Annie Clark
American multi-instrumentalist, singer and songwriter who performs using the moniker St Vincent.
I'm a wife in watercolors I can wash away what seventeen cold showers couldn't wash away.
In a really great way, you simultaneously try to take up as little and as much space as possible.
Tomorrow's some kind of Stranger I'm not supposed to see.
A lot of the songs have a duality about them; one part is totally sincere, and there's another part that is kind of smirking and making light of it all. Or there's a very dark streak about it.
I'm crawling through landmines
Just to know where you are.
If you want we could go somewhere else.
There are no signs,
There are no stars aligned,
No amulets no charms,
To bring you back to my arms.
There's just this human heart.
That's built with this human fault.
What was your question?
Love is the answer.
What would the neighbors think?
Oh no! If they only knew.
I read the signs,
I got all my stars aligned,
My amulets, my charms,
I set all my false alarms,
So I'll be someone
Who won't be forgotten.
Now, now ...
You don't mean that say you're sorry
You don't mean that ... I'll make you sorry
Honey the party went away quickly, but thats the trouble with ticking and talking.
Some songs I wrote that night, and some songs took nine months to arrange, get how I positioned them. Some songs I wrote parts of when I was twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen… Just putting it together, just finding the right place for it. So it's really been a long time coming. ... I'm actually really restless, in the sense that I'd rather be always making something new. I'm really excited about making a second record. I've got a lot of things up my sleeve, I guess.
I'm just the same but brand new
And anything you wrote I checked for codes and clues.
What me worry? I never do
I'm always amused and amusing you
Bodies like wrecking balls fuck, fuck with dynamite.
The keys are in my pocket and they rattle you awake.
Good souls have born better sons,
Better souls born worse ones.
Paint the black hole blacker...
Tomorrow's some kind of Strangerland where all the news is good.
We are waiting on a telegram to give us news of the fall
I am sorry to report dear Paris is burning after all
We have taken to the streets in open rejoice revolting
We are dancing a black waltz — fair paris is burning after all.
I'm not your mother's favorite dog
I'm not the carpet you walk on
I'm not one small atomic bomb
I'm not any any any anything at all.