No Perfect Time [Grunge it up!]

grunge, Bollywood fusion, cinematic fusion

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V5.5

[Instrumental Intro]

[Verse 1]
I woke up dressed in yesterday's rain,
Cheap motel air in a coffee stain.
My boots stick hard to the hallway floor,
Paint peels off by the broken door.

The mirror's cracked, but I like the split,
Shows me the parts that the gloss won't fit.
You can keep your clean-cut magazine,
I look better when the edges bleed.

[Pre-Chorus]
Tabla taps on a rusted sink,
Sitar bends where the lights won't blink.
Every scratch on the tape feels true,
I don't need a cleaner view.

[Chorus]
No perfect take, no golden frame,
Let the bad notes keep my name.
Let the room smell like smoke and rain,
Let the feedback crawl through my veins.
I don't want that polished lie,
Let the cheap bulb buzz up high.
No perfect take, no flawless face,
I belong to the messed-up place.

[Verse 2]
Your camera wants a softer scene,
A brighter shirt and a plastic sheen.
But this flannel has a cigarette burn,
And every hole is a thing I earned.

Basement drums under dirty stairs,
Sweat in the cables, dust in the chairs.
No one claps when the power dies,
Still we play with bloodshot eyes.

[Pre-Chorus]
Manjira rings like loose spare change,
Harmonium breathes through the mildew haze.
Tabla rolls where the floorboards ache,
Sitar answers the guitar break.

[Bridge]
Cut the lights and leave the hum,
Let the cracked walls bite the drum.
If beauty needs a perfect line,
Then beauty never lived in mine.

[Final Chorus]
No perfect take, no golden frame,
Let the bad notes keep my name.
Leave the dirt beneath my skin,
Let the bad room pull me in.
Every scar gets room to stay,
Let the glossy gods look away.
No perfect take, no flawless face,
I belong to the messed-up place.

[Outro]
No perfect take...
Let the feedback stay.
The final cut won't clean me.

2051/7500

[Instrumental Intro] [Verse 1] I woke up dressed in yesterday's rain, Cheap motel air in a coffee stain. My boots stick hard to the hallway floor, Paint peels off by the broken door. The mirror's cracked, but I like the split, Shows me the parts that the gloss won't fit. You can keep your clean-cut magazine, I look better when the edges bleed. [Pre-Chorus] Tabla taps on a rusted sink, Sitar bends where the lights won't blink. Every scratch on the tape feels true, I don't need a cleaner view. [Chorus] No perfect take, no golden frame, Let the bad notes keep my name. Let the room smell like smoke and rain, Let the feedback crawl through my veins. I don't want that polished lie, Let the cheap bulb buzz up high. No perfect take, no flawless face, I belong to the messed-up place. [Verse 2] Your camera wants a softer scene, A brighter shirt and a plastic sheen. But this flannel has a cigarette burn, And every hole is a thing I earned. Basement drums under dirty stairs, Sweat in the cables, dust in the chairs. No one claps when the power dies, Still we play with bloodshot eyes. [Pre-Chorus] Manjira rings like loose spare change, Harmonium breathes through the mildew haze. Tabla rolls where the floorboards ache, Sitar answers the guitar break. [Chorus] No perfect take, no golden frame, Let the bad notes keep my name. Let the room smell like smoke and rain, Let the feedback crawl through my veins. I don't want that polished lie, Let the cheap bulb buzz up high. No perfect take, no flawless face, I belong to the messed-up place. [Bridge] Cut the lights and leave the hum, Let the cracked walls bite the drum. If beauty needs a perfect line, Then beauty never lived in mine. [Final Chorus] No perfect take, no golden frame, Let the bad notes keep my name. Leave the dirt beneath my skin, Let the bad room pull me in. Every scar gets room to stay, Let the glossy gods look away. No perfect take, no flawless face, I belong to the messed-up place. [Outro] No perfect take... Let the feedback stay. The final cut won't clean me.

0/500