Žodžiai dainai: Joanna Newsom. Otras Canciones. What We Have Known.
:
The tadpole boy in [tas?] Basalt
The seashorse horsing in the salt
The owlet in his greenery
The narwhal in his cup of sea
They all believe milkymoon
They all believe milkymoon
But collusion bleeds through back allies
From parapets that end on feet
When one is weak they discretely meet
They throw the bones into the street
And they progress
And we retreat
And all the books our fathers wrote
Are in the middle of the road
Little by little we implode
History brittle, brown and broke
We can't remember what was spoke
So we stare in wonder at the smoke
What it begets is born alone
We know not now what we have known
Ladies; breathe deep against your whalebones
For your children come home made of stone
The terror seething sees a way
Or like the wheezing of the bay
In miniature agonies
They travel westward on the breeze
Bring us all to our knees
The dappled horse the sorrowed mare
With eyes that do not see but stare
Beneath boots as black as malachi
He drives a nag into the nigh
Into the nigh
And all the baby boys we've born
With eyes averted from the storm
Sent off to die in perfect form
We know now what we have known
Satellite photos [rederic?] Milkymoon
See how the euphemism stick
And when they come back broke and burned
Those who return have no return
The tadpole boy in [tas?] Basalt
The seashorse horsing in the salt
The owlet in his greenery
The narwhal in his cup of sea
They all believe milkymoon
They all believe milkymoon
But collusion bleeds through back allies
From parapets that end on feet
When one is weak they discretely meet
They throw the bones into the street
And they progress
And we retreat
And all the books our fathers wrote
Are in the middle of the road
Little by little we implode
History brittle, brown and broke
We can't remember what was spoke
So we stare in wonder at the smoke
What it begets is born alone
We know not now what we have known
Ladies; breathe deep against your whalebones
For your children come home made of stone
The terror seething sees a way
Or like the wheezing of the bay
In miniature agonies
They travel westward on the breeze
Bring us all to our knees
The dappled horse the sorrowed mare
With eyes that do not see but stare
Beneath boots as black as malachi
He drives a nag into the nigh
Into the nigh
And all the baby boys we've born
With eyes averted from the storm
Sent off to die in perfect form
We know now what we have known
Satellite photos [rederic?] Milkymoon
See how the euphemism stick
And when they come back broke and burned
Those who return have no return
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