Though I came in like a conqueror of old
Here to spin shit into gold
Down the sundried boulevards
Past the young flaneurs
Roll it over, roll it up and pick the bones
And our eyes look over the city
Our hands will grasp it all
We’ll carve slices from the belly of Paris
And there’s plenty to go round
There’s plenty to go round
Jealous eyes look down from crowded tenements
A fever hangs in the warm air
There is sweetness, there is light
There is innocence to spoil
Plunge our arms into its gutters
Up to the elbows
And our eyes look over the city
Our hands will grasp it all
We’ll carve slices from the belly of Paris
And there’s plenty to go round
There’s plenty to go round
So we feign a pose of nonchalance
But our fever grows with every stride
How are the green? How are they blind
To every sous that’s there to take?
Roll it over, roll it up and pick the bones
And our eyes look over the city
Our hands will grasp it all
We’ll carve slices from the belly of Paris
And there’s plenty to go round
There’s plenty to go round
Though I came in like a conqueror of old…
credits
from Peste,
released November 4, 2016
Written by Daniel Cochran
Dreamy indie rock from Bangalore's Black Letters captures the ambiguities of loss, longing, and growth in moving into a new phase of life. Bandcamp New & Notable Dec 3, 2019