The High Country

from by Tough Mitts

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lyrics

Since you cannot know me
You misunderstand me
It's not your fault
My depth is out of your league
We talk without answers
Like rhythmless dancers
Don't hold your breath
For the light to shine

Simian utterings
Cast-iron mutterings!
Iron-clad halves of the truth, misused
Subject and predicate
Literals iterate
Literal idiots turn themselves out
Spilling their guts when a nod was enough

The mouth guards the soul
Slays me, reveals me
Fulfills me, conceals the reasons
For stealing polite courtesy
Ritual reserves
Furnish word suburbs
Decorate the place that you lease
In The High Country

I know this rhythm is hard!
It feels like grasping at straws
I'll pay that cent when it falls
And we can play it where it drops on the lawn

Simian utterings
Cast-iron mutterings!
Iron-clad halves of the truth, misused
Subject and predicate
Literals iterate
Literal idiots turn themselves out
Spilling their guts when a nod was enough

credits

from Tough Mitts EP, released January 11, 2013

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about

Tough Mitts Vancouver, British Columbia

Tough Mitts are two guys from the West Coast of Canada who use guitars, synthesizers, and drum machines to make gloomy pop songs.

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