Musikvideo

Vorgestellt in

Hör dir „Hellfire“ von black midi an
ALBUMHellfireblack midi
Hör dir Arthouse mit black midi an
PLAYLISTArthouseApple Music Indie
Hör dir black midi Essentials mit black midi an
PLAYLISTblack midi EssentialsApple Music Indie

Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
black midi
black midi
Performer
Cameron Picton
Cameron Picton
Bass Guitar
Geordie Greep
Geordie Greep
Electric Guitar
Morgan Simpson
Morgan Simpson
Percussion
Max Goulding
Max Goulding
Musician
Blossom Caldarone
Blossom Caldarone
Cello
Ife Ogunjobi
Ife Ogunjobi
Trumpet
Joe Bristow
Joe Bristow
Trombone
Joscelin Dent-Pooley
Joscelin Dent-Pooley
Violin
Kaidi Akinnibi
Kaidi Akinnibi
Tenor Saxophone
Paul Jones
Paul Jones
Musician
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Cameron Picton
Cameron Picton
Composer
Geordie Greep
Geordie Greep
Songwriter
Morgan Simpson
Morgan Simpson
Composer
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Dani Bennett-Spragg
Dani Bennett-Spragg
Engineer
Luke Glazewski
Luke Glazewski
Engineer
Marta Salogni
Marta Salogni
Mixing Engineer
Max Goulding
Max Goulding
Producer
Sarah Register
Sarah Register
Engineer

Songtexte

Listen The sweet peals of moonlight-induced lovemaking on the streets tonight Listen The soft purr of motorbikes are ready to strike up the night alight So don't tell me of your troubles, your emotional grief Take in the sights, this is shore leave Don't talk of true love, unscrew your frown Enjoy the entertainments of nighttime town Experience the red rooms, the green tables, the souvenirs Make memories, haunting or fabled The gallant mist of red blooded chivalry Instilled in basic training By standing in line today, you secure a place among the saints Go get them, son, now your life begins To die for your country does not win a war To kill for your country is what wins a war Don't tell your name, don't ask for hers In this land of oysters, you are the world The painless, plainness of military life Resumes tomorrow night If not for you, it would've been cholera, malaria Or some eastern disease Forget about it, son A slap is all you need We did it all, we've seen it all And worse, much worse, son The massacres of ages Too many to recall Limbs rendered birds, by the speed they flew off A soup nothingness that once was your best friend Motherless children and temptress widows The wild, the useless, the dead, the untameable Snivelling fuck, don't stain this street Lucky I don't shoot you on the spot Our bullets were made for men like you The impotent idiots God forgot Tonight you decide which corner takes residence Which room looms forever in your mind But now you're on your own We don't need men like you Tonight you decide which corner takes residence Which room looms forever in your mind But now you're on your own, we don't need men like you Private Tristan Bongo, hereby discharged!
Writer(s): Morgan Simpson, Cameron Overeynder, Geordie Greep Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
instagramSharePathic_arrow_out