Philosophy in song (Part 1)

Creative Forums Art, Music, and Entertainment
1

Philosophy rendered into poetry rendered into song—communicating points of view in a powerful and dramatic way. And in a frame of mind that can only [perhaps] be understood subjunctively.

Bruce Springsteen’s “Mister State Trooper”:

[b]New Jersey Turnpike, ridin’ on a wet night neath the refin'ry's glow Out where the great black rivers flow License, registration: I ain't got none But I got a clear conscience bout the things that I done

Mister state trooper, please don’t stop me
Please don’t stop me, please don’t stop me

Maybe you got a kid, maybe you got a pretty wife
The only thing that I got’s been both’rin’ me my whole life

Mister state trooper, please don’t stop me
Please don’t stop me, please don’t stop me

In the wee, wee hours your mind gets hazy
Radio relay towers lead me to my baby
The radio’s jammed up with talk show stations
It’s just talk, talk, talk, talk, till you lose your patience

Mister state trooper, please don’t stop me…mister state trooper please don’t stop me

Hey, somebody out there, listen to my last prayer
Hiho silver-o, deliver me from nowhere[/b]

And:

Lyle Lovett’s “Pontiac”:

[b]I park my pontiac
Down the hill out in back
Late every afternoon
With a coke and a cigarette
And all of the neighbors there
They see a nice old man

And the girl there across the street
She sits on her front porch swing
She never realized
What I told her with my eyes
How back in the second war
I killed twenty German boys
With my own bare hands

And the woman inside my house
She won’t stop talking
She never says a thing
She just keeps talking
And I might just leave her still
After the sun goes down
And I smoke this cigarette[/b]

And:

Bob Dylan’s “Ballad of Hollis Brown”:

[b]Hollis Brown
He lived on the outside of town
Hollis Brown
He lived on the outside of town
With his wife and five children
And his cabin fallin’ down

You looked for work and money
And you walked a rugged mile
You looked for work and money
And you walked a rugged mile
Your children are so hungry
That they don’t know how to smile

Your baby’s eyes look crazy
They’re a-tuggin’ at your sleeve
Your baby’s eyes look crazy
They’re a-tuggin’ at your sleeve
You walk the floor and wonder why
With every breath you breathe

The rats have got your flour
Bad blood it got your mare
The rats have got your flour
Bad blood it got your mare
If there’s anyone that knows
Is there anyone that cares?

You prayed to the Lord above
Oh please send you a friend
You prayed to the Lord above
Oh please send you a friend
Your empty pockets tell yuh
That you ain’t a-got no friend

Your babies are crying louder
It’s pounding on your brain
Your babies are crying louder
It’s pounding on your brain
Your wife’s screams are stabbin’ you
Like the dirty drivin’ rain

Your grass it is turning black
There’s no water in your well
Your grass is turning black
There’s no water in your well
You spent your last lone dollar
On seven shotgun shells

Way out in the wilderness
A cold coyote calls
Way out in the wilderness
A cold coyote calls
Your eyes fix on the shotgun
That’s hangin’ on the wall

Your brain is a-bleedin’
And your legs can’t seem to stand
Your brain is a-bleedin’
And your legs can’t seem to stand
Your eyes fix on the shotgun
That you’re holdin’ in your hand

There’s seven breezes a-blowin’
All around the cabin door
There’s seven breezes a-blowin’
All around the cabin door
Seven shots ring out
Like the ocean’s pounding roar

There’s seven people dead
On a South Dakota farm
There’s seven people dead
On a South Dakota farm
Somewhere in the distance
There’s seven new people born[/b]

Here [it seems] the full effect of these particular characterizations of human reality can only be appreciated when you hear Bruce Springsteen or Lyle Lovett or Bob Dylan actually sing the songs. The lyrics and the music meld into a frame of mind that may well be beyond what the philosopher can convery.

And it is not a question of whether the artist is right or wrong. That, after all, in my view, is beyond knowing. Instead, it revolves around the manner in which he communicatres what comes from deep inside him. The words are an intimate reflection of his life itself. And it either resonates with you or it doesn’t.

And—philosophically—is there any farther we can go?

2

Timbuk 3’s “Just Another Movie”:

[b]Presidential elections are planned distractions
To divert attention from the action behind the scenes
like a game of chess when the house is a mess
Or a petty money squabble when your marriage is in trouble
Or a football game when there’s rioting in the streets

It’s just another movie, another song and dance
Another poor sucker who never had a chance
It’s just another captain going down with his ship
Just another jerk, taking pride in his work

I was a poor magician; I could never understand
You can’t make tears disappear through sleight of hand

From the bottom of my heart – off the top of my head
Words were pulled like rabbits from a hat but nothing was said

It’s just another movie, another song and dance
Another poor sucker who never had a chance
It’s just another captain going down with his ship
Just another jerk, taking pride in his work

Now my freedom’s bought and paid for – it lights up my living room
I got nothing more to prove; I’ve got no reason to move
And when I’m tired of the program – when it’s taken it’s toll
I can press a button, change the channel by remote control[/b]

Leonard Cohen’s “Who By Fire”:

[b]And who by fire?
Who by water?
Who in the sunshine?
Who in the night time?
Who by high ordeal?
Who by common trial?
Who in your merry merry month of May?
Who by very slow decay?
And who shall I say is calling?
(Who shall I say is calling?)

And who in her lonely slip?
Who by barbiturate?
Who in these realms of love?
Who by something blunt?
Who by avalanche?
Who by powder?
Who for his greed?
Who for his hunger?
And who shall I say is calling?
(Who shall I say is calling?)

And who by brave assent?
Who by accident?
Who in solitude?
Who in this mirror?
Who by his lady’s command?
Who by his own hand?
Who in mortal chains?
Who in power?
And who shall I say is calling?
(Who shall I say is calling?)[/b]

3

There should be a field of thinking for such arts [poetry lyricry art and the like], I used to think philosophy was it though I am not so sure any more.
was formerly bardism and druidry.

4

Emile Cioran was nudging us in this direction when he suggested that…

…if everything is a lie, is illusory, then music itself is a lie, but the superb lie…As long as you listen to it, you have the feeling that it is the whole universe, that everything ceases to exist, there is only music. But then when you stop listening, you fall back into time and wonder, ‘well, what is it? What state was I in?’ You had felt it was everything, and then it all disappeared.

Admittedly, there were few lyrics in the music he listened to, but when lyrics and music really click, this effect is all the more haunting.

Consider, for example, the following: Judy Collins’s rendition of Billy Edd Wheeler’s “The Coming of the Roads”:

[b]Now that our mountain is growing with people hungry for wealth
How come it’s you that’s a-going
and I’m left all alone by myself?
We used to hunt the cool caverns deep in our forest of green
Then came the road and the tavern and you found a new love it seems

Once I had you and the wildwood, now it’s just dusty roads
And I can’t help but blamin’ your going
On the coming, the coming of the roads

Look how they’ve cut all to pieces our ancient redwood and oak
And the hillsides are stained with the greases
That burned up the heavens with smoke

You used to curse the bold crewmen
who stripped our earth of its ore
Now you’ve changed and you’ve gone over to them
And you’ve learned to love what you hated before

Once I thanked God for my treasure, now like rust it corrodes
And I can’t help but blamin’ your goin’
On the coming, the coming of the roads.

Once I thanked God for my treasure, now like rust it corrodes
And I can’t help but blamin’ your goin’
On the coming, the coming of the roads.

And I can’t help but blamin’ your goin’
On the coming, the coming of the roads.[/b]

This is a song of loss. But the loss is both personal and political. But, again, if it is something you cannot relate to in your own life it won’t seem haunting at all. It’s personal, rooted subjunctively in dasein.

5

that’s true you do kinda go into the space, similar with a good book perhaps. It may or may not all be lies yet the space your mind is at is true in and of itself.

I see the lyric is generally concerned with a negative of progress, and I think speaks to many of us in many ways about life. When I was a child I played by the rivers, in the woods and up the hills, now my children do that on the x-box. I guess progress makes itself look shiny and its lacking dirty, when in many cases the opposite has occurred.

the mercy seat lyrics [nick cave [Johnny cash also done a version]]

It’s a long lyric so here’s a few highlights…

[i]“The face of Jesus in my soup”

“And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth” .[/i]

I sometimes feel like that ~ I am often checking even my thoughts, measuring truth and judgement.

It began when they come took me from my home
And put me in Dead Row,
Of which I am nearly wholly innocent, you know.
And I’ll say it again
I…am…not…afraid…to…die.
I began to warm and chill
To objects and their fields,
A ragged cup, a twisted mop
The face of Jesus in my soup
Those sinister dinner meals
The meal trolley’s wicked wheels
A hooked bone rising from my food
All things either good or ungood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
A tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I’m not afraid to die.
Interpret signs and catalogue
A blackened tooth, a scarlet fog.
The walls are bad. Black. Bottom kind.
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath at my hind
They are sick breath gathering at my hind
I hear stories from the chamber
How Christ was born into a manger
And like some ragged stranger
Died upon the cross
And might I say it seems so fitting in its way
He was a carpenter by trade
Or at least that’s what I’m told
Like my good hand I
tatooed E.V.I.L. across it’s brother’s fist
That filthy five! They did nothing to challenge or resist.
In Heaven His throne is made of gold
The ark of his Testament is stowed
A throne from which I’m told
All history does unfold.
Down here it’s made of wood and wire
And my body is on fire
And God is never far away.
Into the mercy seat I climb
My head is shaved, my head is wired
And like a moth that tries
To enter the bright eye
I go shuffling out of life
Just to hide in death awhile
And anyway I never lied.
My kill-hand is called E.V.I.L.
Wears a wedding band that’s G.O.O.D.
`Tis a long-suffering shackle
Collaring all that rebel blood.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway I told the truth
And I’m not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is burning
And I think my head is glowing
And in a way I’m hoping
To be done with all this weighing up of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And I’ve got nothing left to lose
And I’m not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is glowing
And I think my head is smoking
And in a way I’m hoping
To be done with all this looks of disbelief.
An eye for an eye
And a tooth for a tooth
And anyway there was no proof
Nor a motive why.
And the mercy seat is smoking
And I think my head is melting
And in a way I’m helping
To be done with all this twisted of the truth.
A lie for a lie
And a truth for a truth
And I’ve got nothing left to lose
And I’m not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is melting
And I think my blood is boiling
And in a way I’m spoiling
All the fun with all this truth and consequence.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth
And I’m not afraid to die.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of proof.
A life for a life
And a truth for a truth
And anyway there was no proof
But I’m not afraid to tell a lie.
And the mercy seat is waiting
And I think my head is burning
And in a way I’m yearning
To be done with all this measuring of truth.
An eye for an eye
And a truth for a truth
And anyway I told the truth

_

6

One of my favorite Nick Cave lyrics is “The Weeping Song”:

[b]Go son, go down to the water
And see the women weeping there
Then go up into the mountains
The men, they are weeping too

Father, why are all the women weeping?
They are weeping for their men
Then why are all the men there weeping?
They are weeping back at them

This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While all the men and women sleep
This is a weeping song
But I won’t be weeping long

Father, why are all the children weeping?
They are merely crying son
O, are they merely crying, father?
Yes, true weeping is yet to come

This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While all the men and women sleep
This is a weeping song
But I won’t be weeping long

O father tell me, are you weeping?
Your face seems wet to touch
O then I’m so sorry, father
I never thought I hurt you so much

This is a weeping song
A song in which to weep
While we rock ourselves to sleep
This is a weeping song
But I won’t be weeping long
But I won’t be weeping long
But I won’t be weeping long
But I won’t be weeping long[/b]

Also, Nick Cave’s “[I’ll Love You] 'Til the End of the World” from the soundtrack of the movie Until the End of the World:

[b]It was a miracle I even got outta Longwood alive,
This town fulla men with big mouths and no guts,
I mean, if you can just picture it,
The whole third floor of the hotel gutted by the blast,
And the street below showered in shards of broken glass,
And all the drunks pourin’ outta the dance halls,
Starin’ up at the smoke and the flames,
And the blind pencil seller wavin’ his stick,
Shoutin’ for his dog that lay dead on the side of the road,
And me, if you can believe this, at the wheel of the car
Closin my eyes and actually prayin’,
Not to God above, but to you, sayin’,

Help me girl, help me girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

Some things we plan, we sit and we invent and we plot and cook up,
Others are works of inspiration, of poetry,
And it was this genius hand that pushed me up the hotel stairs
To say my last goodbye,
To her hair white as snow, and her pale blue eyes,
Sayin “I gotta go, I gotta go, the bomb and the bread basket
Are ready to blow,”
In this town of men with big mouths and no guts,
The pencil seller’s dog spooked by the explosion
And leapin’ under my wheels as I careered outta Longwood on my way to you,
Waitin in your dress, in your dress of blue

I said thank you girl, thank you girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls

And with the horses prancin’ through the fields,
With my knife in my jeans and the rain on the shield,
I sang a song for the glory of the beauty of you,
Waitin for me in your dress of blue

Thank you girl, thank you girl
I’ll love you till the end of the world
With your eyes black as coal and your long dark curls[/b]

7

With the weeping song what is it that’s making them weep? A general sentiment of all life’s iniquities?

One more nick cave song as this is my favourite, it sums up an emotional state though it perhaps purposefully doesn’t do that purely by the lyric, it’s the impression one gets of it. For example, when he says ‘The worlds spinning beneath me, Ma’ it’s a feeling that goes with the title of the song, that somehow we just get taken places. This song is particularly good in his live video from a gig in France; ‘live at le transbordeur’ [songs mostly from the ‘no more shall we part’ album [my favourite] and ‘let love in’ [most other peoples favourite].

When we came along this road

I left by the back door
With my wife’s lover’s smoking gun
I don’t know what I was hoping for
I hit the road at a run
I was your lover
I was your man
There never was no other
I was your friend
Till we came along this road
Till we came along this road
Till we came along this road

I ain’t sent you no letters, Ma
But I’m looking quite a trip
The world spinning beneath me, Ma
Guns blazing at my hip
You were my lover
You were my friend
There never was no other
On whom I could depend
Then we came along this road
We came along this road
We came along this road

_

8

It is the distinction he makes between weeping and “merely crying”—analogous perhaps to the distinction some make between boredom and ennui. Or sadness and despair.

When you reach the point where you weep over “the human condition” you have truly become immersed in it.

But this is, once again, something relevant only to particular lives. There are obviously folks who will not have a fucking clue as to why anyone would weep over that. Life is just grand, thank you.

Their own, for example.

9

xtc’s “Dear God”:

[b]Dear God, hope you got the letter, and…
I pray you can make it better down here.
I don’t mean a big reduction in the price of beer
but all the people that you made in your image, see
them starving on their feet 'cause they don’t get
enough to eat from God, I can’t believe in you

Dear God, sorry to disturb you, but… I feel that I should be heard
loud and clear. We all need a big reduction in amount of tears
and all the people that you made in your image, see them fighting
in the street 'cause they can’t make opinions meet about God,
I can’t believe in you

Did you make disease, and the diamond blue? Did you make
mankind after we made you? And the devil too!

Dear God, don’t know if you noticed, but… your name is on
a lot of quotes in this book, and us crazy humans wrote it, you
should take a look, and all the people that you made in your
image still believing that junk is true. Well I know it ain’t, and
so do you, dear God, I can’t believe in I don’t believe in

I won’t believe in heaven and hell. No saints, no sinners, no
devil as well. No pearly gates, no thorny crown. You’re always
letting us humans down. The wars you bring, the babes you
drown. Those lost at sea and never found, and it’s the same the
whole world 'round. The hurt I see helps to compound that
Father, Son and Holy Ghost is just somebody’s unholy hoax,
and if you’re up there you’d perceive that my heart’s here upon
my sleeve. If there’s one thing I don’t believe in

it’s you…[/b]

10

Ah I see now, it reminds me of karma police video by radiohead [I think its that track] ~ where a guy is lead on the pavement, people come up to him and he says he cant tell them what’s wrong. Eventually he does - they all end up lead on the pavement!

Great old band, great track ~ somewhat reliant on a god who‘s a puppet master/interventionist. I remember ‘making plans for Nigel’ - in fact it was on the radio the other day. …‘black sea’ was a rather fine album.
_

11

Three of a kind:

Ten Years After, “Circles”

[b]Life is going around in circles
Wonder will it ever end
If I die, baby, will you miss me
Or just find another friend
Does it matter what I do
Live life right or bear a grudge?
Does it matter what I do
Is there anyone to judge?

I have been to many places
I have journeyed through the mind
Though I’ve found some different faces
Another answer I can’t find
Does it matter what I do
Is there anyone to say?
Does it matter what I do
Is there any other way?

I have got what I once dreamed of
As a child, so long ago
But my life just goes in circles
'Cause one answer I don’t know
Does it matter what I do
Who will hear me if I cry?
Does it matter what I do
Does it matter if I die?[/b]

Paul Simon, “Patterns”

[b]The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child’s uneven scrawL

Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow Little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.

From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are Patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
Like a rat in a maze
The path before me lies,
And the pattern never alters
Until the rat dies.

And the pattern still remains
On the wall where darkness fell,
And it’s fitting that it should,
For in darknesss I must dwell.
Like the color of my skin,
Or the day that I grow old,
My life is made of Patterns
That can scarcely be controlled.[/b]

Don Mclean, “Dreidel”

[b]I feel like a spinning top or a Dreidel
The spinning don’t stop when you leave the cradle
You just slow down
Round and around this world you go
Spinning through the lives of the people you know
We all slow down
How you gonna keep on turning from day to day?
How you gonna keep from turning your life away?

No days you can borrow, no time you can buy.
No trust in tomorrow. It’s a lie.

I feel like a spinning top or a dreidel.
The spinning don’t stop when you leave the cradle.
You just slow down.
Round and around this world you go
Spinning through the lives of the people you know.
We all slow down.
How you gonna keep on turning from day to day? Oh…
How you gonna keep from turning your life away?

And I feel like I’m dippin’ and divin’.
My sky shoes are spiked with lead heels.
I’m lost in this star car I’m drivin’.
But my air sole keeps pushin’ big wheels.
My world is a constant confusion.
My mind is prepared to attack.
My past - a persuasive illusion.
I’m watchin’ the future it’s black.
What do you know?
You know just what you perceive.
What can you show?
Nothing of what you believe.
And as you grow, each thread of life that you leave
Will spin around your deeds and dictate your needs
As you sell your soul and you sow your seeds
And you wound yourself and your loved one bleed
And your habits grow, and your conscience feeds
On all that you thought you should be
I never thought this could happen to me.

I feel like a spinning top or a dreidel.
The spinning don’t stop when you leave the cradle.
You just slow down.
Round and around the world you go
Spinning through the lives of the people you know.
We all slow down.
How you gonna keep on turning from day to day?
How you gonna keep from turning your life away? Oh…

I feel like a spinning top or a dreidel.
The spinning don’t stop when you leave the cradle.
You just slow down.
You just slow down.
You just slow down.[/b]

12

U2: Until the End of the World

In my dream I was drowning my sorrows
But my sorrows, they learned to swim
Surrounding me, going down on me
Spilling over the brim…

13

A lyric from…who? I don’t know. It’s a song from a collection of New Wave stuff. Not sure if I got all the words right. Tried google to no avail.

[b]In the maze I am a loner
In the maze I am distraught
A human commodity sold and bought…

Wound up like animal entrails
Bound up like human brains
Wallowing in these solemn games…

In the maze I have a new part
Up upon the late great dream
In a script scripting one last self love scene…

Everyday a new opponent
Everyday a different danger
Oh how I depend on the kindness of strangers…[/b]

14

“Prople Who Died” by the The Jim Carroll Band

[b]Teddy sniffing glue, he was 12 years old
Fell from the roof on East Two-nine
Cathy was 11 when she pulled the plug
On 26 reds and a bottle of wine
Bobby got leukemia, 14 years old
He looked like 65 when he died
He was a friend of mine

Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

G-berg and Georgie let their gimmicks go rotten
So they died of hepatitis in upper Manhattan
Sly in Vietnam took a bullet in the head
Bobby OD’d on Drano on the night that he was wed
They were two more friends of mine
Two more friends that died

Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

Mary took a dry dive from a hotel room
Bobby hung himself from a cell in the tombs
Judy jumped in front of a subway train
Eddie got slit in the jugular vein
And Eddie, I miss you more than all the others
And I salute you brother

Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

Herbie pushed Tony from the Boys’ Club roof
Tony thought that his rage was just some goof
But Herbie sure gave Tony some bitchen proof
“Hey,” Herbie said, “Tony, can you fly?”
But Tony couldn’t fly, Tony died

Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died

Brian got busted on a narco rap
He beat the rap by rattin’ on some bikers
He said, “Hey, I know it’s dangerous, but it sure beats Riker’s”
But the next day he got offed by the very same bikers

Those are people who died, died
They were all my friends, and they died[/b]

youtube.com/watch?v=9QPaektjd6w

15

I’m gonna learn ya my philosophy. - STP

16

Leonard Cohen’s “The Partisan”

[b]When they poured across the border
I was cautioned to surrender,
this I could not do;
I took my gun and vanished.
I have changed my name so often,
I’ve lost my wife and children
but I have many friends,
and some of them are with me.

An old woman gave us shelter,
kept us hidden in the garret,
then the soldiers came;
she died without a whisper.

There were three of us this morning
I’m the only one this evening
but I must go on;
the frontiers are my prison.

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
through the graves the wind is blowing,
freedom soon will come;
then we’ll come from the shadows.

Les Allemands e’taient chez moi, (The Germans were at my home)
ils me dirent, “Signe toi,” (They said, “Sign yourself,”)
mais je n’ai pas peur; (But I am not afraid)
j’ai repris mon arme. (I have retaken my weapon.)

J’ai change’ cent fois de nom, (I have changed names a hundred times)
j’ai perdu femme et enfants (I have lost wife and children)
mais j’ai tant d’amis; (But I have so many friends)
j’ai la France entie`re. (I have all of France)

Un vieil homme dans un grenier (An old man, in an attic)
pour la nuit nous a cache’, (Hid us for the night)
les Allemands l’ont pris; (The Germans captured him)
il est mort sans surprise. (He died without surprise.)

Oh, the wind, the wind is blowing,
through the graves the wind is blowing,
freedom soon will come;
then we’ll come from the shadows.[/b]

youtube.com/watch?v=GpgRpENyt4c

17

John Lennon’s “Working Class Hero”

[b]As soon as you’re born they make you feel small
By giving you no time instead of it all
Till the pain is so big you feel nothing at all
A working class hero is something to be

They hurt you at home and they hit you at school
They hate you if you’re clever and they despise a fool
Till you’re so fucking crazy you can’t follow their rules
A working class hero is something to be

When they’ve tortured and scared you for twenty-odd years
Then they expect you to pick a career
When you can’t really function you’re so full of fear
A working class hero is something to be

Keep you doped with religion and sex and TV
And you think you’re so clever and classless and free
But you’re still fucking peasants as far as I can see
A working class hero is something to be

There’s room at the top they’re telling you still
But first you must learn how to smile as you kill
If you want to be like the folks on the hill

A working class hero is something to be
If you want to be a hero well just follow me[/b]

youtube.com/watch?v=njG7p6CSbCU

youtube.com/watch?v=Wlnl3CGG56M

18

Leonard Cohen’s “Dress Rehearsal Rag”

[b]Four o’clock in the afternoon
And I didn’t feel like very much.
I said to myself, “Where are you golden boy,
Where is your famous golden touch?”
I thought you knew where
All of the elephants lie down,
I thought you were the crown prince
Of all the wheels in Ivory Town.

Just take a look at your body now,
There’s nothing much to save
And a bitter voice in the mirror cries,
“Hey, Prince, you need a shave.”

Now if you can manage to get
Your trembling fingers to behave,
Why don’t you try unwrapping
A stainless steel razor blade?

That’s right, it’s come to this,
Yes it’s come to this,
And wasn’t it a long way down,
Wasn’t it a strange way down?

There’s no hot water
And the cold is running thin.
Well, what do you expect from
The kind of places you’ve been living in?

Don’t drink from that cup,
It’s all caked and cracked along the rim.
That’s not the electric light, my friend,
That is your vision growing dim.

Cover up your face with soap, there,
Now you’re Santa Claus.
And you’ve got a gift for anyone
Who will give you his applause.

I thought you were a racing man,
Ah, but you couldn’t take the pace.
That’s a funeral in the mirror
And it’s stopping at your face.

That’s right, it’s come to this,
Yes it’s come to this,
And wasn’t it a long way down,
Ah wasn’t it a strange way down?

Once there was a path
And a girl with chestnut hair,
And you passed the summers
Picking all of the berries that grew there
There were times she was a woman,
Oh, there were times she was just a child,
And you held her in the shadows
Where the raspberries grow wild.

And you climbed the twilight mountains
And you sang about the view,
And everywhere that you wandered
Love seemed to go along with you.
That’s a hard one to remember,
Yes it makes you clench your fist.

And then the veins stand out like highways,
All along your wrist.
And yes it’s come to this,
It’s come to this,
And wasn’t it a long way down,
Wasn’t it a strange way down?

You can still find a job,
Go out and talk to a friend.
On the back of every magazine
There are those coupons you can send.
Why don’t you join the Rosicrucians,
They can give you back your hope,
You can find your love with diagrams
On a plain brown envelope.

But you’ve used up all your coupons
Except the one that seems
To be written on your wrist
Along with several thousand dreams.

Now Santa Claus comes forward,
That’s a razor in his mit
And he puts on his dark glasses
And he shows you where to hit
And then the cameras pan,
The stand in stunt man,
Dress rehearsal rag,
It’s just the dress rehearsal rag,
You know this dress rehearsal rag,
It’s just a dress rehearsal rag.[/b]

youtube.com/watch?v=Er-8lG6wYdk

19

Bruce Cockburn’s “Silver Wheels”

[b]High speed drift on a prairie road
Hot tires sing like a string being bowed
Sudden town rears up then explodes
Fragments resolve into white line code
Whirl on silver wheels

Black earth energy receptor fields
Undulate under a grey cloud shield
We outrun a river colour brick red mud
That cleaves apart hills soil rich as blood

Highway squeeze in construction steam
Stop caution hard hat yellow insect machines
Silver steel towers stalk rolling land
Toward distant stacks that shout “Feed on demand”

100 miles later the sky has changed
Urban anticipation – we get 4 lanes
Red orange furnace sphere notches down
Throws up silhouette skyline in brown

Sundogs flare on windshield glass
Sudden swoop skyward iron horse overpass
Pass a man walking like the man in the moon
Walking like his head’s full of irish fiddle tunes

The skin around every city looks the same
Miles of flat neon spelling well-known names
USED TRUCKS DIRTY DONUTS YOU YOU’RE THE ONE
Fat wheeled cars squeal into the sun

Radio speakers gargle top 40 trash
Muzak soundtrack to slow collapse
Planet engines pulsate in sidereal time
If you listen close you can hear the whine[/b]

youtube.com/watch?v=z-avqJQwOoo

20

“Mad World” from Donnie Darko

[b]All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for the daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere

Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very, very
Mad world, mad world

Children waiting for the day they feel good
Happy birthday, happy birthday
And I feel the way that every child should
Sit and listen, sit and listen

Went to school and I was very nervous
No one knew me, no one knew me
Hello teacher tell me, what’s my lesson?
Look right through me, look right through me

And I find it kind of funny, I find it kind of sad
The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I’ve ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles its a very, very
Mad world, mad world, enlarging your world
Mad world[/b]

youtube.com/watch?v=T1_4e7gFBDw&t=5s