One more man gone One more man gone One more man is gone
The good son walks into the field He is a tiller, he has a tiller’s hands But down in his heart now He lays down queer plans Against his brother and against his family Yet he worships his brother And he worships his mother But it’s his father, he says, is an unfair man The good son The good son The good son
The good son has sat and often wept Beneath a malign star by which he’s kept And the night-time in which he’s wrapped Speaks of good and speaks of evil And he calls to his mother And he calls to his father But they are deaf in the shadows Of his brother’s truancy The good son The good son The good son The good son
And he curses his mother And he curses his father And he curses his virtue like an unclean thing The good son The good son The good son
One more man gone One more man gone One more man One more man gone One more man gone One more man One more man gone One more man gone One more man (Repeat)
Do you think you could foster all that hate? Could you foster enough hate? Is sex boring to your body? Is sex degrading to your body? Does some body withhold sex from you? Invalidate you sexually? Has some body used you sexually? Anyone drugged you for sexual purposes? Any body performed sexual actions onto you as a child? Were your parents mean to you? You have sexual withholds from your parents? Brothers or sisters mean to you? Someone try to abort you? Neglected as a child? Abused as a child? Hate your parents? Ever mishandled as a child? Destroyed your toys to get even? Been implanted with sexual compulsions? Implanted with sexual inhibition? Implanted with sex as evil? Implanted with sexual pictures?
Any stops in your life? Been disappointed with someone? Have you ever pretended to enjoy sex? Anything concerning sex you have a withhold about? Anything you've done that you are restraining yourself from ever doing again? And yet you know you're still a failing fucking liar, To mock up a really fucking bad future for yourself.
You're about to experience getting seriously fucked up In a new way you've never yet had. And once you're willing to feel that out of control and to get excited about it, Dump the fucking rubbish. Rise up. Rise up. Now. Kill this fucking nightmare That lives inside you.
Van Morrison - eh. Maybe on Astral Weeks (his masterpiece).
Cohen was quite good early on. Nick Cave had few great lyrics as well.
Those are probably only lit tier rock lyrics.
If we are talking about great lyrics in rock context, one has to talk about (go ahead and laugh) the Rolling Stones. 68 - 72 has some solid decadent scumbag poetry.
>This is terrible I agree. Some of his lyrics, however, are quite good.
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's so fitting in its way He was a carpenter by trade Or at least that's what I'm told
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 So I go shuffling out of life Just to hide in death awhile And anyway I never lied
Kayden Cook
>Van Morrison - eh. Maybe on Astral Weeks (his masterpiece). i can tell by the way you type that you need to go back
Isaiah Nelson
In what way? To his discography? Genuinely interested.
Juan Phillips
I was being rude. tb sheets has incredible lyrics though, as does the majority of veedon fleece, st dominics preview
Sebastian Perez
Mark hollis' later stuff had excellent lyrics, as did some paddy mcaloon work. the problem is that good lyrics are symbiotic with the music, and when pulled out of musical context seem either forced or stupid.
The rabbit killer left his home for the clough And said goodbye to his infertile spouse Carried air rifle and firm stock of wood Carried night sight telescope light
A cemetery overlooked clough valley of mud And the grave-keeper was out on his rounds Yellow-white shirt buried in duffel coat hood Keeping edges out with mosaic color stones
Jawbone and the air rifle Who would think they would bring harm? Jawbone and the air rifle One is cursed and one is borne
The air rifle lets out a mis-placed shot It smashed a chip off a valued tomb Grave-keeper tending wreath-roots said "Explain, move into the light of the moon" "I thought you were rabbit prey, or a loose sex criminal"
Rifleman he say "Y'see I get no kicks anymore From wife or children four There's been no war for forty years And getting drunk fills me with guilt So after eight, I prowl the hills Eleven o'clock, I'm tired to fuck Y'see I've been laid off work"
The grave-keeper said "You're out of luck And here is a jawbone caked in muck Carries the germ of a curse Of the Broken Brothers Pentacle Church Formed on a Scotch island To make you a bit of a man"
Jawbone and the air rifle Who would think they would bring harm? Jawbone and the air rifle One is cursed and one is warm
The rabbit killer did not eat for a week And no way he can look at meat No bottle has he anymore It could be his mangled teeth He sees jawbones on the street Advertisements become carnivores And roadworkers turn into jawbones And he has visions of islands, heavily covered in slime The villagers dance round pre-fabs And laugh through twisted mouths Don't eat It's disallowed Suck on marrowbones and energy from the mainland
Jawbone and the air rifle Who would think they would bring harm? Jawbone and the air rifle One is cursed and one is gone
She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue And she locked the car and slipped past Into rhythmic quietude Lights burning Voice dry and hoarse I threw the screen door like a bastard back and forth The chimes fell over each other I fell onto my knees The sound of the car driving off made me feel diseased A sick shouting like you hear at the fairground Now I'm picking up to put away anything of yours that's still around I don't know what to do with your clothes or your letters It'll make a whisper out of you
She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue The fairground's lit A drunk man sits by the gate she's driving through Got his hat tipped bottle back in between his teeth Looks like he's buried in the sand at the beach I can't think about you driving off to leave barely awake To take a little nap while the road is straight I wish that car had never been discovered They took away the bottle and the hat he was under That's the one thing that he could never do And it'll make a whisper out of you
She took the Oldsmobile out past Condor Avenue Cops were running around the scene Looking for some kind of clue They never get uptight when a moth gets crushed Unless a light bulb really loved him very much I'm lying down Blowing smoke from my cigarette Little whisper smoke signs that you'll never get You're in your oldsmobile driving by the moon Headlights burning bright ahead of you And someone's burning out, out on condor avenue Trying to make a whisper out of you
What a shitty thing to say Did you really mean it? You never said a word to me about what passed between us So now I'm leaving you alone You can do whatever the hell you want to
