This unassuming tune has a bittersweet refrain and aching, grimy lyrics: “The chefs are in the alleyway throwing down. They’re high on PCP when I’m around. They don’t recall a thing or their favourite meal ’til they are coming down. You smack in the eyes and take my sight, you cut my world in half…You amputate my hands and they grow back, there’s phantoms to replace the world I had….the scenery of saints and stained glass walls, you get a little badge and then stand tall. You’re knee-deep in the shit of suburban sprawl and you are coming down.” It has a pitch-perfect lightness with an underlying weariness that is actually just like coming down.
Ball Park Music : Coming Down
