Carte Postale Lyrics & Tabs by George Pringle
Carte Postale
guitar chords lyrics
Some days I actually pine for a sleepover and a polo shirt again. This year saw change. I started dying my hair lighter. I cut in a fringe and I started wearing drainpipes that hugged my legs and I suppose the same problems remained. They just got more complicated and they curled out further. My problems stretched out in the sun and they sent me a postcard to say that they hoped I was okay and "I'sn't Buenons Aires fabulous?".
Well, maybe this was bought on by a newfound ability to sleep alone, or apathy. I don't know.
I think new years begin in September, well at least for me they always have. I've always been fnd of September. Spring is never a good time. It's a trussed up and beautiful drag queen but autumn is real.
So in the "New Year" period I changed a lot and all the while I thought it such a great tragedy I never looked this good as a teenager. All the while I let a ferocity build up in me. I took it out on myself, the shorter my skirts got and the skinnier my legs bowed and the flatter my chest got and all the while we were sweethearts. I threw beautiful lines that I never knew I was even capeable of.
I counted green pills and cigarette ends. I stopped playing guitar and I let my fingers soften and my nails grown for a while. I started drinking more and keeping unusual hours. I started playing Street Fighter II, until my eyes felt like they were going to drop out of my head and then I'd get enraged by the fact I was never going to be good enough to play Hyper Mode and Blanka was always going to be stronger than Chun Li.
So maybe I should enlighten you on what happens in your absence. This selfish existance where this intravert turns extrovert and dons their social armour. I became the perfect party apprentice, with a PHD in sitting on kitchen counters and drawing my cheeks in and shooting you looks that I don't even mean. Hips that grind to scratchy indie hits and shoes that stick to nightclub floors... Well, you couldn't understand why I can't. You've never been up at four am with "The Fear". You've never laid on your bedroom floor half blind and you wouldn't love the girl that wakes up perspiring beer.
I cry much less these days. I can't help but wonder what happened to ninjas and adventure? My dreams are like flashes and they give me hope. In these dreams I grew the bones of a fighter while you were sleeping and I fought and I seduced from a terraced house that rides a hill in this dead little city. Cinematic mini-epics sobered by train lines and phone lines and I forget these things.
My life's a tangle of cables these days. Roads and train tracks are like wallpaper now. I started taking hundreds upon hundreds of photographs, all of which you were absent from. A detailed scientific investigation into light reflected on glass and I became invisible. Listening to Techno and Shoegaze in my room all alone and private parties all for myself. Slender fingers honed from MSN. An encyclopeadic knowledge of daytime television presenters.
