歌词
For Tourist
Woman, the itching is turning to fever and then to form
For Tourist
Woman, insecurities are bunk-pollen for the swarm
And vice-versa, the swarm, turning to fury, captures a prisoner
Tourist Woman is unhappy with the meager conditions they have given her
From Oxford to
UCLA to impoverished streets of a
Bengali village
T.W. fights for nothing, believes in nothing, except an image
The image in her mind is of vague origin of, mostly, western result
Somewhat pyramid, somewhat cross, somewhat a mongrel cult
Like the old man
Who slept his life away
Romantics are doomed (and that’s a good thing)
专辑信息