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Brett Anderson
Brett Anderson


Background information
Born September 29, 1967
Origin Haywards Heath, England
Genre(s) Alternative Rock
Britpop
Years active 1989—present
Label(s) Drowned In Sound Recordings
Associated acts Suede
The Tears
Website Website



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  B  →  Brett Anderson  →  Albums  →  Slow Attack

Brett Anderson Album


Slow Attack (11/02/2009)
11/02/2009
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. . .


Shining through the plate glass, hyacinths and Spanish stars
All day caught on camera
The climbing sun, the fading dawn, like a hymn to our love
Somewhere there's a starling, gliding through the morning
Moving so slowly
The climbing sun, the fading dawn, like a hymn to London
Commencing, commencing, commencing with the day
Commencing with the day, commencing with the day

. . .


Outside the wind is raging, blowing the Wheatfield's away
And now the game is changing, and now the rules are thrown away
And the cards are turning, and my mouth is dry
As her dress is falling before my eyes, my eyes
My eyes

And now the hands are turning, and now the clocks are changing
Beauty is on the mattress, lifting the patterns from her skin
And the clothes are falling, and her breast is mine
And her skin is holy, like the sky, like the sky
The sky

And the clothes are falling, and our mouths are dry
And our skin is holy, like the sky, like the sky
The sky

Outside the wind is raging, blowing the Wheatfield's away
And now the game is changing, and now the rules are thrown away
And now the rules are thrown away

Away, away, away

. . .


Moving south she is here
Circling round she is here
She is the hunter, oh ha, you are the hunted
She is the hunter, oh oh, you are the hunted
You are the hunted

Catching men in her net
A bird of prey, collecting specimens
She is the hunter, ah ha, you are the hunted
She is the hunter, oh oh, you are the hunted
You are the hunted
You are the hunted
You are the hunted

Moving in for the kill
Thin as sin, she is here
She is the hunter, oh oh, she is the hunter
Ah oh, ah ah

You are the hunted

. . .


And the snow in February falls, painting winter hollow
And the fields they are an empty sigh, and the hills are like sorrow
And the hills are like sorrow

And your sun will rise again, and your moon will fall
And your sun will rise again, and your moon will fall
And your moon will fall

And I found the answer sitting there, worth more than money
In the tangle of your angel hair, in your lips like honey

And we were born muddled, but it was meant to be
And we were born muddled, but it was meant to be
It was meant to be

And your sun will rise again, and your moon will fall
And our sun will rise again, and our moon will fall
And our moon will fall

And the snow in February falls, painting winter colours
And the landscape is an empty sigh, and the hills are like sorrow

Through the endless rage, on the frozen roads
On the frozen roads

. . .


Open up your eyes; see the northern lights, blinking like a jewel, glittering and cruel
Summer, calls us to feel love, ah ha ha, ah ha ha
Feel love, feel love,

Widows like their wine, coded lines are fine; we are like two jewels, glittering and cruel
Summer, calls us to feel love, ah ha ha, ah ha ha
In sorrow, songs grow, like rainbows
Feel love, feel love, feel love, feel love

. . .


See the pretty widows, cold as April skies; hold their winter roses, clothed in nursery rhymes,
And love is where you find it and love is where you reach and love is in the patterns at her feet

So play her game of tarot, hold her hennaed hand, fold her dress like petals, turn the hanging man
And love is where you find it and love is where you reach and love is in the patterns at her feet

So call the pretty widows, clear as April skies, steal her winter roses, sing her nursery rhymes

Na na na na na na na na na
Oh when the morning calls, and the morning calls

. . .


Huddled like rabbits by the hole by the fence, frozen like statues to the chair on the lake
Clouds of birds, make shadows on the moss, fields of kale, all patterned with ice
Whoa outside, woah the swans rise, whoa, whoa

Curve of the river like the neck of a swan, and the veil of the sky all peppered with rain
Fields of crows picked clean to the bone, and a love unchained by the chatter of time
Whoa outside, whoa swans rise
Whoa

. . .


When the sky is clear, and the clouds are torn,
And the strange ones play, and the insects swarm

Falling like feathers, drifting like petals, pieces of paper
The ashes of us
Break like bone china, faces in mirrors, piece us together
The ashes of us

And the orchid grows, in a sunny place,
Where I sit my tea, with a scarecrows face

Falling like feathers, drifting like petals, pieces of paper
The ashes of us
Break like bone china, faces in mirrors, piece us together
The ashes of us

Woah woah woah (repeat)

. . .


The scarecrow waits on the hill all day, and a sparrow calls as the evening falls
We covered the mountain like snow; we covered the forest like crows
But were lie down where the lilacs grow

Your hands look small, and the skin is so cold
With your nails all cracked, like beetles backs
Their cover the village like ghosts, their cover the mountain like crows
But their find us where our blood meets the snow
Where the lilacs grow

. . .


Softening the winter with his eyes
Sitting in the meadow in disguise
Feeling his way, touching the stone
Watching the day through a telephone

Colours in the carnage of his hair
Lose it in the debris on the stairs
Feeling his way, touching her hand
Making his way, to the bandstand

He's in the sky, he's in the tide, he's in the trees and the buzz of the night
Feet in the sand, watching life through Julian's eyes

Softening the winter with his smile
Sitting in the doorway counting tiles
Feeling his way, touching life, watching the day through quiet eyes

Elephants and spiders in his head
Capital letters, green and red
Feeling his way, making a start
Watching the day, through cut glass

He's in the sky, he's in the grass, he's in the wind and the curve of the stars
Feet in the sand, watching life through Julian's eyes

. . .


Leave me sleeping, softly breathing, summer in my head, it's summer in my head
Leave me clutching lilac cushions, in playground colours with my mother
It's summer in my head, its summer in my head

So leave me dreaming, softly breathing, slowly falling, falling, falling
It's summer in my head, its summer in my head
Summer, it's summer in my head, summer
Summer, it's summer in my head, summer

. . .


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