'm the distortioner,
the middle man who feeds on your drama,
and how you think you're the best. 
I'm here to tear you down to find your pathetic little childhood fears. 
Because you're nothing and all you do I detest."
he replied.
"Well you sad motherfucker, crawl into your hole." 
I told him.
"Honestly, we are sending you home,
you little sad pink guy,
you never got it. 
All this shit it got surpassed." I continued.

"Your vodka is laced with a melancholy anxiety,
your tonic is tinged with bad sobriety. 
Our place where we made this music is not your abode. 
Shuffle along into the depths of some other insanity or call it your own." I yelled.

"I feed on misdemeanor," you said in your creepy alto voice. 
"Do it and your mine. It's your goddamn choice." 
He hinted towards me.

While the dialogue between him and I arose,
a silhouette of a figure came floating from across the room retarding in a stop-motion kind manner.
Meanwhile the TV guy turned attention to two things;
One being a decline in the temperature of the sun,
the other being the downfall of a soccer team in the Champions League.

All stood in awe, whilst the silhouette figure
stopped in the middle of the room and two stepped.
"I am the lord of dance, and shall bathe you in the light of truth."
Then as soon as he appeared, he evaporated.

"That was odd" I and the Pink Man agreed upon.
There was a little girl who yelled, "Look at the woman under my bed."
"There's no woman under your bed." I yelled back angry
"Yes there is!" she insisted.
 
Petrified I looked, 
slowly kneeling,
bowed head, 
looking,
waiting.
And in I went, with the Pink Man and the little girl.

She grabbed us into her car and drove away from the apartment,
 
from under the bed.

"How?" 
"Why not?"

The story faded into a cradle,

lullabied by Gerry,
singing: "You'll never walk alone."

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