Bismuth, The Last Gentleman Songtext
von Owen FitzGerald

Lash me down
Secure my place
Invent new knots if it takes that
Accumulate enough weight that sand relents beneath my feet

Each word is hard to choose
That′s why I do not travel well in groups

If choice is real and not a scam, then how am I not a monument
Brass plaque screwed beneath my chest
Words embossed that I can read, off the lips of a reverent audience, to recall
(Each time I forget) who, and where, and when, and why I am

If I could be a pretty thing, a hunk of Bismuth I would choose
The corners make it hard to roll out; the colors make it hard to lose myself


Each word is hard to choose
That's why I do not travel well in groups

Splash me down
Keep me wet
If I dry out then I will die
My skin will crack
My blood will seep
And there I′ll be: dry and dead
If that happens my mortal coil will be spoiled by the wind
I'll be blown back to the places I have been
I'll be carried home

Each word is hard to choose
That′s why I do not travel well in groups