The Emerald City


i’ve decided to post song lyrics. humour me.

Posted in lyrics,music,plugs,random by Scaramouche on 24 June, 2007

The Engine Driver

I’m an engine driver
On a long run, on a long run
Would I were beside her
She’s a long one, such a long one

And if you don’t love me let me go
And if you don’t love me let me go

I’m a county lineman
On the high line, on the high line
So will be my grandson
There are power lines in our bloodline

And if you don’t love me let me go
And if you don’t love me let me go

I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
And I’ve written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones

I’m a moneylender
I have fortunes upon fortunes
Take my hand for tender
I am tortured, ever tortured

And if you don’t love me let me go
And if you don’t love me let me go

And if you don’t love me let me go
And if you don’t love me let me go
And if you don’t love me let me go
And if you don’t love me let me go

And I am a writer, writer of fictions
I am the heart that you call home
I’ve written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones

I am a writer
I am all that you have home
Oh, and I’ve written pages upon pages
Trying to rid you from my bones

On the Bus Mall

In matching blue raincoats our shoes were our showboats
We kicked around
From stairway to station we made a sensation
With the gadabout crowd

And oh what a bargain, we’re two easy targets
For the old men in the off-tracks
Who paid in palaver and crumpled old dollars
Which we squirreled away
In our rat-trap hotel by the freeway
And we slept in Sundays

Your parents were anxious, your cool was contagious
At the old school
You left without leaving a note for your grieving
Sweet mother while your brother was so cruel

But here in the alleys your spirits were rallied
As you learned quick to make a fast buck
In bathrooms and barrooms, on dumpsters and heirlooms
We bit our tongues
Sucked our lips into our lungs ’til we were falling
Such was our calling

And here in our hovel we fused like a family
But I will not mourn for you
So take up your makeup and pocket your pills away
We’re kings among runaways
On the Bus Mall
Down on the Bus Mall

Among all the urchins and old Chinese merchants
Of the old town
We reigned at the pool hall with one iron cue ball
And we never let the bastards get us down

And we laughed off the quick tricks
The old men with limp dicks
On the colonnades of the waterfront park
As four in the morning came on cold and boring
We huddled close in the bus stop enclosure, unfolding
Our hands tightly holding

And here in our hovel we fused like a family
But I will not mourn for you
So take up your makeup and pocket your pills away
We’re kings among runaways
On the Bus Mall
Down on the Bus Mall

The Mariner’s Revenge Song

We are two mariners, our ship’s sole survivors
In this belly of a whale
Its ribs our ceiling beams, its guts our carpeting
I guess we have some time to kill

You may not remember me – I was a child of three
And you a lad of eighteen
But I remember you and I will relate to you
How our histories interweave

At the time you were a rake and a roustabout
Spending all your money on the whores and hounds

You had a charming air, all cheap and debonair
That my widowed mother found so sweet
And so she took you in – her sheets still warm with him
Now filled with filth and foul disease

As time wore on you proved a debt-ridden drunken mess
Leaving my mother a poor consumptive wretch

And then you disappeared, your gambling arrears
The only thing you left behind
And then the magistrate reclaimed our small estate
And my poor mother lost her mind

Then one day in spring my dear sweet mother died
But before she did I took her hand as she dying cried:

“Find him, bind him, tie him to a pole
And break his fingers to splinters
Drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked
Clawing at the ceiling of his grave!”

It took me fifteen years to swallow all my tears
Among the urchins in the street
Until a priory took pity and hired me
To keep their vestry nice and neat

But never once in the employ of these holy men
Did I ever once turn my mind from the thought of revenge

One night I overheard the prior exchanging words
With a penitent whaler from the sea
The captain of his ship, who matched you toe to tip
Was known for a wanton cruelty

The following day I shipped to sea with the privateers
In the whistle of the wind I could almost hear:

“Find him, bind him, tie him to a pole
And break his fingers to splinters
Drag him to a hole until he wakes up naked
Clawing at the ceiling of his grave!

There is one thing I might say to you
As you sail across the sea
Always your mother will watch over you
As you avenge this wicked deed.”

And then that fateful night we had you in our sight
After twenty months at sea
With your starboard flank abeam
I was getting my muskets clean
When came this rumbling from beneath

The ocean shook, the sky went black and the captain quailed
And before us grew the angry jaws of a giant whale

I don’t know how I survived – the crew all was chewed alive
I must’ve slipped between his teeth
But O! what providence, what divine intelligence
That you should survive as well as me

It gives my heart great joy to see your eyes fill with fear
So lean in close and I will whisper the last words you’ll hear…

Of Angels and Angles

There are angels in your angles
There’s a low moon caught in your tangles
There’s a ticking at the sill
There’s the purr of a pigeon to break the still of day

As on we go drowning
Down we go away
And darling, we go a-drowning
Down we go away, away

There’s a tough word on your crossword
There’s a bedbug nipping a finger
There’s a swallow, there’s a calm
Here’s a hand to lay on your open palm today

As on we go drowning
Down we go away
And darling, we go a-drowning
Down we go away, away

There are angels in your angles
There’s a low moon caught in your tangles

These lyrics are all by The Decemberists, off their album Picaresque. It’s an awesome album by an awesome band, go have yourself a listen. *thumbs up*

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