(no subject)
Let fall your soft and swaying skirt. Let fall your shoes. Let fall your shirt. I'm not the ladykilling sort enough to hurt a girl in port.
Marie's gone blonde and lost a stone. She lay on her lawn, spun and alone. And when the morning sun, it rose upon Marie and her lacy clothes, well it lit her up and she walked around the winding streets of Camden Town. She don't know who she wants to be, but if I knew, I'd tell Marie. Let fall your soft and swaying skirt. Let fall your shoes. Let fall your shirt. I'm not the ladykilling sort enough to hurt a girl in port.
Cindy tells me she's had fun sitting backstage, someone's plus one. Up in her room, the record spins, needle in the grooves that she's worn thin. She lifts her sleeve and she sees a name, and she's got a smile on her face, and she's got a story you can't see, but that's just between that name and Cindy.
And before Holly made her way over the sea and far away, she's telling me inside her car, driving us back from the Crystal Corner Bar. "I lost it there, I fell from health, cut some fresh pieces from myself, and for a second something in me said 'Leave today, it's time Holly.'" It's time.
Well I'm a weak and lonely sort, though I'm not sailing just for sport. I've come to feel out on the sea, these urgent lives press against me. I'm just a guest, I'm not a part. My tender head with my easy heart. These several years out on the sea made me empty, cold and clear. Pour yourself into me.
Let fall your soft and swaying skirt. Let fall your shoes. Let fall your shirt. I'm not the ladykilling sort enough to hurt a girl in port.
The new Okkervil has been growing on me a lot in the last couple weeks. I wasn't that hot on it to begin with, but considering I didn't even like Black Sheep Boy for the first couple months after I first heard it (it wound up being my number one album that year), it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that this one is definitely growing on me.
I think I was being thrown by the fact that it's not as grandstandingly epic as Black Sheep Boy, but that's probably a good thing. The only way they could have upstaged themselves on a record after that would be going over-the-top bombastic, and then you wind up getting into needlessly proggy messes like so much music devolved to back in the mid-to-late 80s. Every album doesn't have to be Born In The USA. I'll settle for something as solid as Born To Run anyday.
And yes, I did just compare Okkervil River to Bruce Springsteen. Deal with it.
Marie's gone blonde and lost a stone. She lay on her lawn, spun and alone. And when the morning sun, it rose upon Marie and her lacy clothes, well it lit her up and she walked around the winding streets of Camden Town. She don't know who she wants to be, but if I knew, I'd tell Marie. Let fall your soft and swaying skirt. Let fall your shoes. Let fall your shirt. I'm not the ladykilling sort enough to hurt a girl in port.
Cindy tells me she's had fun sitting backstage, someone's plus one. Up in her room, the record spins, needle in the grooves that she's worn thin. She lifts her sleeve and she sees a name, and she's got a smile on her face, and she's got a story you can't see, but that's just between that name and Cindy.
And before Holly made her way over the sea and far away, she's telling me inside her car, driving us back from the Crystal Corner Bar. "I lost it there, I fell from health, cut some fresh pieces from myself, and for a second something in me said 'Leave today, it's time Holly.'" It's time.
Well I'm a weak and lonely sort, though I'm not sailing just for sport. I've come to feel out on the sea, these urgent lives press against me. I'm just a guest, I'm not a part. My tender head with my easy heart. These several years out on the sea made me empty, cold and clear. Pour yourself into me.
Let fall your soft and swaying skirt. Let fall your shoes. Let fall your shirt. I'm not the ladykilling sort enough to hurt a girl in port.
The new Okkervil has been growing on me a lot in the last couple weeks. I wasn't that hot on it to begin with, but considering I didn't even like Black Sheep Boy for the first couple months after I first heard it (it wound up being my number one album that year), it shouldn't come as much of a surprise that this one is definitely growing on me.
I think I was being thrown by the fact that it's not as grandstandingly epic as Black Sheep Boy, but that's probably a good thing. The only way they could have upstaged themselves on a record after that would be going over-the-top bombastic, and then you wind up getting into needlessly proggy messes like so much music devolved to back in the mid-to-late 80s. Every album doesn't have to be Born In The USA. I'll settle for something as solid as Born To Run anyday.
And yes, I did just compare Okkervil River to Bruce Springsteen. Deal with it.