Lyrics which could pass as poems
Posted by: Steeve on 15 March 2008
Inspired by the "Poetry on the Forum" thread and the inclusion by some of song lyrics, I agree there are some songs that could easily pass as poems. To get the ball rolling, a track from one of my favourite albums at the moment.
I wrote the lyrics out myself so hopefully I got them right...
"Alas I Cannot Swim" by Laura Marling
There’s a house across the river
But alas I cannot swim
And a garden of such beauty
That the flowers seem to grin
There’s a house across the river
But alas I cannot swim
I’ll live my life regretting
That I never jumped in
There’s a boy across the river
With short black curly hair
He wants to be my lover
And I want to be his peer
There’s a boy across the river
But alas I cannot swim
I never will get to put
My arms around him
There’s a life across the river
That was meant for me
Instead I live my life
In constant misery
There’s a life across the river
But I do not see
Why I should please those
Who will never be pleased
There is gold across the river
But I don’t want none
There is gold across the river
But I don’t want none
Gold is fleeting
Gold is fickle
Gold is fun
Gold is fleeting
Gold is fickle
Gold is fun
There is gold across the river
But I don’t want none
I would rather be charred
Than held up by a golden gun
Saying work more and we’ll live more have more fun
Saying work more and we’ll live more have more fun
Saying work more and we’ll live more have more fun
I wrote the lyrics out myself so hopefully I got them right...
"Alas I Cannot Swim" by Laura Marling
There’s a house across the river
But alas I cannot swim
And a garden of such beauty
That the flowers seem to grin
There’s a house across the river
But alas I cannot swim
I’ll live my life regretting
That I never jumped in
There’s a boy across the river
With short black curly hair
He wants to be my lover
And I want to be his peer
There’s a boy across the river
But alas I cannot swim
I never will get to put
My arms around him
There’s a life across the river
That was meant for me
Instead I live my life
In constant misery
There’s a life across the river
But I do not see
Why I should please those
Who will never be pleased
There is gold across the river
But I don’t want none
There is gold across the river
But I don’t want none
Gold is fleeting
Gold is fickle
Gold is fun
Gold is fleeting
Gold is fickle
Gold is fun
There is gold across the river
But I don’t want none
I would rather be charred
Than held up by a golden gun
Saying work more and we’ll live more have more fun
Saying work more and we’ll live more have more fun
Saying work more and we’ll live more have more fun
Posted on: 15 March 2008 by 555
It's A Hard Life Wherever You Go by Nanci Griffith
I am a backseat driver from America
They drive to the left on Falls Road
The man at the wheel's name is Seamus
We pass a child on the corner he knows
And Seamus says,"Now, what chance has that kid got?"
And I say from the back,"I don't know."
He says,"There's barbed wire at all of these exits
And there ain't no place in Belfast for that kid to go."
Chorus
It's a hard life
It's a hard life
It's a very hard life
It's a hard life wherever you go
If we poison our children with hatred
Then, the hard life is all they'll ever know
And there ain't no place in (Belfast) for these kids to go
(Chicago)
(this world)
A cafeteria line in Chicage
The fat man in front of me
Is calling black people trash to his children
He's the only trash here I see
And I'm thinking this man wears a white hood
In the night when his children should sleep
But, they slip to their window and they see him
And they think that white hood's all they need
Chorus
I was a child in the sixties
Dreams could be held through TV
With Disney and Cronkite and Martibn Luther
Oh, I believed, I believed, I believed
Now, I am a backstreet driver from America
I am not at the wheel of control
I am guilty, I am war I am the root of all evil
Lord, and I can't drive on the left side of the road
Chorus
I am a backseat driver from America
They drive to the left on Falls Road
The man at the wheel's name is Seamus
We pass a child on the corner he knows
And Seamus says,"Now, what chance has that kid got?"
And I say from the back,"I don't know."
He says,"There's barbed wire at all of these exits
And there ain't no place in Belfast for that kid to go."
Chorus
It's a hard life
It's a hard life
It's a very hard life
It's a hard life wherever you go
If we poison our children with hatred
Then, the hard life is all they'll ever know
And there ain't no place in (Belfast) for these kids to go
(Chicago)
(this world)
A cafeteria line in Chicage
The fat man in front of me
Is calling black people trash to his children
He's the only trash here I see
And I'm thinking this man wears a white hood
In the night when his children should sleep
But, they slip to their window and they see him
And they think that white hood's all they need
Chorus
I was a child in the sixties
Dreams could be held through TV
With Disney and Cronkite and Martibn Luther
Oh, I believed, I believed, I believed
Now, I am a backstreet driver from America
I am not at the wheel of control
I am guilty, I am war I am the root of all evil
Lord, and I can't drive on the left side of the road
Chorus
Posted on: 15 March 2008 by Guido Fawkes
And my name is Dai Young,
I'm the king of Welsh goths.
The village I come from
is near Abersoch.
I was brought up on Bauhaus
and black bedroom walls
and I had my first "snakebite"
when I was in halls.
Now the graveyard is calling,
the sky's getting greyer.
I'll drink the warm blood of
the borough surveyor
and I'll murder the verger,
I've seen how he gorps
and I'll write on his headstone
"Here lies Jones the corpse".
Now, my overweight girlfriend
she sits and she quips.
Her mother's convinced she's
communing with Imps.
Her brother's alright though,
he's a good lad, is Wilf.
'cause he's into Placebo
and Cradle Of Filth.
At my gig up in Butlins,
the Redcoats complained.
They tried to remove me,
with bottles, they rained.
But for the first time in history,
I did run and hide.
and the Scousers in shellsuits
had Goths on their side.
Now this land of my father's,
it don't suit my needs.
I'd rather be some place,
like Bradford or Leeds.
Where the Gipton teenagers
could meet in my shed.
For advice on Mascara
and all things undead.
Now, my left index finger
is nine inches long.
It's harbouring over
a world that's gone wrong.
Ask me to Prestatyn,
and that's what I'll do
and we'll all die together
and "Dylan" can't sue.
I'm the king of Welsh goths.
The village I come from
is near Abersoch.
I was brought up on Bauhaus
and black bedroom walls
and I had my first "snakebite"
when I was in halls.
Now the graveyard is calling,
the sky's getting greyer.
I'll drink the warm blood of
the borough surveyor
and I'll murder the verger,
I've seen how he gorps
and I'll write on his headstone
"Here lies Jones the corpse".
Now, my overweight girlfriend
she sits and she quips.
Her mother's convinced she's
communing with Imps.
Her brother's alright though,
he's a good lad, is Wilf.
'cause he's into Placebo
and Cradle Of Filth.
At my gig up in Butlins,
the Redcoats complained.
They tried to remove me,
with bottles, they rained.
But for the first time in history,
I did run and hide.
and the Scousers in shellsuits
had Goths on their side.
Now this land of my father's,
it don't suit my needs.
I'd rather be some place,
like Bradford or Leeds.
Where the Gipton teenagers
could meet in my shed.
For advice on Mascara
and all things undead.
Now, my left index finger
is nine inches long.
It's harbouring over
a world that's gone wrong.
Ask me to Prestatyn,
and that's what I'll do
and we'll all die together
and "Dylan" can't sue.
Posted on: 15 March 2008 by Steeve
Very fine, ROTF! I must reacquaint myself with HMHB. I have the first LP and a number of early 12" singles from way back when and then lost touch. More recently I caught their Saucy Haulage Ballads, but there are huge gaps in my knowledge!Steeve
Posted on: 15 March 2008 by Steeve
Another that somehow hits the spot for me...pure teen angst..though wtf is a "manitee"?
"Nothing Came Out" by The Moldy Peaches
Just because I don't say anything
Doesn't mean I don't like you.
I open my mouth and I try and I try
But no words come out.
Without 40 ounces of social skills
I'm just an ass in the crack of humanity.
I'm just a huge manitee.
A huge manitee.
And besides you're probably holding hands
With some skinny, pretty girl that likes to
Talk about bands, and
All I wanna do is ride bikes with you
And stay up late and watch cartoons.
Duck Tales, shirt tails, Talespin, Sailor Moon, GI Joe, Robotech, Ron Jeremy, Schmoo.
I wanna watch cartons with you.
Josie and the Pussycats and Scooby Doo,
I want you to watch cartoons with me.
He-man, Voltron and Hong-Kong-Fuey
I tried to ask you to your face,
But no words came out.
I put on my hood and walked away.
That doesn't mean I don't like you.
And besides you're probably holding hands
With some skinny, pretty girl that likes to
Talk about bands, and
All I wanna do is ride bikes with you
And stay up late and maybe spoon.
Just because I dont say anything
Doesn't mean I dont like you, no.
I opened my mouth and i tried and i tried.
And besides you're probably holding hands
With some skiny, pretty girl that likes to
Talk about bands and
All I wanna do is ride bikes with you
And stay up late and maybe spoon.
I'm just your average Thundercats ho.
"Nothing Came Out" by The Moldy Peaches
Just because I don't say anything
Doesn't mean I don't like you.
I open my mouth and I try and I try
But no words come out.
Without 40 ounces of social skills
I'm just an ass in the crack of humanity.
I'm just a huge manitee.
A huge manitee.
And besides you're probably holding hands
With some skinny, pretty girl that likes to
Talk about bands, and
All I wanna do is ride bikes with you
And stay up late and watch cartoons.
Duck Tales, shirt tails, Talespin, Sailor Moon, GI Joe, Robotech, Ron Jeremy, Schmoo.
I wanna watch cartons with you.
Josie and the Pussycats and Scooby Doo,
I want you to watch cartoons with me.
He-man, Voltron and Hong-Kong-Fuey
I tried to ask you to your face,
But no words came out.
I put on my hood and walked away.
That doesn't mean I don't like you.
And besides you're probably holding hands
With some skinny, pretty girl that likes to
Talk about bands, and
All I wanna do is ride bikes with you
And stay up late and maybe spoon.
Just because I dont say anything
Doesn't mean I dont like you, no.
I opened my mouth and i tried and i tried.
And besides you're probably holding hands
With some skiny, pretty girl that likes to
Talk about bands and
All I wanna do is ride bikes with you
And stay up late and maybe spoon.
I'm just your average Thundercats ho.
Posted on: 15 March 2008 by fred simon
Great thread!
When I think of lyrics which could pass for poetry, I naturally think of Lorenz Hart, Ira Gershwin, Dorothy Fields, Cole Porter and the like. Or of Dylan, Joni Mitchell, and Paul Simon.
But most of all, I think of Leonard Cohen. Here is just one gem.
Dance Me to The End of Love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We’re both of us beneath our love, we’re both of us above
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love
Posted on: 15 March 2008 by Chief Chirpa
Great thread. A beautiful song from Kings of Convenience: "Parallel Lines" from Quiet Is the New Loud.
What's the immaterial substance
that envelopes two,
that one perceives as hunger
and the other as food?
I wake in tangled covers,
to a sash of snow,
you dream in a cartoon garden,
I could never know.
Innocent imitation,
you are cast in gold,
your image a compensation for me to hold.
Parallel lines move so fast,
toward the same point,
infinity is as near as it is far.
Just realised, it almost even looks like a sonnet. Also, the fact that they're not writing in their first language probably helps make it more 'poetic' somehow.
What's the immaterial substance
that envelopes two,
that one perceives as hunger
and the other as food?
I wake in tangled covers,
to a sash of snow,
you dream in a cartoon garden,
I could never know.
Innocent imitation,
you are cast in gold,
your image a compensation for me to hold.
Parallel lines move so fast,
toward the same point,
infinity is as near as it is far.
Just realised, it almost even looks like a sonnet. Also, the fact that they're not writing in their first language probably helps make it more 'poetic' somehow.
Posted on: 15 March 2008 by u5227470736789439
Poetry as a word setting. Fancy the Holy Bible set by Bach, Milton set by Haydn, or Cardinal Newman's poetry set by Elgar. You do not have to search very far for poetic genius set to music, even without considering Franz Schubert setting countless German poets in the most perfect songs yet conceived ...
George
George
Posted on: 16 March 2008 by droodzilla
quote:Originally posted by Chief Chirpa:
Great thread. A beautiful song from Kings of Convenience: "Parallel Lines" from Quiet Is the New Loud.
What's the immaterial substance
that envelopes two,
that one perceives as hunger
and the other as food?
I wake in tangled covers,
to a sash of snow,
you dream in a cartoon garden,
I could never know.
Innocent imitation,
you are cast in gold,
your image a compensation for me to hold.
Parallel lines move so fast,
toward the same point,
infinity is as near as it is far.
Just realised, it almost even looks like a sonnet. Also, the fact that they're not writing in their first language probably helps make it more 'poetic' somehow.
Great choice Chief - I love that song, and just about everything else the KoC have done.
Posted on: 16 March 2008 by Cyrene
Lush Life by Billy Strayhorn. The only one that springs to mind in the whole history of popular music -- forget your poxy Dylan etc. Maybe there's some Drake at push.....
Posted on: 16 March 2008 by Guido Fawkes
First I will describe the scene to you
Do you have it right?
In 1944 the Riegal she went down
She went down with 4,000 prisoners
Asleep on board
Well now do you,
I want to know if you
Have it right, is it like
The borders of a dream
Have taken you inside?
The Riegel was a mighty ship
4,000 prisoners strong
The Captain he was gallant
Or perhaps he was a prisoner, too
Who's to know for sure who's who?
One night it was very late
The Riegel tore its side
4,000 prisoners and the Captain
They were trapped inside
Has there been any news?
I feel so out of place
The Captain's always busy
Being in a state of grace
But what I want to know is:
Are you listening out there?
The crew they were a sorry lot
Blinded by their blood
The Captain he whispered orders
You could not hear him above the flood
Then somebody said, "the ocean's here,"
But someone said "No, there's more"
And the last thing I remember
Is a broken hand clinging to the Captain's door
Has there been any news?
I feel so out of place
The Captain's always busy
Being in a state of grace
But what I want to know is
Anybody listening?
Is anybody listening?
Is anybody listening?
Do you have it right?
In 1944 the Riegal she went down
She went down with 4,000 prisoners
Asleep on board
Well now do you,
I want to know if you
Have it right, is it like
The borders of a dream
Have taken you inside?
The Riegel was a mighty ship
4,000 prisoners strong
The Captain he was gallant
Or perhaps he was a prisoner, too
Who's to know for sure who's who?
One night it was very late
The Riegel tore its side
4,000 prisoners and the Captain
They were trapped inside
Has there been any news?
I feel so out of place
The Captain's always busy
Being in a state of grace
But what I want to know is:
Are you listening out there?
The crew they were a sorry lot
Blinded by their blood
The Captain he whispered orders
You could not hear him above the flood
Then somebody said, "the ocean's here,"
But someone said "No, there's more"
And the last thing I remember
Is a broken hand clinging to the Captain's door
Has there been any news?
I feel so out of place
The Captain's always busy
Being in a state of grace
But what I want to know is
Anybody listening?
Is anybody listening?
Is anybody listening?
Posted on: 16 March 2008 by Deane F
Whitey on the Moon
A rat done bit my sister Nell.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Her face and arms began to swell.
(and Whitey's on the moon)
I can't pay no doctor bill.
(but Whitey's on the moon)
Ten years from now I'll be payin' still.
(while Whitey's on the moon)
The man jus' upped my rent las' night.
('cause Whitey's on the moon)
No hot water, no toilets, no lights.
(but Whitey's on the moon)
I wonder why he's uppi' me?
('cause Whitey's on the moon?)
I wuz already payin' 'im fifty a week.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Taxes takin' my whole damn check,
Junkies makin' me a nervous wreck,
The price of food is goin' up,
An' as if all that shit wuzn't enough:
A rat done bit my sister Nell.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Her face an' arm began to swell.
(but Whitey's on the moon)
Was all that money I made las' year
(for Whitey on the moon?)
How come there ain't no money here?
(Hmm! Whitey's on the moon)
Y'know I jus' 'bout had my fill
(of Whitey on the moon)
I think I'll sen' these doctor bills,
Airmail special
(to Whitey on the moon)
The Last Poets 1969
(covered by Gil Scott-Heron in 1970)
A rat done bit my sister Nell.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Her face and arms began to swell.
(and Whitey's on the moon)
I can't pay no doctor bill.
(but Whitey's on the moon)
Ten years from now I'll be payin' still.
(while Whitey's on the moon)
The man jus' upped my rent las' night.
('cause Whitey's on the moon)
No hot water, no toilets, no lights.
(but Whitey's on the moon)
I wonder why he's uppi' me?
('cause Whitey's on the moon?)
I wuz already payin' 'im fifty a week.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Taxes takin' my whole damn check,
Junkies makin' me a nervous wreck,
The price of food is goin' up,
An' as if all that shit wuzn't enough:
A rat done bit my sister Nell.
(with Whitey on the moon)
Her face an' arm began to swell.
(but Whitey's on the moon)
Was all that money I made las' year
(for Whitey on the moon?)
How come there ain't no money here?
(Hmm! Whitey's on the moon)
Y'know I jus' 'bout had my fill
(of Whitey on the moon)
I think I'll sen' these doctor bills,
Airmail special
(to Whitey on the moon)
The Last Poets 1969
(covered by Gil Scott-Heron in 1970)
Posted on: 16 March 2008 by JWM
Lyrics as poetry? Almost everything by Nick Drake.
Posted on: 17 March 2008 by Phil Cork
'The Bravery of being out of range' from Roger Waters' Amused to Death:
You have a natural tendency
To squeeze off a shot
You're good fun at parties
You wear the right masks
You're old but you still
Like a laugh in the locker room
You can't abide change
You're at home on the range
You opened your suitcase
Behind the old workings
To show off the magnum
You deafened the canyon
A comfort a friend
Only upstaged in the end
By the Uzi machine gun
Does the recoil remind you
Remind you of sex
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Saw a U.S. Marine in a pile of debris
I swam in your pools
And lay under your palm trees
I looked in the eyes of the Indian
Who lay on the Federal Building steps
And through the range finder over the hill
I saw the front line boys popping their pills
Sick of the mess they find
On their desert stage
And the bravery of being out of range
Yeah the question is vexed
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
Hey bartender over here
Two more shots
And two more beers
Sir turn up the TV sound
The war has started on the ground
Just love those laser guided bombs
They're really great
For righting wrongs
You hit the target
And win the game
From bars 3,000 miles away
3,000 miles away
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
We zap and maim
With the bravery of being out of range
We strafe the train
With the bravery of being out of range
We gain terrain
With the bravery of being out of range
With the bravery of being out of range
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
You have a natural tendency
To squeeze off a shot
You're good fun at parties
You wear the right masks
You're old but you still
Like a laugh in the locker room
You can't abide change
You're at home on the range
You opened your suitcase
Behind the old workings
To show off the magnum
You deafened the canyon
A comfort a friend
Only upstaged in the end
By the Uzi machine gun
Does the recoil remind you
Remind you of sex
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
I looked over Jordan and what did I see
Saw a U.S. Marine in a pile of debris
I swam in your pools
And lay under your palm trees
I looked in the eyes of the Indian
Who lay on the Federal Building steps
And through the range finder over the hill
I saw the front line boys popping their pills
Sick of the mess they find
On their desert stage
And the bravery of being out of range
Yeah the question is vexed
Old man what the hell you gonna kill next
Old timer who you gonna kill next
Hey bartender over here
Two more shots
And two more beers
Sir turn up the TV sound
The war has started on the ground
Just love those laser guided bombs
They're really great
For righting wrongs
You hit the target
And win the game
From bars 3,000 miles away
3,000 miles away
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
We zap and maim
With the bravery of being out of range
We strafe the train
With the bravery of being out of range
We gain terrain
With the bravery of being out of range
With the bravery of being out of range
We play the game
With the bravery of being out of range
Posted on: 22 March 2008 by Deane F
Strange Fruit - by Lewis Allan (and sung by Billie Holiday)
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.
Southern trees bear strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.
Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is a strange and bitter crop.