(Source: fuckyeahashleystymest)
untitled by amourstatique on Flickr.
(Source: -labyrinth)
Behind every exquisite thing that existed, there was something tragic.
(Source: thelastenglishrose)
I’m having a moment. The romantic is trying to burst out of my hard, jaded shell. I are very sad.
the lyrics are painful.
Countless nights, this song has kept me good company. You know, there are those heartbreak songs that do the whole release redemptive roar quite well, spitting in the face of subtlety and just unloading out onto the world all the bitter misery and spite that comes with losing someone and being left and screwed over. And then there are bands like Okkervil River that drop all the noise of that experience but leave the potency of a lover’s angst and vindictiveness intact which requires enormous skill and expertise if you want to do it elegantly. And this song does just that. The lyrics aren’t ashamed of throwing out every ounce of enmity possible with respect—without the distraction of thunderous drum banging or electric guitar shrieking. It is eloquent hostility, 100% pure concentrate.
And it is sad, and it is heartbreaking, and even with all the hatred and animosity it spews at you every second it plays, you are still somehow left believing it’s a love song. And a very good one at that.
I’m having a moment. The romantic is trying to burst out of my hard, jaded shell. I are very sad.
the lyrics are painful.
Countless nights, this song has kept me good company. You know, there are those heartbreak songs that do the whole release redemptive roar quite well, spitting in the face of subtlety and just unloading out onto the world all the bitter misery and spite that comes with losing someone and being left and screwed over. And then there are bands like Okkervil River that drop all the noise of that experience but leave the potency of a lover’s angst and vindictiveness intact which requires enormous skill and expertise if you want to do it elegantly. And this song does just that. The lyrics aren’t ashamed of throwing out every ounce of enmity possible with respect—without the distraction of thunderous drum banging or electric guitar shrieking. It is eloquent hostility, 100% pure concentrate.
And it is sad, and it is heartbreaking, and even with all the hatred and animosity it spews at you every second it plays, you are still somehow left believing it’s a love song. And a very good one at that.
