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Of Montreal
Of Montreal


Background information
Origin Athens, Georgia, United States
Genre(s) Baroque Pop
Indie Pop
Indie Rock
Neo-psychedelia
Psychedelic Pop
Years active 1996—present
Label(s) Polyvinyl Records
Website Website
Members
Kevin Barnes
Bryan Poole
Dottie Alexander
Davey Pierce
Clayton Rychlik
Former members
Andy Gonzalez
Derek Almstead
Jason NeSmith
Matt Dawson
Nina Barnes
Ahmed Gallab
James Huggins



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  O  →  Of Montreal  →  Albums  →  The Sunlandic Twins

Of Montreal Album


The Sunlandic Twins (04/12/2005)
04/12/2005
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October Is Eternal
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. . .


When I met you I was just a kid,
hadn’t built up my defenses,
so I gave my heart completely,
vaseline over the lenses,
memories don’t go away,
I remember every day.

I never ever stop wondering,
Wondering if you still think of us,
I don’t need a photograph,
'cause you’ve never left my mind,
No, you’ve never left my mind.

I remember feeling like a ship,
whose captain was too drunk to stear,
and you watched as I was sinking,
waving sadly from the pier.

It’s such a burden to carry ’round,
the vestiges of dead dreams,
and I don’t want to make a wake out of my life,
I just had to let you go.

. . .


I was never young even as a child,
I was never young, I always felt beguiled,
No, I just never smiled,
But you, you have a glow, glow from an innocence I’ll never know.

'Cause I was never young even as a boy,
No, I was never young, kindness seemed a ploy to temper or alloy,
But you, you have a mind full of a wonderment I’ll never find,
'Cause I was never young.

Ever since I was a kid I’ve been a brutal basket cast,
Ever since I was a kid I’ve been a brooding basket case.

. . .


Let’s have bizarre celebrations,
Let’s forget who forget what forget where,
We’ll have bizarre celebrations,
I’ll play the Satyr in Cyprus, you the bride being stripped bare.

Let’s pretend we don’t exist,
Let’s pretend we’re in Antartica.

Let’s have bizarre celebrations,
Lets forget when forget what forget how,
We’ll have bizarre celebrations,
We’ll play Tristan and Izolde but make sure I see white sails.

Maybe I’ll never die,
I’ll just keep growing younger with you,
And you’ll grow younger too,
now it seems too lovely to be true,
but I know the best things always do.

let’s pretend we don’t exist,
let’s pretend we’re in Antartica.

. . .


The language of the frost lobs dead balloons over ruins today,
In view of wan wordless crowds,
that chase waifs to spires with fiery plumes,
And incite the firmament’s portrait of ’A Drowning in Styx,’
That gives impotents kicks.

Boredom murders the heart of our age,
while sanguinary creeps take the stage,
Boredom strangles the life from the printed page.

Masking vapor trails from Mercury for a killer on Umbria,
Who crippled birch mares now briars replace their old cotton limbs,
Who will tell? I mean would it make a difference?
Look metal flower petal tears do not even appear in the Myopic Mirror.

The moon was sagging in the sky as I held her face to mine,
All our thoughts were coming in so clear beyond the Myopic Mirror,
We were darting from the place where we just couldn’t fit,
For away from all the violence safely flying in our own orbit.

Why do I always have to tell you ”forget about the precient signs!”?
Forget about the life we knew,
May we never be stripped of anything we love,
may we grow so gentle never go mental,
may we never go go mental,
may we always stay stay gentle.

what was my number? 114395? I don’t care!
No no no no no

. . .


And so begins begins our odyssey
And we begin begin our odyssey
And so begins begins our odyssey

The auria is bleeding and the boyish voice is leaving
I’ve been an evil tenor I filled the innocents doe eyes with glue
You’re my only softness you’re my only pleasure it’s true
And I never want to be your little friend the abject failure

And so begins begins our odyssey
And we begin begin our odyssey
And so begins begins our odyssey

The chrysalis is breaking and the super ego’s waking
I’ve been a gloomy Petrarch with a quill as weepy as Dido
You’re my mousy aesthete you’re my bouyant cherub it’s true
And I never want to be your little friend the abject failure

. . .


You’re such a mystery I just wanna stand and stare,
Nibble on your ear and smell the ocean in your hair,
I know you damage me you leave me tangled in a knot,
But when you reappear I see Neptunian blues that eyes forgot,
Neptunian blues that eyes forgot.

Still I only feel alive when the vu’s flashing alarms going off in my head,
I want to grab you and just kiss you maybe I should sit down,
No sense in cashing us now,
Yeah I only feel alright when the vu’s flashing bombs going off in my head,
I want to grab you want to scream at you no icing me down,
The party’s crashing us now,
The party’s crashing us now.

Oh well we made love like a pair of black wizards,
You freed me from the past you fucked the suburbs out of me,
Oh all those ugly days that made us so sick,
They are just fossils now we’ve learned the elevating trick,
We’ve learned the elevating trick.

. . .


What kind of comedy is this all of the danger you’ve discovered,
What kind of comedy is this how can you say now you’re frightened,
You labeled me in forty tries and in case you didn’t realize,
I was a landscape in your dream and all my mountains were on fire.

What kind of labyrynth is this that we’re constructing through talking,
What kind of labyrynth is this that sends you laughing without smiling,
Age brings a sad little surprise and in case you didn’t realize,
While you were calculating tears my head expired.

. . .


Over a sea of grief Scarlet died,
above her dying mind were fossilfied memory imprints of her favorite day,
for a minute I stayed watching this brilliant display,
until a god with a broom came and swept them away.

In their bereavement all of her colorful friends,
Turned to a milky grey depressing blend,
Which incidentally made Grey feel inane,
So he set off to find a less trite identity,
One as stunning and bold as Scarlet used to be.

. . .


Oslo in the summertime nobody can fall asleep,
I’m staring out the window from my bed,
At 4 a.m. the sun is up,
look the sky is pepppered with sea birds and with crows all cackeling,
HVA?

Up in tre ten Heimdalsgate,
me and Nina making fun of footballers in Rudolph Neilson Plass,
I practice my norwegian on poor beffudeled waitresses,
who shake their heads completely at a loss,
Oslo in the summertime the streets are strangely quite ’cause,
everyone’s away on holiday,
HVA?

Oslo in the summertime,
Pakistani children play locked inside of the courtyard all day,
Pretty people everywhere sun lamp tans and flaxen hair,
Just tell the American not to stare,
HVA?

. . .


The creator of what’s now cliché had some funny words to say,
"all you little things are incomplete,”
why did he speak of us that way?
I don’t cry not ’cause I don’t care,
It’s very hard to feel the way we used to feel up there,
The creator of what’s now cliché,
Wants us little things to cry and feel alone.

But don’t don’t lose hope no no no no,
No no no don’t feel sad ’cause it’s a violent world,
But there’s still beauty,
I’ll take care of you if you take care of me.

I like to sit and listen to the sound,
Of the snowflakes landing on the trees,
But I can’t get used to feeling cold,
I can’t get used to what has happened here to you and me,
There’s no escaping so I won’t try,
It’s just the heaviness that comes with knowing you will never die.

. . .


Oslo in the summertime nobody can fall asleep,
I’m staring out the window from my bed,
At 4 a.m. the sun is up,
look the sky is pepppered with sea birds and with crows all cackeling,
HVA?

Up in tre ten Heimdalsgate,
me and Nina making fun of footballers in Rudolph Neilson Plass,
I practice my norwegian on poor beffudeled waitresses,
who shake their heads completely at a loss,
Oslo in the summertime the streets are strangely quite ’cause,
everyone’s away on holiday,
HVA?

Oslo in the summertime,
Pakistani children play locked inside of the courtyard all day,
Pretty people everywhere sun lamp tans and flaxen hair,
Just tell the American not to stare,
HVA?

. . .

October Is Eternal

[No lyrics]

. . .


The creator of what's now cliché had some funny words to say
"All you little things are incomplete"
why did he speak of us that way?
I don't cry not 'cause I don't care
It's very hard to feel the way we used to feel up there
The creator of what's now cliché
Wants us little things to cry and feel alone

But don't don't lose hope no no no no
No no no don't feel sad 'cause it's a violent world
But there's still beauty
I'll take care of you if you take care of me

I like to sit and listen to the sound
Of the snowflakes landing on the trees
But I can't get used to feeling cold
I can't get used to what has happened here to you and me
There's no escaping so I won't try
It's just the heaviness that comes with knowing you will never die

. . .


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