Song picture
The Oyster
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A little light progwork
classic prog
Artist picture
Trash-pop, guitar rock and melodic miscellany.
Not so much a band as a bloke with a guitar and a laptop, The Smivets deliver a genre-bending blend of pop, rock, punk, prog and many other monosyllables.
Song Info
Genre
Rock • Progressive Rock
Charts
Peak #80
Peak in subgenre #15
Author
Steve Smith
Rights
Steve Smith
Uploaded
December 08, 2022
Track Files
MP3
MP3 20.3 MB • 320 kbps • 8:53
Lossless
WAV 89.6 MB
Meta Data
Beat
9/8
Vocals
Male
Character
Energy
relaxed, cool
high-energy
Danceable
coffee-place
dancefloor
Positivity
dark, sad, angry
happy
Appeal
unique
radio-friendly
Story behind the song
Somewhere on my trajectory towards becoming a grumpy old git I learned that it's actually a jolly good thing that "things ain't wot they used to be", and often it's the very things that irritate you that become the best ideas.
Lyrics
Look at them Look at these people What in hell are they doing? They must all know the way of things What can they be thinking? It just irritates me Like an insect tickling my skin They're doing stuff that I don't like The world is quickly sinking We cling to the familiar yet yearn for change Narrowing the focus of what's not strange No time for the ways that the strange behave As we try to retie the laces of our days Then these lunatics bomb in without a care Seemingly for motives I don't share To conjure inventions from random crashes And charm the clay from the feet of statues Is this what the dinosaurs felt When they saw that falling rock? Perhaps I should have more respect For those who hack me off Through the fogged up glass of evolution Did I glimpse my fate? Not so much a dinosaur More like what they ate We cling to the familiar yet yearn for change Narrowing the focus of what's not strange No time for the ways that the strange behave As we try to retie the laces of our days Then these lunatics bomb in without a care Seemingly for motives I don't share To conjure inventions from random crashes And charm the clay from the feet of statues In this oyster of the world It's still the grit that makes the pearl
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