Uselysses - Ian Fitzgerald: Şarkı Sözleri, Müzik Videoları ve Konserler

Uselysses

1Singer/Songwriter2025

Şarkı Bilgileri

Uselysses adlı parça {albumName} albümünün bir parçası olarak Motivational Paralysis tarafından 16 Haziran 2025 tarihinde yayınlandıUselysses

AlbümUselysses

16 Haziran 2025

FirmaMotivational Paralysis

DilEnglish

BPM129

Melodiklik

Akustiklik

Valence

Dans Edilebilirlik

Enerji

GENEL BAKIŞ

ŞARKI SÖZLERI

Müzik Videosu

Müzik Videosu

Şarkı sözleri

The scenic overlook was overgrown and underwhelming

Found the nearest service station just to see what they could sell me

It was worth it to escape the highway for the rural route

But I need to save my money up to buy a funeral suit

I was missing but not missed as far as my friends were concerned

I was tired of this trip before the odometer turned

And my tires on the rumble strip clipped like unbroken code

But there's no place for self-pity's purgatory on the road

The power plant out past El Paso where the clouds are gunsmoke grey

Cast a shadow sharpened by the sun's descent to end the day

The caution signs and parking lot lines blended with the desert dust

Turned prematurely ancient like everything else the sunlight touched

Time makes altars out of anything that's able to survive

Fault line shrines fill up with worshipers of relics petrified

But what's not tough enough, time tears down, turns to ash, or passes by

And I've killed time enough to know that anything can die

I'm a part of all I've met

From rosewood scent to ashes wet

I thought that it would take more to forget

The dead motels and dying diners dare each driver to decide

If what they've deemed their destination's just another place to hide

But I left the urge to turn around exactly where I found it

Like a truck that crashed so long ago, tall grass has grown around it

The neon signs and sunset are the same shade crimson red

Two tones darker than the hindering skin green lights are forced to shed

But I have no time left to stop and watch the life cycles of lights

Unless that's really all I'm doing, night to day and day to night

There's a kind of loneliness I've lost the language to describe

It sounds like sermons on an FM signal fading as you drive

From the most desiccated way you've heard a human voice say "Jesus"

To the Amens of men whose senses came and went like gentle breezes

Time and distance fold like two hands interlocking fingers

'Til, but for a ring or scar, it's all but hopeless to distinguish

So the dashboard mileage measures every minute of my absence

And there's no town where I'm not already thought of in the past tense

I'm apart from all I've met

From rosewood scent and ashes wet

I thought that it would take more to forget

The old men in Main Street murals stare at empty stores for rent

At the sand blown down the sidewalk, at a pickup truck door's dents

There are plaques outside of places where dead poets slept or drank

But the hotel became a thrift store between a barroom and a bank

Roads may not mean to be divisive, but they always split two sides

Like a man who trusts no one because of how often he's lied

The word "time" is not up to the task to name what's passed since I've been gone

But I can see the opposite side from whichever side I'm on

Blank billboards blend into Missouri skies aged white and grey

Powdery clouds cast boundless shadows that enshroud the end of day

Until night's black is so pitch perfect that a light would just intrude

And shade grey the space where different getaways can be confused

Still I search for hope from hotel clerks in polyester vests

And from stray phantoms conjured by my headlights, hitchhiking due west

Careening through pre-dawn, like chasing dark out of a dungeon

Because the middle of nowhere is still the dead center of something

I'm apart from all I've met

From rosewood scent and ashes wet

And the things least worth remembering are hardest to forget

The biggest U.S. flags fly over used car dealerships

The sweetest waitresses wear drugstore liner on their lips

In their mind's eye, every smoker strikes their match in black and white

Slow-motion romance story fragments left for someone else to write

Memories are dreams witnessed through eyes that no one else can see through

And freedom's just another word for 'no one really needs you'

So I just go on missing what I hoped that I'd become

Written by: Ian Robert Fitzgerald

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