Song Lyrics

Surprised no-one's mentioned Leonard Cohen yet...

Well you just did,why?

It need not be pop music... here is My Own Country composed by Peter Warlock in 1927 to words from Hilaire Belloc's The Four Men: I shall go without companions And with nothing in my hand I shall pass through many places That I cannot understand Until I come to my own country Which is a pleasant land The trees that grow in my own country Are the beech tree and the yew Many stand together And some stand few In the month of May in my own country All the woods are new When I get to my own country I shall lie down and sleep I shall watch in the valleys The long flocks of sheep And then I shall dream forever and all A good dream and deep In common with many other writers past and present I have lived outside 'my own country' for many years and when I play this beautiful song tears stream down my cheeks.

Mississippi, Because... Oh the sisters of mercy, they are not departed or gone. They were waiting for me when I thought that I just can't go on. And they brought me their comfort and later they brought me this song. Oh I hope you run into them, you who've been travelling so long. Yes you who must leave everything that you cannot control. It begins with your family, but soon it comes around to your soul. Well I've been where you're hanging, I think I can see how you're pinned: When you're not feeling holy, your loneliness says that you've sinned. Well they lay down beside me, I made my confession to them. They touched both my eyes and I touched the dew on their hem. If your life is a leaf that the seasons tear off and condemn they will bind you with love that is graceful and green as a stem. When I left they were sleeping, I hope you run into them soon. Don't turn on the lights, you can read their address by the moon. And you won't make me jealous if I hear that they sweetened your night: We weren't lovers like that and besides it would still be all right, We weren't lovers like that and besides it would still be all right

Or, alternatively, I believe that you heard your master sing when I was sick in bed. I suppose that he told you everything that I keep locked away in my head. Your master took you travelling, well at least that's what you said. And now do you come back to bring your prisoner wine and bread? You met him at some temple, where they take your clothes at the door. He was just a numberless man in a chair who'd just come back from the war. And you wrap up his tired face in your hair and he hands you the apple core. Then he touches your lips now so suddenly bare of all the kisses we put on some time before. And he gave you a German Shepherd to walk with a collar of leather and nails, and he never once made you explain or talk about all of the little details, such as who had a word and who had a rock, and who had you through the mails. Now your love is a secret all over the block, and it never stops not even when your master fails. And he took you up in his aeroplane, which he flew without any hands, and you cruised above the ribbons of rain that drove the crowd from the stands. Then he killed the lights in a lonely Lane and, an ape with angel glands, erased the final wisps of pain with the music of rubber bands. And now I hear your master sing, you kneel for him to come. His body is a golden string that your body is hanging from. His body is a golden string, my body has grown numb. Oh now you hear your master sing, your shirt is all undone. And will you kneel beside this bed that we polished so long ago, before your master chose instead to make my bed of snow? Your eyes are wild and your knuckles are red and you're speaking far too low. No I can't make out what your master said before he made you go. Then I think you're playing far too rough for a lady who's been to the moon; I've lain by this window long enough to get used to an empty room. And your love is some dust in an old man's cough who is tapping his foot to a tune, and your thighs are a ruin, you want too much, let's say you came back some time too soon. I loved your master perfectly I taught him all that he knew. He was starving in some deep mystery like a man who is sure what is true. And I sent you to him with my guarantee I could teach him something new, and I taught him how you would long for me no matter what he said no matter what you'd do. I believe that you heard your master sing while I was sick in bed, I'm sure that he told you everything I must keep locked away in my head. Your master took you travelling, well at least that's what you said, And now do you come back to bring your prisoner wine and bread?

Serves me right for asking! When will I learn to keep my big mouth shut!

Hopefully, never. You're doing a brilliant job of keeping everybody highly amused and entertained :-)

Well...um...me, anyway

It's just the humour of the clown, I'm crying inside!

More Leonard Cohen for you, then...

NO, NO, no more laughing Len, please, I'm in a bad enough state as it is! As it happens I like Lenny boy, my favourite Cophen album is 'I'm your man'.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------Just for you, Mississippi... Like a bird on the wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir I have tried in my way to be free. Like a worm on a hook, like a knight from some old fashioned book I have saved all my ribbons for thee. If I, if I have been unkind, I hope that you can just let it go by. If I, if I have been untrue I hope you know it was never to you. Like a baby, stillborn, like a beast with his horn I have torn everyone who reached out for me. But I swear by this song and by all that I have done wrong I will make it all up to thee. I saw a beggar leaning on his wooden crutch, he said to me, "You must not ask for so much." And a pretty woman leaning in her darkened door, she cried to me, "Hey, why not ask for more?" Oh like a bird on the wire, like a drunk in a midnight choir I have tried in my way to be free.

Should have been: "Just for you...etc etc" And now for something completely different...

But Joe Cocker sings that one better I think!

In my humble opinion both equally good (in their way). Still, on the plus side (for him), Cohen wrote it...

Two guys stand out - Bon Scott and Brian Johnson, both have been lead singers of AC/DC, as if you didn't know! Everything they sing about comes down to hanging out with your mates, chatting up the opposite sex/one you find most attractive (in their case, women!!!) and good old rock n roll. Good for them, say I. I've often been looked at strangely for saying this because I am a woman. And I wish that there were more ladies who wrote kick-ass rock lyrics like these two do/did, as many can be a bit too obvious when they write about the guys, if you know what I mean ;). There's a tongue-in-cheekness to Bon and Brians' words. Please spare me the warblings of the 'feminist male' though, as he deems to tell me how sexist these guys are, while he's trying to charm me with that darned poetry he wrote after he saw his shrink! Stipe might warble on about wearing his hairshirt, but there's no reason to make the rest of us wear one as well! I want to be entertained, if I want to know what a state the world is in I'll check out the BBC news site. As for ladies who write great lyrics - there's the Donnas, whose Dirty Denim surely sums up the sinking feeling every rock woman gets with she's out with her mates and some warthog in a Motorhead T-shirt wafts over. And Mesdames Sparks and Gardiner of the once-mighty L7. Aaargh, Back in Black's come to an end... excuse me while I shove on Powerage. [%sig%]

Ah, 'Powerage'.. a vastly underrated album.. as good as 'Highway to Hell' and 'Back in Black', in my humble opinion (IMHO?) BUT nothing beats 'If You Want Blood..' at full blast on a Saturday afternoon, pint of Guinness securely in hand. BUT Leonard is good too, nice to read that stuff Andrea.. as I was just listening to The Greatest Hits tuther night (at 3am, of course.. when I find Len to be at his best) A couple of things that spring to mind- 'You and I are higher than the loft' -from Robyn Hitchcock's 'Beautiful Queen' And this gem by Ivor Cutler (which I taped from the radio)- ------------------------------ 'I'm Going in a Field' I'm going in a field I'm going in a field I'm going in a field To lie down I lie beside the grass I lie beside the grass I lie beside the grass I lie beside the green grass I'm going in a field I'm going in a field I'm going in a field To lie down Yellow flower In the grass Yellow flower In the grass I'm going in a field I'm going in a field I'm going in a field To lie down Green grass, Yellow flower, My lover's eyes are blue I'm going in a field I'm going in a field I'm going in a field To lie down. ---------------------------- Slightly repetitious I know.. but if you listen to the recording you'll see why it's so special. [%sig%]

Great thread to dredge up!

Well done, Sue, for mentioning Warlock: "Capriol" excluded, he's shamefully unknown. I presume you like Finzi? Anyway, as "Laughing Len" Cohen's been mentioned, may I put in a plug for the artiste who first brought his work to a wide public - along with Joni Mitchell et al: the inimitable Judy Collins. She's a fine songwriter in her own right, too - just listen to "Secret Garden" or "My Father." Superb stuff. And, talking of superb songwriters.. Janis Ian. Anyone who knows her "At Seventeen" should seek out the CD "Between the Lines". It contains at least three songs to rival that masterpiece - "In the Winter", "Light a Light" and "Tea and Sympathy." Anyone who can write so convincingly about being young and old simultaneously achieves a rare status in my book. And, before signing off to listen to the above: Paul Simon. A wonderful writer of "Young Man's" songs. ("I am a Rock", "Cathy's Song", "A Most Peculiar Man"), as well as songs of experience. And finally, as we're talking about quirky English songwriters, don't neglect Clifford T Ward. Please. His "A Day to Myself", "Home Thoughts" and "Time, the Magician" are simply, well.. I love Worcestershire, so I'm biased. Look forward to hearing everyone else's choices. Cheere, Roy.

Well of course Morrissey is excellent. Lyrics from him I would nominate are: Stretch Out and Wait There's concrete and clay and general decay Nature will still find a way So ignore all the cosed of the day Ley your juvenile impulses sway This way and that way and this way and that way God how sex implores you Asleep is another wonderful poem in which words and tune anre inextricably mixed to form a really powerful feeling of hopelessness What about Joni Mitchell: Blue "songs are like tattoos youknow I've been to sea before crown and anchor me or let me sail away" Hey Blue Here is a song for you Ink on a pin Underneath the skin An empty space to fill in or Electricity or the Circle Game And Judy Collins Prothalamion

Its not the same no matter what Constantly I find myself in hot water again Bumping into things (another twist) Knocking on the door on the see saw and I wonder would I be missed D'you know what I mean to say I meant to say to you today A day goes by, I try Thats why I try to speak to you today Today it's pointless to assume it means the same (Doggy noises coming up to me!, it's a crime) everybody plays there little games what they always said to me do you know what the things you said you'd know I'd hoped you'd know you know just what you always said to me But I laugh and I cry but I don't really mind though it seems to be as always sing me lullabies, make me close my eyes always seemed so frail Can't talk to me can't talk to you you just ignore the things I do bumoping into things there always twisting knocking on the door on the see saw and I wonder would I be missed D'you know what I mean to say (etc...) I meant to say to you the nasty things you do make me see it through back round to the start always in the dark it seems strange but now's the time for me or you to certify our never coming here

Stoneage dinosaurs A song by Cardiacs from "Songs for Ships and Irons" Wishing for money is a man growing old and he breaks our knifes edge with his care for the ordinary Winning hand in hand Michael Miles plays a game for me Liberace asks after me and all my family On down the line a soldier hides his worn uniform in an eiderdown, says never mind the war just take me home again for the last time Jim parades a toy that he won on a rifle range Holds him up high, its a plaster statue of Peter Glaze, it says the strangest things and all we feel is lonely just like stoneage dinosaurs Wishing for money is a man growing old and he breaks our knifes edge with his care for the ordinary And Mr "T" offers me and all humanity a safe place to be and all we feel is lonely just like stoneage dinosaurs

I can't belive no-one's mentioned Tom Lehrer yet. Possibly the most evil wit ever - he made a best selling record out of the periodic table, with the classic end line (get ready to cringe): 'These are the only ones of which the news has come to Harvard And there may be many others but they haven't been dis-covered.' And from 'We will all go together when we go.' When you attend a funeral It is sad to think that sooner or L... ater those you love will do the same for you And you may have thought it tragic Not to mention other adjec- tives to think of all the weeping they will do. Sadly he gave up satiric songwriting when Henry Kissinger won the Nobel Peace prize saying he "couldn't possibly top that" Jarvis Cocker is also a genius. Pretty much any of the lines from 'Common People' are bitterly satirical of that whole posh girl trying to be working class to be cool' but particularly "But still you'll never get it right 'cos when you're laid in bed at night watching roaches climb the wall, if you called your dad you could stop it all.'

The Manic Street Preachers are definitely a band I think of when thinking of excellent lyrics. Practically anything from their album 'the Holy Bible' is brilliant. I won't do Richey an injustice by trying to recreate them off-hand now, but will get back to you later with a selection!

Some of my faves, all of which could be used to kick off a story :- The tobacconists burnt down and everyone in my street died of lung cancer - Pulp I had an uncle who once played, for Red Star Belgrade - Billy Bragg Trudging slowly over wet sand, back to the bench, where your clothes were stolen, this is the seaside town, that they forgot to bomb - Morrissey It was January, nineteen sixty-three, when Johnny came home, with a gift for me - New Order

anything by joy division, ie. "atmosphere" "komakino" and "atrocity exhibition". the lyrics are more intoned than sung in many cases, lending a poetic air to them. most of "white light white heat" by velvet underground, especially "the gift" and "sister ray". um anything by davie henderson/the fire engines.

The best lyric writer of a certain ilk, for me , is Joni Mitchell. Paul Simon, on a good day. Nick Lowe has written some stonking good tongue in cheek, and Elvis Costello, some great stuff. When it comes to overt protest stuff, or political I think it purely comes down to your world view. Some of my favourite lyrics now are from Christain Worship songs that glorify God. I'm sure to an unsuspecting unbeliever they would make their teeth itch! "My love stole my car, She didn't get far, I sued her sorry bottom, and now? She languishes in a women's prison some where in Holloway, I still visit her, when I remember. "Elvis Presley, from "Beyond the Grave"(C)2001

if you are anything like me,you often mishear the lyrics to songs and make a complete fool of yourself. Believe me,you are not alone in this and I present this website for your delectation. http://www.kissthisguy.com/

I think I'll do this one at a time, it's not easy. It's not the picking you understand, it's the leaving out! This was written by Patrick Kavanagh and set to music by someone unknown to me. I first heard it performed at the City University, London back in the 70's by a folksinger that I have come to know personally over the intervening years. His name is Dick Gaughan, a Scot, an excellent guitarist and one of the most sensitive singers I have ever heard. When he sang this song in a packed hall I cried and every time I've seen him perform he always sings it for me. I told him once that I thought Kavanagh wasn't aware of it but he had written it especially for me, Dick laughed and said 'You and ten million others!' In recent years he has said the only time he sings it now is when I request it when he is touring in the south. The lyrics still bring me to my knees after thirty years. Raglan Road. On Raglan Road on an August day I saw her first and knew, That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue, I saw the danger yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day. On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge, Of the deep ravine where can be seen the true worth of passions pledge, The queen of hearts still making tarts and I not making hay, Well I loved too much and by such, by such, is happiness thrown away. I gave her gifts of the mind, I gave her the secret sign, That's known to the artist who has seen the true gods of sound and stone, And word and tint I did not stint for I gave her poems to say, With her own name there and her long dark hair like clouds o'er the fields of May. On the quiet street where the old ghosts meet I see her walking now, Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow, That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay, When the angel woos the clay he'll lose his wings at the dawn of day.