Transformer from Island by Owen Pallett

Every time I sing, you say that I’m gas-lighting, falsifying a private Thermidor
Your love was a warm wind, and me an empty sail, I collapse to the kitchen floor

When I wish I was never born
My mother tells me I wasn’t born so much as excreted
But this emptiness is a gift
I’m free to write the future, an empty man undefeated

I think I’ve found the cure:
Make sure to live a quarter of your waking life in the present
And the rest I’ll spend remembering
Scorching our feet on the sand and tires of our bikes on wet cement

We were sparklers in the night, and even now your resting face cannot conceal the light
Your love was a warm wind, as the world you left, it falls away, and an island rises into sight

• Alternative
• Experimental
• Toronto