He thought himself a prodigal son
As he returned to the city where he'd once begun
Had a life and family there
A loyal dog and nice career
Then left in rash rebellion
To escape the cell he felt in
30 years had come and gone as he stumbled through the city to his father's pond
How fitting his statue still there
Bearing his favorite stone cold stare
I wanted to be free, but it's followed me
I can still remember you
Seems to me there'll always be something
On his way to feed the ducks
As he did each day, heard it brought good luck
Tripped on a root and fell
And from his head blood spilled
Then in a spastic scurry
Ambulance arrived in hurry
"Don't let this be his end,
He'd fed the ducks for years" so many pled
The doctors through operation
managed to save their patient
The first he spoke when he awoke
Was giving thanks to the ducks
What is it that we each talk to?
By which we each feel viewed?
What is it that we submit to?
Or notes heard when winds blew?
How is it that these words we use
Build worlds that shrink while grow?
How far can these meanings go?
They both entered, he in a sweater
To which none in the room would ever be forgetter
Was the ugliest thing you could wear
Couldn't help but to stare
They were so in love with each other
Nothing could breach that border
She had knit the sweater herself
And they both knew how it looked just didn't care what others felt
Happy to do for the other
Whatever the favor
Secretly worried what to do
When there might not be another need
But it seems to me there'll always be something
Surprise! "Songs for Pierre Chuvin" is the first all-boombox Mountain Goats album since 2002's "All Hail West Texas" Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 10, 2020
Hold Steady frontman Craig Finn expands his tragic character studies to include old-school horns, pillow harmonies, and rock staying power. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 24, 2019