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Альбом Clutch


The Elephant Riders (14.04.1998)
14.04.1998
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Crackerjack
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I'll keep pulling on the towpath.
You keep floating on the river.
Yeah, until the day is done.
Keep on keeping on the low road,
Chesapeake and Ohio.
Because on the higher ground you will find

Elephant Riders to the northwest bring news from father.

Looking like it's always closing,
the Salty Dog is always open.
Here, I got an I.O.U.
Clickity clack clack, clickity clack clack,
Baltimore and Ohio,
Clickity clack clack, clickity clack clack,
roll on, roll on.

On our way to Washington where work is done by men with gavels,
I heard a sound that just about removed me from my filly's saddle.
Just outside of Antietam, where once there was a mighty battle,
I heard the rhythm of the hammers beating the rail lines together.

Elephant Riders to the northwest bring news from father.

Don't be eating all the hard tack.
Between we two there's half a small sack.
Still, we got miles to.
Giddy up pony, Giddy up pony,
Camptown Race is five miles long.
Giddy up pony, Giddy up pony,
ride on, ride on.

On our way to Washington where work is done by men with gavels,
I heard a sound that just about removed me from my filly's saddle.
Just outside of Antietam, where once there was a mighty battle,
I heard the rhythm of the hammers beating the rail lines together.

Elephant Riders to the northwest bring news from father.
Elephant Riders to the northwest bring news of battle.

. . .


Tin shacks and catfish bones
have been about all I've ever known.
The junebugs rattle and roll
around the old maypole.

Thunder and lightning,
the catfish are biting,
I took a riverboat downstream.
I think you know what I mean.

The chicken hawks, they are gathering.
Above my head, they are circling.
Old friends come out visiting,
say, "Hi," and talk about collecting.
Stray dogs won't come near me.
Was blind, now I see clearly.
Believe I'm fixing to die.
When you're living in the country it's, "why, oh why?"

Oh, I'm sorry that I left my home.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
Oh, I'm sorry that I left my home.
Oh. Oh. Oh.

Look over yonder there,
on the farther shore.
On the farther shore,
look over yonder there.
I see a ship of gold.
I see a ship of gold.
Beyond that mountain there,
I see a Citty-on-the-Hille.
Its gates are open wide.
I hear the ringing bells.
Look over yonder there,
on toward the burying ground.
Poor boy is all afire.
Poor boy is dead and gone.

One of these days the Ship of Gold
will carry me to my reward.
Out of this world it will take me
to hear the horns of Jubilee.

Pig fat and old pork rinds
ain't enough to keep a man alive.
The bullfrog sleeps all day.
Come night he has his say.
Believe I'm fixing to die.
Believe I'll take my rest.
Believe I'm fixing to die.
Believe I'll take my rest.

Oh, I'm sorry that I left my home.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
Oh, I'm sorry that I left my home.
Oh. Oh. Oh.

. . .


Once again I'm denied my choice.

Once around the stump, then twice across the ceiling,
now eight times over Miss October is out for me.
Believe me when I tell you she's all about destruction.
It's just about enough to make a grown man cry.

Good God Almighty we was panning for gold
down at the banks of mighty Colorado,
when all of a sudden came an awful sound;
ten thousand buffalo were running us down.

Once again I'm denied my joy.
Sieves and peas, oh Lord, oh Lord!

Thunder and lightning at a feverish pitch.
Must be the workings of the Old West Witch.
I crossed her once when I was just a youth.
Been scared stiff ever since, to tell you the truth.

Once again I'm denied my joy.
Sieves and peas, oh Lord, oh Lord!

She went once around the stump, then twice across the ceiling,
now eight times over Miss October is out for me.
Believe me when I tell you she's all about the voodoo.
and all the things I'm losing when I pay no mind.

Get off on the good foot and start another day.
Maybe head for Hazel, California.
Oh, but sooner or later she'll go to town
sure as the Earth runs around and around.

Again I'm denied my joy.
Sieves and peas, oh Lord!

At the side of the road
a bundle of twine,
and on it I found a note.
It read, "You'll be running until the end of time."

She went once around the stump, then twice across the ceiling,
now eight times over Miss October is out for me.
Believe me when I tell you she's all about destruction.
It's just about enough to make a grown man cry.

. . .


Behind the Cliffside Inn,
I heard a fiddle and a mandolin,
keeping rhythm on an old washboard
and stomping on the floor.
Saw people of all sorts
dancing 'round in twos and fours,
caroling about days of old,
and what the future holds.

In the middle was a big cauldron
that they were stirring, stirring,
and there were trees around
that they kept burning, burning.
I asked a toothless man
who all these people were, and
he said, "The soapmakers,
and we are working, working."

As they stirred Heaven and Earth, they combined to one,
and everything was everyone and each one was all.
As they stirred I heard a trumpet call,
and everything was everyone and each one was all.

As they stirred Heaven and Earth, they combined to one,
and everything was everyone and each one was all.
As they stirred I heard a trumpet call,
and everything was everyone and each one was all.

. . .


Standing waist high in snow,
what brought me here I do not know.
Sky is filled with starry scenes
of heroes and their greatest deeds.
Satellites move across the sky,
and every year they multiply.
Father bear is sound asleep
and will be so for several weeks.

Across the plain I see a figure,
every instant growing bigger.
Instinct tells me to run away
while faith proposes that I wave.
He approaches to a rod.
I whisper up a prayer to God.
The stranger asks me with a grin,
"Do you have the time my friend?"

Himalaya is my old time stomping ground
(oh yes, time is of the essence).
Manitoba, better snows I've never found
(oh yes, time is of the essence.)

The author looms above his page
and thinks it strange that at his age
he can not find the proper words
to describe his only world.
One would think that in a life
where no two snowflakes are alike
one would have a brilliant rhyme
for each and every bit of time.

Himalaya is my old time stomping ground
(oh yes, time is of the essence).
Manitoba, better snows I've never found
(oh yes, time is of the essence.)

. . .


Went to the five and dime,
bought myself a copy of Time,
and on the cover was a woman that I knew
when I was excavating in the mountains of Peru.
I caught a plane to L.I.A.
I didn't know what I would say.
Maybe she would like me, I had lost a lot of weight
since she had last seen me in 1988.

Went to a local bar and ordered a cerveza,
asked a man about the woman on the cover,
dijo, "Claro que si, es el presidente's daughter."
Asked him where she might me,
"You did not hear this from me.
The girl is a terrorista
en las montanas a Chuquibambilla."
Took a bus through mountains.
Oh, my head was pounding.
Got to stay strong and carry on.
Got to stay strong, it won't be long.
Arrived in the villa surrounded by guerrillas.
Then my girl took me in her arms.

She said, "How have you been?
Oh, but I'll see you again."
I woke up in a coffin underneath
an altar to the east of Machu Pichu.
Crawled from the royal tomb.
The sun was bright, it burned my eyes.
I knew that she was gone
so I went down to the riverside
and I cried.

I went down to the riverside
I went down and I cried.

Muchas veces, I don't know if I'm coming or I'm going.
Muchas veces, I'm at a loss as what to do.
Muchas veces, I don't know if I'm coming or I'm going.
Muches veces, I'm at a loss as what to do.

My friend said, "She's nothing but pain."
I said, "I still love her the same.
All she needs is a little bit of love and
I'm sure I can make her change some."
"What about that girl in Zaire
that you met while a volunteer?
She got quite the education and
quite the pair of legs on her."
"Oh, she married an Englishman,
a correspondent for CNN.
She thought he was rather handsome
in a UN blue flak jacket.
Oh, I see where your coming from,
but for me there is no other one.
I must be on my merry way."

Went to the five and dime,
bought myself a copy of Time,
and on the cover was a woman that I knew
claiming she was a kahuna down on Oahu.
Caught a plane to H.I.A.
The sun was bright, it burned my eyes.
I knew that she was near because I felt
shivers on my spine.
I felt fine.

. . .


Won't you come over and stay for a while?
Take a seat, have a drink, we'd have a nice time.
Turn on the TV I believe it's prime time.
I'll make you chicken cacciatore in five.

There's a woman down at 314
who can't keep the stains on her kitchen floor clean.
And there's a man who's been knockin' on his door
for three years, or has it been four?
I don't wanna spend the winter in this house all alone.
Those neighbors of mine keep coming on over and playing with my mind.

I would like to love you,
I sure would treat you right.
We could take the trash out
every Thursday night.

Here in my neighborhood there is the strangest thing -
green buckets every Friday at every driveway.
They're filled with glasses, plastics, and newspapers, too.
They say they recycle and bring them back to you.

I would like to love you,
I sure would treat you right.
We could take the trash out
every Thursday night.
We could be a family,
consume many goods.
We could be the pillars
of the neighborhood.

Ah babe, I'm a real hard worker
with the proper tools, I'll make you anything you yearn for.
The barbarians are at the gate,
come in before it's too late.
I have food enough to last the two of us about a year.
A thousand cans of chowder and a thousand cans of beer.
I love my neighbors like I love my own brothers,
but every year they're getting odder and odder.

I would like to love you,
I sure would treat you right.
We could take the trash out
every Thursday night.
We could be a family,
consume many goods.
We could be the pillars
of the neighborhood.

. . .


(Demo Version)

For Thanksgiving we had tatas, succotash, and rutabagas.
Then came turkey from the oven, broke the wishbone, covenants were sealed and set.

In the morning fish fell from the sky. I would not tell a lie to you.
And the black snakes, they turned to rainbow hues. They sprouted wings and flew up to the Moon.

The weather cock, he tumbled down from the roof,
He announced that the black snakes were especially rude.
"Now I got no place to call my home!"
With a shrug he turned around and headed down the road.

On the losing end of a wishbone, and I won't pretend not to mind.

Christmas Eve we ate at Aunty's.
We had some ham glazed with honey.
Rolled the Yule log on the fire, threw the ham bone to the dogs and went to bed.

In the morning the weather cock returned to share what he had learned from the Earth.
"It is a round place with deserts and oceans, housing as many winds as one might wish!"
We was standing by the gate.
He said, "Oh my, it's getting late!"
Then he took off flying to the south, with a black snake in his mouth.

You can shake it, break it, or glue it whole, no two ways about it with a broke wishbone
ON THE LOSING END
Shake it, break it, or glue it whole, no two ways about it with a broke wishbone
ON THE LOSING END

For St. Patrick's we had cabbage, corn beef stew, egg salad sandwich.
Then came whiskey from the basement.
Danced all night into the dawn and held our heads.

In the morning the worms attacked the town, St. Patrick came on down and prayed.
He expelled them into the Netherworld, and they were never heard from again.

The weather cock returned to roost on top of the roof.
"The April winds are near," he said, "I fear they are cruel.
But I'll let ya know which way they blow."
He looked above and said, "Oh no, the comet has come."

On the losing end of a wishbone, and I won't pretend not to mind
On the losing end of a wishbone, and I won't pretend not to mind

. . .

Crackerjack

[Нет текста]

. . .


Could've been a swan on a glassy lake.
Could've been a gull in a clipper's wake.
Could've been a ladybug on a windchime,
but she was born a dragonfly.

In the sun she warmed her wings
and listened to the cicadas sing.

"The trees are all bending
in one direction
because of something..."

Cross-pollination by the legs of bees in the spring
is a beautiful thing.
Oh when the sun goes down,
the fireflies come out.

In a pond crept a slimy thing
that hummed a theme from the Rites of Spring.

Pity the mate of Queen Mantis,
so content, but so headless.
Katydid nothing but shiver and cry,
as did the dragonfly.

In the shade the gypsies spin
Among the cloves, they drop their skin.

"...beyond the hedgegrove,
over by the willows,
deep in the shadows..."

Regeneration occurs at a furious speed
beneath the white oak tree.
Oh when the sun comes up
the moon buds fold up.

In the sun she warmed her wings
and listened to the Rites of Spring

Could've been a swan on a glassy lake.
Could've been a gull in a clipper's wake.
Could've been a ladybug on a windchime,
but she was born a dragonfly.

"...ain't ever seen it, but i have heard it.
Sounds like the millstones when they are turning,
but every moment getting louder and louder,
and then there is silence,
and the smell of flowers."

. . .


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