|Vocals, Guitar:||John K. Samson|
|Guitar, Vocals:||Stephen Carroll|
You always stole all my last words. Here's no exception then, one more for me to send. And nothing happens in the end. I'm thinking of you less, more concerned... and more is less, I guess it doesn't matter now. Maybe we'll never go insane. You always said we would, sometimes I wished we could with you lying naked in the rain and singing Boney M, cutting down all our old friends. I talk to them again now. So here's the last one I have left. We fell a little deep, I watched you fall asleep. And nothing happens in the end, but I remember when I could remember when. Seems like a long time ago. The night's a spill, a permanent stain; the city soaks in silence, salt and dirty snow. A blue glow from the tv again, the cutains never open, faces never show. And every time a light is turned on there's a light that's turned off somewhere. For every failing feeling that's lost there's a perfest cost, there's a debt you can't share. And every night they play the same song to the same offbeat believers. And everyone is singing along wearing blueblack eyes, wearing dead men's neck-ties. Clocks stopped at the corner of Albert will show your last bus left an hour ago, so stumble down the stairs again, pretend you're not to proud to understand and still know when your voice cuts through the crowd that lonely people talk too loud. Numbers on a washroom stall. There's always more then one last call calling you.
Indie rock heroes The Weakerthans new DVD-CD Live at the Burton Cummings Theatre, out now on Epitaph Records, offers a jubilant testament to the Winnipeg ...