FLOGGING MOLLY - DRUNKEN LULLABIES

Must it take a life for hateful eyes
To glisten once again
Five hundred years like Gelignite
Have blown us all to hell
What Savior rests while on his cross we die
Forgotten freedom burns
Has the Shepherd led his lambs astray
to the bigot and the gun

Must it take a life for hateful eyes
To glisten once again
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess
Singin’ drunken lullabies

I watch and stare as Rosin’s eyes
Turn a darker shade of red
And the bullet with this sniper lie
In their bloody gutless cell
Must we starve on crumbs from long ago
Through these bars of men made steel
Is it a great or little thing we fought
Left a conscience blessed to kill

Must it take a life for hateful eyes
To glisten once again
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess
Singin’ drunken lullabies

Ah, well maybe it’s the way we’re taught
Or maybe it’s the way we fought
But a smile never grins without tears to begin
For each kiss is a cry we all lost
Though nothing is left to gain
But for the banshee that stole the grave
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess
Singin’ drunken lullabies

I sit and dwell on faces past
Like memories seem to fade
No colour left but black and white
And soon will all turn grey
But may these shadows rise to walk again
With lessons truly learnt
When the blossom flowers in each our hearts
Shall beat a new found flame

Must it take a life for hateful eyes
To glisten once again
Cause we find ourselves in the same old mess
Singin’ drunken lullabies

… but even better than just finding new music in general, is finding new music by someone you thought had disappeared.

A couple years ago, Kim and I went back to Chattanooga to visit some of my family, and to go to the annual Riverbend Festival. While there, I discovered a great rockabilly band called the Cumberland Runners, and promptly bought their CD.

I’ve been waiting fir a new one ever since. Tonight, I was doing a lyric search for one of their songs and ran across a mention of Jason Lee Wilson, who happened to be the singer. iTunes is selling JLW’s solo album so I had to buy it immediately … and it’s great!

I don’t know if this means that the Runners are no more (and I certainly hope not) but my new music fix will be satisfied for a few more days.

THE WEAKERTHANS - CIVIL TWILIGHT

My Confusion Corner commuters are cursing the cold away
As December tries to dissemble the length of their working day
And they bite their mitts off to show me transfers, deposit change
and I can’t stop finding your face in their faces, all rearranged
and angry like you never were;

And I ease us back into traffic
Dusk comes on and I wonder
Why I’m always remembering you
at civil twilight

For the most part I think about golfing and constantly calculate
all the seconds left in the minutes, and so on, etcetera
Or recite the names of provinces and Hollywood actors;
Oh, Ontario! Oh, Jennifer Jason Leigh!
This part of the day bewilders me

Streets slow down and ice over,
Dusk comes on and I struggle to stop,
To stop to stop thinking of you
at civil twilight

Hey, every other hour I pass that house,
Where you told me that you had to go
I wonder if the landlord has fixed the crack
That I stared at, instead of staring back at you;

My chance to say something seemed so brief
It wasn’t. Now I know I had plenty of time
Between the sunset and certified darkness
Dusk comes on and I follow the exhaust from memory up to the end

At civil twilight
At civil twilight
At civil twilight
At civil twilight

I think it’s time again for a little Leonard Cohen Hallelujah action … it’s been just about 8 months since I posted Allison Crowe’s version of the song, and about 17 months since I posted the lyrics I’ve been able to determine from various different versions.

John Cale, who performed the song on the Basquiat soundtrack, did say that he got something like 15 pages (or at least 15 verses) from Leonard Cohen when he asked for a copy … I’d really love to see the other verses that I’ve not been able to gather.

In any case, Jeff Buckley and Rufus Wainwright both do wonderful versions of the song, although I have to admit, I find Jeff Buckley’s rendition to be far more powerful.

JEFF BUCKLEY - HALLELUJAH
 
 

RUFUS WAINWRIGHT - HALLELUJAH

LIKE A STRAIGHT SHOT AFTER MIDNITE

The toughest
thing
a man may do

is have morals

without
the threat of G.O.D.

and in spite of
the treachery of
society

American
or otherwise

expand
your heart
Grinch-like
and let the
good stuff flow out of you
like a dandelion
gone to seed
getting kicked to pieces
by rough-fingered wind

there is hope . . .
hope for me
and hope for you,
If you are not yet a zombie

So go to it
there is rum and other things
an ocean to drink
If you need a force-field,
Plenty of good tunes to shuffle
Your feet to
and plenty of well-curved wenches
that deserve to have
their names
Screamed out in the dark

  — Bradley Mason Hamlin, copyright © 2003., reprinted without permission

THE WEAKERTHANS - OUR RETIRED EXPLORER
(DINES WITH MICHEL FOUCAULT)

Just one more drink and then I
Should be on my way home
I’m not entirely sure
What you’re talking about
I’ve had a really nice time
But my dogs need to be fed
I must say that in the right light
You look like Shackleton

Comment allez-vous ce soir? Je suis comme ci comme ça
Yes, a penguin taught me French back in Antarctica

Oh, I could show you the way
Shadows colonize snow
Ice breaking up on the bay
Off the Lassiter coast
Light failing over the pole
As every longitude leads
Up to your frost bitten feet
Oh, you’re very sweet

Thank you for the flowers and the book by Derrida
But I must be getting back to dear Antarctica

Say, do you have a ship
And a dozen able men
That maybe you could lend me?

Oh Antarctica
Oh Antarctica
Oh Antarctica
Oh Antarctica

Yeah, sure, this song may technically be about about the fight for Irish freedom, fighting against an oppressive British regime, but the sentiment is valid in every nation being oppressed by its government, including our own.

For if anyone believes that the citizens of the United States are truly free anymore, they are seriously deluded. Thankfully, we only have another 6 1/2 months under our current oppressors, who will then retire off to Texas and Wyoming with taxpayer protection for the remainder of their lives.

One can only hope that our next President will help restore that which the current has taken away.

FLOGGING MOLLY - WHAT’S LEFT OF THE FLAG

His eyes they closed
And his last breath spoke
He had seen all to be seen
A life once full
Now an empty vase
Wilt the blossoms
On his early grave

Walk away, me boy
Walk away, me boy
And by morning we’ll be free
Wipe that golden tear
From your mother dear
And raise what’s left of the flag for me

Then the rosary beads
Count them: one, two, three
Fell apart as they hit the floor
In a garb of black
We must pay respect
To the color we’re born to mourn

Walk away, me boys
Walk away, me boys
And by morning we’ll be free
Wipe that golden tear
From your mother dear
And raise what’s left of the flag for me

In his place there grew
An angry festered wound
Filled with hatred and remorse
Where I pick and scratch
‘Til the blood amassed
To silent rage now that fills my lungs
For there are many ways
To kill a man they say
With bayonet, axe or sword
But son a bullet fired
From a shapeless guise
Just leaves the shell of a Thompson gun

Walk away, me boys
Walk away, me boys
And by morning we’ll be free
Wipe that golden tear
From your mother dear
And raise what’s left of the flag for me

From the east out to the western shore
Where many men and many more will fall
But no angel flies with me tonight
Though freedom reigns on all
And curse the name for which
We slaved our days
So every men chose Kingdom Come

But sure as night turns day
It’s the passion play
Oh my God
What have they done
With madmans rage
Well they dug our graves
But the dead rise again you fools

Walk away, me boys
Walk away, me boys
And by morning we’ll be free
Wipe that golden tear
From your mother dear
Raise what’s left of the flag for me

Walk away, me boys
Walk away, me boys
And by morning we’ll be free
Wipe that golden tear
From your mother dear
And raise what’s left of the flag for me