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Andrew Bird
Andrew Bird




Альбом Andrew Bird


The Swimming Hour (03.04.2001)
03.04.2001
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I've been driving all night
Bathing in flourescent light
Of a western Tennessee gas station
With a pack of two-way action
I'm subsisting on a fraction
And I close my eyes and pretend
I'm on vacation
But the light bleeds through
And it's all green-blue
There goes my imagination

My return fills me with dread
Will myhouse plants be all dead
My significant be with another
I say ok where was I
But I can't repress a sigh
And I think I'm gonna
Yeah I think I'm gonna call my mother
Let the subject wander
To issues of blonde hair
Or something or other

Like a bad haircut
Or a glass of cold water
Some of the things
You wouldn't ordinarily thought a
Will all be lost if you let it in
Maybe I'll never ever feel it again

I've been driving all night
Bathing in flourescent light
Of a western Tennessee gas station
With a pack of two-way action
I'm subsisting on a fraction
Of what used to be a sugar-free
Half-melted bag of Tastations
That hard candy sensation
It's sweeping the nation
And it
Puts my mind in traction
I'm subsisting on a fraction
And I close my eyes and pretend
I'm on vacation
But while it melts in my mouth
I'm still driving south
In a TV Nation

Like a bad haircut
Or a glass of cold water
Shouldn't I say what I really shouldn't oughta
You spend half a day in
Some of these places
Like a flash of white light
That's in front of our faces
A state of peristalsis or a parastatic stasis
And we're off to the races

. . .


Listen you don't know You don't know my mind When what you thought was the core Turned out to be the rind If I need your advice I will let you know But listen until then This is no call-in show No, No, No Cause I tell you a story 'Bout what happened today Nothing profound Just something to say And you write a prescription On your notebook pad For five different ailments Didn't know I had Listen you don't know You don't know my mind You thought the core was the rind

. . .


Why? Why'd you do that?
You shouldn't have done that
If I told you once, I told you three times
You'll get your punishment when you
Show me your crimes

It's not a spell or a curse you put on me
Or the way you smile so tenderly
But how I wish it was your temper you were throwing
Damn you for being so easygoing

I thought that time would tell
My sins would provoke you to raise some hell

Not a chance
Whatever happened to fiery romance
Oh how I wish it was those dishes you were throwing
Damn you for being so easygoing

No, don't give me that line
Don't try to tell me inaction is not a crime
Can't you see what kind of seeds you're sowing?
Damn you for being so easygoing

. . .


Standing on the corner
Plastic cup in her hand
Standing on the corner
Saving for some gin
You don't need to ask where she's been or what's up
She'll gladly tell you all about the life she had
Before she had the cup

Standing by the window
Glass of milk in his hand
What could I have done what could I have said
Broken glass spilled milk lying on the floor looking dead

Window pain
Cutting through the rain looks so easy
Frame by frame
Looking for a name to claim on a breezy afternoon
And the ends coming soon

So many people hold a cup
So many die drinking milk in front of a window
I once knew a woman who got in the way
Of the intentions of a windy day
Don't hold a cup in any season
Don't make me choose between rhyme or reason
Don't drink that milk in front of that window
You might as well blame it on the will that the wind chose

. . .


I'm a breather mail receiver
And I don't know where I stand
Not since someone informed me
That my house was built on sand
And it's not the earth beneath me
It's just the concept of the land

And I'm standing on the corner
When the buildings they all fell
If you blink once you're a goner
Everything just goes pell-mell

It's a real hard sell
My conceptual hell
Not even good for kindling
When the buildings they all fell

I'm a breather mail receiver
Bottom feader just getting by
And you know it's all just par for the course
But you blame it on some non-existent force
Oh yeah, of course
You know you can't ride the concept of the horse
But still I try

In a cartoon desert landscape
With a pair of ACME jetskates
Focused on my destination
I seem to have forgot my station
Now it's time to face the nation

And I'm riding to meet you
On a brown gray speckled mare
But there's something that unnerves me
Like I'm riding on thin air
These few doubts disserve me
Thinking no one really cares
And I'm jumping over fences
On this obstacle course
But it seems I'm getting nowhere
On the concept of the horse

It's a real hard sell
My conceptual hell
Not even good for kindling
When the buildings they all fell

I'm a breather
Bottom feader
How many liters
Must I imbibe
And you know it's all just par for the course
But you blame it on some non-existent force
Oh yeah, of course
You know you can't ride the concept of the horse
But still I try

. . .


Too long you waited too long to come home
Now your daddy don't want you no more
Too long you don't belong here anymore
So quit your knock-knocking at my door

You left me sweet mamma for no good reason at all
And now there's another mule kicking in the same old stall
Too long you waited too long to come home
Now your daddy don't want you no more

. . .


Elder Green is dead and gone
Lost his way going to town
Don't know who he is or what he's done
But it sure sounds sweet rolling off the tongue
Yeah it sure sounds sweet rolling off the tongue

If I was in an old hotel
That happened to be on fire
Maybe I'd jump or
Maybe I'd reconsider
Then I'd climb a little higher

Like an oily rag
In a dusty corner
Like a box of matches near an open flame
I'd jump 18 stories from a burning fire
Sooner than I'd face this world of shame
Yeah I'd skip this town and
Jump a westbound train

Take these fingerlings from my fingers
Spoken with your breath
With white-washed eyes
And flies that linger
Seems rather forlorn and bereft

I said where you goin' with that sack on your shoulder Willie
As if I couldn't have guessed
He says I'm gonna get the hell
Out of Slag Valley and take a little stroll way out west

If I was in an old hotel
That happened to be on fire
Maybe I'd jump or
Maybe I'd reconsider
Then I'd climb a little higher

Like an oily rag
In a dusty corner
Like a box of matches near an open flame
I'd get so far away
From that old matchbox hotel
Man I'd skip this town and
Jump a westbound train
Anything to get away from this shame

Take these fingerlings from my fingers
Spoken with your breath
With white-washed eyes
And flies that linger
Seems rather forlorn and bereft

I said where you goin' with that sack on your shoulder Willie
As if I couldn't have guessed
He says I'm gonna get the hell
Out of Slag Valley and take a little stroll way out west

. . .


Everybody's talking
Nobody's listening
Everybody's sweating
Nobody's glistening

Nobody knows what he's thinking
Doesn't really step out even when he's drinking
Seems kind of creepy seems like the kind that stalks
Nobody knows when he's sinking
Always looks pensive whether or not he's thinking
To him it seems to him it screams
Everyone's just waiting to talk

Everyone's waiting to talk, Lord
It's all so terribly awkward on the verandas in the front halls
In the bus station's bathroom stalls
Yes it seems everyone's just waiting to talk

What must he be thinking?
Can we even guess?
He's not really linking
Himself with the rest
Does he know our big secret?
Has one of us confessed?
'Bout the wires circuits and motors
Buried in our chest

It's all just a pointless equation
This parabolic conversation
Like two distinct lines
Never the twain shall meet
Never? No never

Nobody knows what he's thinking
Doesn't really step out even when he's drinking
To him it seems to certain extremes
That everyone's waiting to talk

. . .


It rained it poured
It rained so hard
Rained so hard all day
'Till all the boys in our school
Came out to talk and play

They tossed the ball
Again so high
Then again so low
Till it fell into a flower garden
Where no one's allowed to go

When a tipsy Gypsy lady
Dressed in yellow and green
Says come here come here
My pretty little boy
And get your ball again

No I won't come in
I shan't come in
Without my playmates all
I'm gonna get my father and tell him all about it
And then the tears shall fall

First she offered an apple sweet
Then a tangerine
Then she offered a diamond
That seemed to do the trick that enticed him in

She took him by the lily-white hand
And led him through the hall
She took him to an upper room
Where no one could hear him call
No not a soul

Bury the bible at my feet
The testament at my head
If my dear father should call for me
Tell him that I am dead

Bury the bible at my head
The testament at my feet
If my dear mother should call for me
Tell her that I'm asleep

. . .


I'm goin' on home now guess I'm satisfied
Please tell me 'cause I don't know
While I'm splayed out on the floor
What it's like what it's like to be satisfied

I'm all alone now guess I'm satisfied
Last night, last night, lordy
Why'd I cry?

Little bit old now guess I'm satisfied
Please tell me 'cause I don't know
While I'm splayed out on the floor
What it's like to be satisfied

. . .


I was walking
With my feet
A disposition
Fell over me

The armory wall was bleeding
The restless child was reading

I was swimming
Could hardly stand
The swimming hour was at hand
The fishes they were feeding
The lambs they were bleating

I walk slowly
When I walk away from you

I'm feeling bad
I'm looking bad
I feel and look so bad
Some might say
Yours truly is soaking his head

There's apprehension
And inhibition
All contributions
To my attrition
And it happened long ago
These things these things
That make me walk so darn slow

. . .


I saw you last night
My, my, how indiscreet
Your self-destruction is so complete
And I know
Yeah I know
That she's goin' down slow

It was this morning that you phoned
You sound strung out, babe, but so high toned
And I know
Yeah I know
That she's goin' down slow

You're the article babe
The genuine thing
And when that guy comes by
With his diamond ring
It doesn't feel right
And you tell him so
So you buy your ticket home
And you're going down slow

Wait a minute
What's this?
We're losing altitude
Hand over fist
And she's goin' down fast

. . .


On the way to Greenland I shall find
All the disparate fragments of my mind
I shall return a different man
And darling do
All that I can

On the way to Greenland I shall find
No mundane distractions of any kind
If beneath the ice fields there's a room
It's there I'll find my peace a lovely tomb

Friends, Greenland is a place where souls go to dry out
It is a vast and terrifying place of ice fields and tundra
Bereft of fire and in the horror of its imposing irrelevance
There is a peace
The peace of pain
The peace of nothing
Well friends, I'm going there
Fear is lying dying in the sands
And it's breathing from the gills of my Greenland

. . .


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