1. |
Black Mountain Range
03:36
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I’ll be on Black Mountain range,
with your name
tattooed on my grave.
Find me there, in the flowers and the grass,
find me when
some time has passed
when it’s over
when it’s all over.
I met you when I was quite small,
never thought much
for love at all
but now it’s all over,
I’m out here livin’
in a concrete tomb
on Black Mountain range,
out here livin’ in a concrete cage
on Black Mountain range
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2. |
In Jackson
04:18
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I’m sure it looks real bad
from up there in yer tower
you seen me spinning round
for hours and hours
catching butterflies
in Jackson.
You know what they say
about lepidopterology?
Nah man, me neither.
It don’t matter much to me,
down here
in Jackson.
Well where’d ya get that quarter boy?
It sure looks darling,
“I got it at the gettin’ place,
where all them getters
get, get gone -
gone to Jackson.”
“Dogs are dead.” Caddy said,
“Roskus shot ‘em
in the head
laid ‘em in the ditch
and then the buzzards
undressed em’.”
Laid ‘em down in Jackson.
You gotta get me out…
(All my life)
Livin’ in Jackson
(All my life)
I’m livin’ in Jackson
(all my life)
livin’ in jackson
forty-five years
I’m locked in Jackson
All my life
In Jackson
Jackson’s
now my life
where I spend all my time
In Jackson
with the President,
my confidant, my everything.
In Jackson
got a sharpened spoon,
gonna get even soon.
In Jackson
making daisy chains,
everyday’s about the same -
O Jackson
gonna lose my mind
on Wonderbread and toilet wine
O Jackson
where’s my lullaby?
All I hear are grown men
cry themselves to bed -
everynight they wet their pants
Oh God! Oh Lord! Oh Jesus Christ!
Is this gonna be the rest of my life?
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3. |
Like Mist on Mr. Cohen
04:03
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Drops of mercury on the Angels holy hearse,
Sallys in the kitchen
and she’s digging through her purse
some powder for her nose man,
some for her cheeks
everybody’s talking but nobody speaks
she’s a sequin, sparkles in the evening
leaves no trace like mist on Mr. Cohen…
a swiss wristwatch and switchblade in her bra-strap
nobody gonna talk, talk, talk,
talk to her like that
if you know what’s best you’ll be leavin’ on her goodside
if you know what’s best,
boy you best keep those shoes tied
she’s a sequin… sparkles in the evening
leaves no trace like mist on Mr. Cohen
deathly wit and an espionage kit
just like William S. Burroughs
she’s got candy in her pocket
she’ll tie you to the chair like some big bad prophet
picks up your pieces
and puts em in her pocket
when you think your wise she distributes the gossip
tells no no no no lies,
always got an alibi causes
she’s a sequin… sparkles in the evening
leaves no trace like mist on Mr. Cohen
down into the dungeon up into the heat
scoring some reds
for a man she’s yet to meet
snakes whisper poems that always start with S
end in Y and leave you second guessin
she’s a sequin… sparkles in the evening
leaves no trace like mist on Mr. Cohen
deathly wit and an espionage kit
reads William S. Burroughs
and actually likes it
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4. |
The Sweetest Part
03:13
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The sweetest part of you is gone,
a fallen angel, you just don’t belong.
In Kingdom’s of neon, dive bars
singin' drinking songs,
you which come from without.
The only advice I’d offer you
is get yer laughs in before they come for you.
I’ve seen faith breed
aberrations and apple seeds and
you which come from without.
The die’s now been cast,
do I pray just to get a pass?
Into elusive space,
the grave or Heaven’s gate
the only answers I can find
lurk somewhere beyond
you and I.
It may seem like others are okay,
but let me tell you that they suffer just like you.
Their influence and attitude
may be louder but yours is true,
you which come from without.
swear I saw you wearin’ angel wings
guess they could have been anything,
but when you leapt from those heights
I saw the fear leave yer eyes
it was the sweetest part
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5. |
Something to Get Used To
02:57
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He leapt from the ruin he incubated
the black ink falling and fading
as his body grew close to the puddles
and the earth. But even the dirt
didn’t want him. No, he couldn’t
even reach the bottom, just hung
like a tongue on blotter. Floating
like trash on the water.
So stinking and absent he flew
some paranoid bat, drunk and unglued.
His poems all broke free like an
angel in agony, when missing the
last bus to Heaven, and staining
your pearly white coat on cheap
wine and dirty brown dope. So is
this the part where I tear out my
heart and say, “Baby, oh baby, yer
gone.” Just like in all those other
songs, when a baby gets gone. Well it
just doesn’t hit like it used to and
I guess thats just something to get used
to.
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6. |
With Your Bells
01:58
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7. |
Charmed
02:48
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Enchanted by the poison
of seven silver coins
the basket is bare of scales
and in the bazaar delighted
you sit on Persian squares
with eyes milk-white and wide.
You squirm and you writhe
snake charmer,
with your bells and curls
you sing
Severin, or serpent
lets begin -
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8. |
Hell of a Thing
03:17
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Sunburn, lowlife creepin’ along -
strung out rail thin humming a song
that goes like “It’s a hell of a thing”
I drank myself a mile away,
not quite sure the time or day -
I said, “Hold on, wait a minute now,
if the sun is coming up
I must be coming down…”
Poverty’s a hell of drug
makes every dollar screams liberty.
This life a mine, is a hell of a thing
and it strings you along
until yer tattered and tied
and just when you cut yourself loose
they’ll say that you’ve unraveled.
Until every average so and so
looks like the patron Saint Anthony the Abbot,
patron of gravediggers, oh and, uh
also of basket makers.
So you’ve spun yourself a line,
and called it a good time,
then you threaded it through
but all you seem to do
is mosey by. . .
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9. |
Savage Blue
04:42
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A genuine sense of how lonesome it gets settles in.
And no more, I know now, you’ve gone gone - gone away.
I’m left with the echo of space now let go, it overrides.
This openness leaves me closed off, believe me
it ain’t romantic, or tragic, or gallant or nice -
just an old fashioned, average, lonesomely savage blue.
Savage blue,
savage blue,
All the fashions you’ve furnished,
the attempts to be earnest, collide.
It’s an apocalypse soup of vanity’s scoop,
written in black ink and missing a tooth.
I suppose all the sadness simply abandons it’s prize,
a body left barren, simply not caring, turning a savage blue
Savage blue,
savage blue,
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10. |
Thick Silver
07:50
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Daisy Garland Vancouver, British Columbia
East Van outlaw outfit Daisy Garland & The Thick Silver.
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