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Superchunk
Superchunk


Background information
Origin Chapel Hill, North Carolina, US
Genre(s) Indie Rock
Years active 1989—present
Label(s) Matador Records
Merge Records
Website Website
Members
Mac McCaughan
Laura Ballance
Jon Wurster
Jim Wilbur
Former members
Chuck Garrison
Jack McCook



Music World  →  Lyrics  →  S  →  Superchunk  →  Albums  →  Indoor Living

Superchunk Album


Indoor Living (09/02/1997)
09/02/1997
1.
2.
Burn Last Sunday
3.
Marquee
4.
5.
Nu Bruises
6.
7.
Song for Marion Brown
8.
9.
Under Our Feet
10.
11.
Martinis on the Roof
. . .


When you commissioned your cage
Indoor living became all the rage.
Landscapers, hustlers, and gents
Offered to pay at least half your rent.
Pale pink and punished in style
Tuning in each time your satelite smiles.

Well your lips don't move,
But my ears are burning.
And my blush is proof,
That from your window you sing
Some unbelievable things
A queen with several kings
And I: a bird without wings.

Now lying flat on your back,
Counting cashmere sweaters, counting cracks.
And all those slippery gents
Have found their way into your air conditioning vents.
Your signal fizzles and fades
Still bouncing off the stars but silent in space.

And your lips don't move,
But my ears are burning.
And my blush is proof,
That from your window you sing
Some unbelievable things
A queen with several kings
And I: a bird without wings.

And I'm starting to believe.
And I'm starting to believe.
And I'm starting to believe.
And from your window you sing
Some unbelievable things
A queen with several kings
And I: a bird without wings.

Let me pin these on you.

. . .

Burn Last Sunday

[No lyrics]

. . .

Marquee

[No lyrics]

. . .


When you leave this coast
Take me with you
Because I can’t live with your ghost
She’s too much like you
She’s building pyramids on water skis
And we both know that I’ve got bad knees
Some tricks I won’t do
So I’m swimming back to you

Soaking wet
And fully intercoastal
But I still can’t forget
Your farewell toast,
You were down on the beach
With bright red knees
And when you dropped anchor you dropped me
Now my flag flies blue
So I’m swimming back to you

You’re made of water
I’m made of sand
Don’t grit your teeth
Just let me kiss your
Watery hands

Stop washing me away

You’re made of water
I’m made of sand
Don’t grit your teeth
Just let me kiss your
Watery hands

Stop washing me away

. . .

Nu Bruises

[No lyrics]

. . .


Oh what did I think would happen
Bank robberies and a few drinks slip back in
Every page torn out and a plaintiff penciled in doubt
Color slides on into your ink
Landscapes strung up and still wet
Form all ranges that lay flat
Barely spring but green enough
Obviously scarred but not too tough

Every single instinct running out like regs, every one I ever had
Every fork determent following your lead, evergreens and a foam sea
Formulas and foul lips tied in canvas bags shreded into tiny scabs
Every single instinct running out like regs, every one I ever had

Every single instinct

. . .

Song for Marion Brown

[No lyrics]

. . .


We were struck by lightning, it was like we'd never get old
Now when I reach out my arm in the morning the pillows are all cold
They were more or less the same when your head was there
Now I'm saving the traces of it and only I hold the secret who dyed your hair

The last time the wind blew hard through this town
I was you coming through that pulled my pillows down
Breaking ties and fruit flies and the summer's always breezy
Now I know you recorded the who's of your homes just to tease me

I've got my ear to the ground and I'm listening for you
I've got my ear to the ground and I'm listening for you

This happy homecoming, I am not inclined to beleive it
And a snap shot of me I know now you need it
So I'm coming back from my time underground
Do you see what I've found?

You want proof I still set out your plate?
Well I got your telegram about eight months too late
Now I'm smashing not washing the china you left me to use
Making mosaics of scenes from the parts of my life that you left me to lose

I've got my ear to the ground and I'm listening for you
I've got my ear to the ground and I'm listening for you

This happy homecoming, I am not inclined to beleive it
And a snap shot of me I know now you need it
So I'm coming back from my time underground
Do you see what I've found?

. . .

Under Our Feet

[No lyrics]

. . .


Waking up with you, foggy windows spoiled my view
All our wine just froze, so much for your sunny coast
Old faxes torn in two, one drummer turning blue
Well he's alright you know, drinking kills both parasite and host

Continental clouds
Buying friends with pounds
Passed out on the ground
Continental clouds

We're rolling down the isle, pop bottles and a smoked out smile
Another stormy day, the ferry heaves once and pulls away
How do I speak to you, cold tongues and eyes of icy blue
Smashed and shattered now, one more hand they'll have to put me down

Continental clouds
Buying friends with pounds
Passed out on the ground
Continental clouds

Hold my hand steady while I write
Look over my shoulder all night
Hold my hand steady while I write
Look over my shoulder all night
I think we can squeeze you in
I care about the dumbest things
I think we can squeeze you in
I care about the dumbest things
I care about the dumbest things

. . .

Martinis on the Roof

[No lyrics]

. . .


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