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We Call Upon the Author
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Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds
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What we once thought we had, we didn't
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And what we have now will never be that way again
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So we call upon the author to explain
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Our myxomatoid kids spraddle the streets
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We've shunned them from the greasy grind
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The poor little things they look so sad and old
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As they mount us from behind
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I ask them to desist and to refrain!
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And then we call upon the author to explain
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Well, rosary clutched in his hand
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He died with tubes up his nose
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And a cabal of angels with finger cymbals
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Chanted his name in code
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We shook our fists at the punishing rain
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And we called upon the author to explain
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He said, everything is messed up round here
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Everything is banal and jejune
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There's a planetary conspiracy against the likes of you and me
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In this idiot constituency of the moon
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Well, he knew exactly who to blame!
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And we call upon the author to explain
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Prolix! Prolix!
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Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix
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Well, I go guruing down the street
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And young people gather 'round my feet
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And they ask me things, but I don't know where to start
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They ignite the powder trail straight to my father's heart
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And, yeah, once again
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I call upon the author to explain
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Yeah, we call upon the author to explain
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Who is this great burdensome slavering dog-thing
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That mediocres my every thought?
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I feel like a vacuum cleaner"”a complete sucker!
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It's fucked up and he is a fucker
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But what an enormous and encyclopedic brain!
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I call upon the author to explain
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Rampant discrimination
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Mass poverty, third world debt
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Infectious disease, global inequality
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And deepening socio-economic divisions
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Well, it does in your brain
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We call upon the author to explain
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Now hang on
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My friend Doug is tapping on the window!
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Hey Doug, how you been? (hey Doug)
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Well, he brings me a book on holocaust poetry "“ complete with pictures
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And then he tells me to get ready for the rain
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And we call upon the author to explain
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Prolix! Prolix!
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Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix
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Bukowski was a jerk!
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Berryman was best!
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He wrote like wet papier-maché
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But he went the Hemingway
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Weirdly on wings and with maximum pain
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We call upon the author to explain
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Down in my bolt hole I see they've published
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Another volume of unreconstructed rubbish
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"The waves, the waves were soldiers moving"
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Well, thank you! Thank you!
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Thank you and again
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I call upon the author to explain
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Prolix! Prolix!
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There's nothing a pair of scissors can't fix
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - Henry Lee ft...
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