Well, I think that theres a problem here Bourbon blues on the street, loose and complete Whoo, baby, I feel fine, Im pretty sure its genuine
Her voice just dont sound right Under skies all smoky blue green It makes no sense, no, it makes no sense, but Ill take it free any time
But I left myself on her answering machine I cant forsake a dixie dead shake Whoever fits her usually gets her, it was the strangest thing
Said, Im back in town tonight So we danced the sidewalk clean Howd she move so fast, move so fast, into that wedding ring?
I feel Ive stepped out of the wilderness
All squint eyed and confused My memory is muddy, whats this river that Im in? Well, sometimes the faster it gets
But even babies raised by wolves New Orleans is sinking, man, and I dont want to swim The less you need to know
They know exactly when theyve been used But you got to remember the smarter it gets
The further its going to go
When you blow at high dough
Theres no simple explanation
For anything important Gord Downie The secret rules of engagement are hard to endorse
Any of us do of When the appearance of conflict meets the appearance of force
And, yeah, the human tragedy The Tragically Hip But I can guarantee, therell be no knock on the door
Consists in the necessity Im total pro here, thats what Im here for
Of living with the consequences
Under pressure I come from downtown, born ready for you
Armed with skill and its frustration, and grace, too
Me debunk an american myth? Old lions dying, got left behind
And take my life in my hands? Cut your teeth, lose your meat, and, man, its just a matter of time
Where the great plains begin Keys to the cuffs, you might be king
At the hundredth meridian Thats it, thats all, thats everything
At the hundredth meridian
Where the great plains begin Skeletons come here to dance
Where barrooms beat their brothers into a bloody trance
Driving down a corduroy road Whats the deal? What did I do?
Weeds standing shoulder high Who cops all the cops is all I asked of you
Ferris wheel is rusting
Off in the distance
We hung out together every single moment
Cause thats what we thought married people do
Complete with the grip of artificial chaos
And believing in the country of me and you
Crisis of faith and crisis in the Kremlin
And, yeah, wed heard all that before
Its wintertime, the house is solitude with options
And loosening the grip on a fake cold war
Isnt it amazing what you can accomplish
When you dont let the nation get in your way
And not one ambition whispering over your shoulder
Isnt it amazing you can do anything
If I die of vanity, promise me, promise me
If they bury me some place I dont want to be
Youll dig me up and transport me, unceremoniously
I left your house this morning Away from the swollen city breeze, garbage bag trees
About a quarter after nine Whispers of disease and the acts of enormity
Could have been the Willie Nelson And lower me slowly and sadly and properly
Could have been the wine Get Ry Cooder to sing my eulogy
When I left your house this morning
It was a little after nine
It was in Bobcaygeon
I saw the constellations
Reveal themselves one star at a time
I had this dream where I relished the fray
Drove back to town this morning And the screaming filled my head all day
With working on my mind It was as though Id been spit here
I thought of maybe quitting Settled in, into the pocket
I thought of leaving it behind Of a lighthouse on some rocky socket
I went back to bed this morning Off the coast of France, dear
And as Im pulling down the blind One afternoon four thousand men died in the water here
Yeah, the sky was dull, and hypothetical And five hundred more were thrashing madly
And falling one cloud at a time As parasites might in your blood
Now I was in a lifeboat designed for ten and ten only
Anything that systematic would get you hated
Its not a deal nor a test nor a love of something fated
Dont tell me what the poets are doing The selection was quick, the crew was picked in order
Those Himalayas of the mind And those left in the water
Dont tell me what the poets been doing Got kicked off our pant leg
In the long grasses over time And we headed for home
Dont tell me what the poets are doing On the street and the epitome of vague
Dont tell me how the universe is altered Interesting and sophisticated
When you find out how he gets paid Refusing to be celebrated
Its a monumental big screen kiss
Its so deep its meaningless
First thing wed climb a tree and maybe then wed talk Or sit silently and listen to our thoughts
With illusions of someday casting a golden light
No dress rehearsal, this is our life
And thats where the hornet stung me
And I had a feverish dream
With revenge and doubt
Tonight we smoke them out
You are ahead by a century
Whazzit b7