If you actually stumble across this blog, just ignore it. I'm using it as a more convenient way to store hard copies of my song lyrics instead of a giant text document.
So carry on.
NECESSARY(?) DISCLAIMER: Most of these lyrics are from vgperson anyway. Or from determined Google searches.
And yes this is the exact color of Karkat's text. One day I will find lyrics to the Nic Cage song. One day.

Monday, October 24, 2011


kuuchuu hankagai no zattou kokkyou wa PASUTERU-gatame
FURATTA shindou gendouryoku tanbiron
gouhou WANDARANDA ran'you
SHISUTAA no inori mo DORAGGU ni
satsutaba no kakeru waraigoe

mure o nashita suteinu no gaisen PAREEDO
hoechirasu koe kanshu no te
uso-mamire damashiai
sontoku kanjou shinra-banshou
neratta shinzou GOMU-teppou

sekai wo kataru HARIBOTE GYANGUSUTA ni
renban naranda GUANBURU tobaku
mattaira na kono machi de sodatte
atarimae wo suteta

juutaku no yousai zousenjo fuyuusen no tsuiraku-ato
goraku minzoku kouyougo mo kondou
enshin-bunri MERII-GOO-RAN
kanransha wa jinja no katasumi
kouhai shijou satta SURAMU hinmin

yotte RAVI-DAVI sanzan na onzou
nakayubi tateta shoujo wa dare?
"matte, HANII, DAARIN!"
bon'you na kangei ni akireta

kassai nakushita hiyatoi MUUBII SUTAA ni
densen hayashita tettou miage
rojiura de odoru

nagare nagareru hito no umi
harabai de nedaru o-men'ya
kane no ne de nakiyamu akago
sono te ni dakareta urei wo

RARARA... asai KIMI no uta

nettaiya ni naku zakkyo BIRU ROKKU SUTAA ni
senzen no taida sandome no shinjuu
heitai no retsu ukiyo ni waratte
tengu no men hazushite yo

sekai wo kataru HARIBOTE GYANGUSUTA ni
renban naranda GUANBURU tobaku
makkura na kono machi to o-wakare
hora jaa mata ashita.
Its shopping district in the sky is congested, and its borders consolidated with pastel.
Flutter oscillation, driving force, and theories of aestheticism
are being misused legally by the wonderlanders.
Even the nuns' prayers are turning into drugs,
while laughter of gamblers with rolls of money can be heard everywhere.

Packs of stray dogs are walking a parade of triumphant return,
with their barking voices scattering the applauding hands of the audience.
Everything is covered with lies, everyone is deceiving everyone,
emotions are gained and lost, and nothing can be spared.
People's hearts are being targeted by rubber band guns.

Telling the gangsta-wannabes about the world,
you attach serial numbers to them and gamble gamble!
People are born and raised on these perfectly level streets,
so they have cast away their ordinary life.

Residential buildings are also used as shipyards, covered with blimps' crash remains.
In this nation of entertainment, even the official language has become fuzzy.
Here's a merry-go-round capable of centrifugation,
and there's a Ferris wheel in the corner of a shrine.
At the decayed markets are clusters of slum dwellers.

The intoxicated lovey-dovey couples present such an unsightly stereo image,
and who is that girl who just gave me a middle finger?!
"Wait, honey, darling!"
This kind of mediocre welcome has gotten really tiring.

To the part-time movie stars, who have lost their cheers from the audience,
you have sold your pride, and indulged in psychedelic trips.
Staring up at steel towers that have electric lines growing out of them,
you frolic in the shady back valleys.

Within the flowing waves and waves of people,
a mask dealer is on his stomach and soliciting for
the baby held in your arms, who, usually a source of distress,
has stopped crying at the chime of the bell.

Lalala... It's a shallow song about the shallow you.

On a hot and humid night, you cry to the rock star in your mixed living quarter;
filled with listlessness before the war, you attempt love suicide for a third time.
Smile evasively at the rows of soldiers,
and take off your tengu mask already.

Telling the gangsta-wannabes about the world,
you attach serial numbers to them and gamble gamble!
Bidding goodbye to this pitch black street,
I guess, uh, see you tomorrow then.

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