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No genre, no problem: Cursive's decades-long musical defiance
For nearly 30 years, Tim Kasher and co. have challenged genre conventions, keeping Cursive's sound fiercely unpredictable.
Nov 11, 2024 • 10:07 AM
Lyrics
You're blowing through the home like a hurricane Shooting through the rooms like a bullet train Oh no, looking for what you shouldn't You're going to wish you didn't You can find pleasure in the crux of pain It seems you've find a way to dance on your own grave You're digging deeper when you say: Come out, come out I heard such shouting from the wings I know you're up there Lurking . . . watching . . . We could play a game of hot and cold Your fingers nearly froze looking through those old photos It ain't a memory you're seeking It's more like a feeling Inspiration's a funny thing The more the mind wilts, the more of a wellspring You're getting warmer when you sing: Come out, come out Don't be so proud, so obstinate I know you're up there Out, come out Before I doubt your existence You must be somewhere Out, come out Unveil this shroud wherever you are Whoever you are, or should I say, whatever you are I am, you are, oh-oh, oh-oh I AM! I AM! Warmer, warmer, house on fire Warmer, warmer, cut the telephone wire Warmer, warmer, cried the farmer's wife Warmer, warmer, with a carving knife Warmer, warmer, squealed the little pig Warmer, warmer, let me in Warmer, warmer! You're getting hot Warmer, warmer! You're burning up Warmer, warmer, or have you had enough?
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