Sunday, March 05, 2006
Come on die young
Of all I knew, her held too few.
And would you stop me, if I try to stop you.
Old songs stay 'til the end.
Sad songs remind me of friends.
And the way it is, I could leave it all
And I ask myself, would you care at all.
When I drive alone at night, I see the streetlights as fairgrounds
And I tried a hundred times to see the road signs as Day-Glo.
Old songs, stay till the end.
Sad songs, remind me of friends.
And the way it is, I could leave it all
And I ask myself, would you care at all
-CODY by Mogwai
Normal procedure is to stay on my back, count until 10, then get up... slowly. Knowing Japan as I do, however, I had visions of some dozy fool on a bike failing to notice the prostrate gaijin in their path and riding over my head.
That wouldn't have improved matters.
Staggering to my feet, I noticed for the first time that the days rain had frozen on the wooden boardwalk, the icy sheen reflecting the lights from across the river. Even in my drunken state I should have realised that.
Glowering, I punched the misshapen basket on my bike until it bore a little more resemblance to its original form, then mounted up and rode home as sedately as I could.
It was only when I arrived back at the Yoshida building that it dawned on me that the contents of my basket were still lying on the boardwalk: namely, my keys and bike lock. I swore violently and got back on my steed.
Damn that demon drink: a sore hip, another trashed elbow and further evidence of my own stupidity to boot.
And would you stop me, if I try to stop you.
Old songs stay 'til the end.
Sad songs remind me of friends.
And the way it is, I could leave it all
And I ask myself, would you care at all.
When I drive alone at night, I see the streetlights as fairgrounds
And I tried a hundred times to see the road signs as Day-Glo.
Old songs, stay till the end.
Sad songs, remind me of friends.
And the way it is, I could leave it all
And I ask myself, would you care at all
-CODY by Mogwai
Normal procedure is to stay on my back, count until 10, then get up... slowly. Knowing Japan as I do, however, I had visions of some dozy fool on a bike failing to notice the prostrate gaijin in their path and riding over my head.
That wouldn't have improved matters.
Staggering to my feet, I noticed for the first time that the days rain had frozen on the wooden boardwalk, the icy sheen reflecting the lights from across the river. Even in my drunken state I should have realised that.
Glowering, I punched the misshapen basket on my bike until it bore a little more resemblance to its original form, then mounted up and rode home as sedately as I could.
It was only when I arrived back at the Yoshida building that it dawned on me that the contents of my basket were still lying on the boardwalk: namely, my keys and bike lock. I swore violently and got back on my steed.
Damn that demon drink: a sore hip, another trashed elbow and further evidence of my own stupidity to boot.
