Παρασκευή, 14 Σεπτεμβρίου 2007
Cartoon Blues by Conor O' Berst
I listen to a lecture of nonsense till dawn.
By a plagiary poet with dark glasses on.
He said "how did you ever dream up that song?
The one where the baby dies."
I said I'll tell you the secret which one's your good ear?
Yeah, people are made up of water and fear
If there weren't women present we wouldn't be here.
So lets make like we're friends.
Then the pot turned to powder and soured the mood
And the people I come with were gone from the room.
So I asked like a child may I be excused?
and disobeyed them all.
Into that late night latrine rain soaking through my shoes.
I tried walking backwards to get less confused.
Working off a theory I could never prove
That it was life itself to blame.
And time ruined the world
like a failed revolution.
A tumor we could not remove.
An old friend, a constant, the blues.
Now my days are distractions that ring in my hands.
Solitaire crosswords and films on demand.
Return from a cartoon back into a man.
You start to smell that human smell.
And so I sleep with the fan on to drown out the street,
and the noise rising up from the bar underneath.
For that inconvenience all my drinks are free
So I guess it's just as well.
Why do I envy the ending right from the start?
Just get it together to take it apart.
Watching the horse as it follows the cart.
I sweep up my broken spell.
And I felt something changing the world
like a new constitution
A thief I would have to pursue
at all times at all costs.