Lyrics:Cold War Kids/Robbers & Cowards
From Geartome
Contents |
We Used to Vacation
I kissed the kids at noon, then stumbled out the room. I caught a cab, ran up a tab on 7th & Flower. Beth's recital I had to ruin, missed my son's graduation, punched the Nichols boy for taking his seat; he gets all that anger from me. Still, things could be much worse -- natural disasters on the evening news. Still, things could be much worse -- we've still got our health; my paycheck in the mail. I promised to my wife and children I'd never touch another drink as long as I live, but even then, it sounds so soothing. This will blow over in time. This will all blow over in time. I'm just an honest man; provide for me and mine. I give a check to tax-deductible charity organizations. Two weeks paid vacation won't heal the damage done; I need another one. Still, things could be much worse -- natural disasters on the evening news. Still, things could be much worse -- we've still got our health; my paycheck in the mail. I promised to my wife and children I'd never touch another drink as long as I live, but even then, it sounds so soothing to mix a gin and sink into oblivion. I promised to my wife and children. That accident left everyone a little shook up, but at the meetings, I felt so empty. This will blow over in time. This will all blow over in time.
Hang Me Up to Dry
Careless in our summer clothes, splashing around in the muck and the mire. Fell asleep with stains caked deep in the knees; what a pain. Now hang me up to dry -- you wrung me out too many times. Now hang me up to dry -- I'm pearly like the whites of your eyes. All mixed up in the wash; hot water bleeding our colors. Now hang me up to dry -- you wrung me out too many times. Now hang me up to dry -- I'm pearly like the whites of your eyes.
Tell Me in the Morning
Stick around Greenleaf, now that she's gone. Take my time when I go to bed, and I sleep long. I'm getting over, mulling over. I said "Could you just wait to tell me in the morning?" Slow it down, slow it down. Lay it low; save it for the morning. I know that you would like, like to change me; make me softer to your voice like a baby. I'm using caution, but you're warning. I wish that you could wait to tell me in the morning. Slow it down, slow it down. Lay it low; save it for the morning. I'm shouting questions like a fistfight. You tried to take me by the arms, lead me into the light. I'm almost over, warring over. I wish that you could wait to tell me in the morning. Slow it down, slow it down. Lay it low; save it for the morning. And I'll tell you one more thing: I confess to self-deception. I broke the lock and I pried it open, then pretended to be stolen. And I am my own thief in the night. Struggled for many years, just to get here, to learn humility, and be my own teacher. I guess it backfired, 'cause my motive was just to take and never care about what I give. Slow it down, slow it down. Lay it low; save it for the morning. I'm shouting questions like a fistfight. You tried to take me by the arms, lead me into the light. I'm almost over, warring over. I wish that you could wait to tell me in the morning. Slow it down, slow it down. Lay it low; save it for the morning. But I'll tell you one more thing: I confess to self-deception. I broke the lock and I pried it open, then pretended to be stolen. I am my own thief in the night.
Hair Down
Conversations that went on terrible paths -- don't talk about that, no, no, don't talk about that. We're coming back loud, and end this conversation. Said you let your hair down; you got enough to go round, oh, mine. Said you let your hair down, but you've been telling me that since the day we met. She's laughing like a choirgirl. When she doubles over, sounds like 'hallelujah'. She's talking to my mother; she's on the phone with my mother. She's talking to my mother; she's looking up at me like I'm a criminal. She bargains like a lawyer; sacrifice like a martyr. She's just her mother's daughter, cutting cloth and washing a pan. Man, we were still just babies, dreaming of the sixties. Man, we were still just babies, dressing up in rags with our wallets full. Now our pockets are shallow, our quart running low. I saw they are empty, but I'm just a fool. Now, Roman in the kitchen told me that true love, it waits, but of all the rules he lives by, that's the one that he hates.
Passing the Hat
Look up from the hymnal, look 'round at the faces of families closing their eyes. We're taking communion and passing the offering hat around at the same time. I reached for the hat and take all the cash, and slide it into my ragged coat sleeve, and leave in its place a note to explain all of the reasons that stealing has led me to leave. If there was a worthy cause for to give to, may I be so bold as to say, the givers not knowing where their money's going is as sinful as throwing away. Stained glasses shine on my red wine, and the sweat of my brow drips to my shaking knees. A small sacrifice to benefit one man's journey away from America's seas. Sweet, sweet sigh of relief. Sweet, sweet, O Baltic Sea. Nobody here knows my name. Call it right or wrong; I bought my ticket just the same.
Saint John
Suppertime in the hole, suppertime in the hole. I shamed my family, shamed my home. Suppertime. (Tell my sister, Jane.) Old Saint John on death row; he's just waiting for a pardon. All the white boys in their Sta-Prest slacks; they're home for the summer from college. Stayin' out late, gettin' rowdy at the bar, they're looking for trouble uptown. They come up my block, 'bout five or six of them, smashing they bottles in the gutter, yellin' all kinds of obscenities about woman and God and law. Another suppertime in the hole, suppertime. I shamed my family, shamed my home. Suppertime. (Tell my sister, Jane.) A young girl turned the corner with a clerk dress on; that girl was my sister. Just got off the night shift at Pennington's Place; just wanna go home, get some sleep. Boys grab her by the waist with the caffeine eyes, their hands all frigid, electric. I picked up a brick from my Papa's front yard, and threw it at the tallest boy's face. Well, blood was streaming like a well got sprung. I couldn't believe what I had just done. Well, that other boy ran and this one stayed on the ground and he would never move again. Old Saint John on death row; he's just waiting for a pardon. All us boys on death row; we're just waiting for a pardon. Yours truly on trial, I testify. Got to keep on running 'til the well gone dry.
Robbers
Sulkin', walkin' round the city after dark. Need protection from street toughs, who clip the locks and rip the doors off rungs, like cowards. And all this life of glorified robbin' from the blind is not easy, you see. Don't think I don't know sympathy; my victims in my shadow starin' back at me. Not me; I'm knockin'. Tiptoe outside a stranger's door, casually let myself in, fill pockets with trinkets, purses, china antique armoirs. And all this life of glorified robbin' from the blind is not easy, you see. Don't think I don't know sympathy; my victims in my shadow starin' back at me. As robbers in my thoughts, they tell me what to think. They're hiding in my clothes, crawling in the kitchen sink.
Hospital Beds
There's nothing to do here. Some just whine and complain, in bed at the hospital. Coming and going, asleep and awake, in bed at the hospital. Tell me the story of how you ended up here. I've heard it all in the hospital. Nurses are fussing, doctors on tour somewhere in India. I've got one friend laying across from me. I did not choose him; he did not choose me. We've got no chance of recovery, sharing hospital, joy, and misery. The joy and misery. Put out the fire, boys. Don't stop, don't stop. Put out the fire on us. Put out the fire, boys. Don't stop, don't stop. Put out the fire on us. Bring the buckets by the dozens. Bring your nieces and your cousins. Come put out the fire on us. Vietnam fishing trips, Italian opera. Vietnam fishing trips, Italian opera. I've got one friend laying across from me. I did not choose him; he did not choose me. We've got no chance of recovery, sharing hospital, joy, and misery. The joy and misery. Put out the fire, boys. Don't stop, don't stop. Put out the fire on us. Put out the fire, boys. Don't stop, don't stop. Put out the fire on us. Bring the buckets by the dozens. Bring your nieces and your cousins. Come put out the fire on us.
Pregnant
Slither deceit, speaking in tongues. Deft as a surgeon's knife carving through bone. Pregnant with doubt, you figured out tricks of the trade to make whispers shout. Mouth full of sweets rotting your teeth, lift up the rug and sweep it underneath. You worry me when you don't believe.
Red Wine, Success!
He pours the wine into his coffee cup. This jazz has dropped; it's time to pick it up. 2:30, he rolls out of this brass at last. Terrence Love is barking something crass. Each night, a thousand stairs go up both ways, soul and colour peeking through his sleeves. M's down at the coast; it's too late for buses, run. Slides into his headphones, sleeps to solo Monk. Success, success, his smile is saccharine. Glamorous, he's pouring Poncho's gin. Lives his life a painful and lovely day in the history of a great pregnancy. Squat public library checking out "the trial"; strollin' to the pier to gather his thoughts. Squat public library checking out "the trial"; he's talking to himself about it. He don't get upset. Can't sleep; he'll have another cigarette. He don't get upset.
God, Make Up Your Mind
Backseat of your family station wagon: Listening Nina Simone, 100 Years of Solitude, and only twelve years old. God, make up your mind. God, make up your mind. Do you wanna play fair? Or should I take what's mine? Your mom is calling out, "Look at the Grand Canyon!" Camilla couldn't care less. Gaze into the hole; your stomach feels the emptiness of death. God, make up your mind. God, make up your mind. Do you wanna play fair? Or should I take what's mine, like everyone else? From New York to New Orleans, played the alphabet. Kansas to Boise, won the battleship. Memorized the capitals, crossword puzzles. Drew a picture of a cat laying dead in the street. Daydream about my real dad back in California. Elephant in your brain reminding you you've got to make a choice. Wraps his arms around you slow, 'cause you tense up like an armadillo. God, make up your mind. God, make up your mind. Do you wanna play fair? Or should I take what's mine, like everyone else? Why ain't my teacher on a street sign? He's done so much more than politicians and dead musicians. You wanna help someone, you gotta be a no-one. That's what I figured out the cat in the street meant. You gotta make up your mind.
Rubidoux
So let's go deadbolt your shed door, cram your paper money snug, closer than before. Chandeliers are falling in graveyard rows, and your eyes are shifting dials like AM radios. Snowed-over river melted more last night, still the same, the shattered windshields of spidered ice. Yes, yes, mother, I mean to be baptized. Seeds that make the higher ground grow and multiply. Drove to Rubidoux in the the middle of the night, bourbon and a pistol in the dash, out of sight. What did you expect? Romantic Isle of Wight? Just empty desert light. Few feet float above these Persian throw rugs, and tuck themselves in percussionist succession words. Tonight, a single simple folk play themselves low, just like talking city blues down in the hole we loathe. Drove to Rubidoux in the the middle of the night, bourbon and a pistol in the dash, out of sight. What did you expect? Romantic Isle of Wight? Just empty desert light. I suggest that you respect the deal, and keep your nose out of business of priests and holy men. The life you have chosen is filled with dirty fingernails, and lost-and-founds, and canceled appointments. Ten more avenues, time to choose, and there's rain that'll fall down on fire. There's fifty doors to choose from and there's many more inside. Well, the nighttime's going to come. The nighttime's going to come. Drove to Rubidoux in the the middle of the night, bourbon and a pistol in the dash, out of sight. What did you expect? Romantic Isle of Wight? Just empty desert light.
Sermons vs. the Gospel
Getting closer everyday, getting closer everyday. Lord have mercy on me. We're talking about two different things; television and Life magazine. Lord have mercy on me, Lord have mercy on me. Got this idea in my head and I can't get it out, 'cause all your money and all your culture, I can surely live without. A pile of treaures up on Earth, what you keep and what you take. A property, a vanity, and even knowledge for knowledge' sake, and I said, Lord, have mercy on me! We're talking about two different things; television and Life magazine. Lord have mercy on me, oh, Lord have mercy on me. Don't want to see no psychoanalyst, experienced in assisting to adjust. European travel, the H-bomb, the presidential elections, the front page of the New York Times, the front page of the New York Times. Lord, have mercy on me! We're talking about two different things; television and Life magazine. Lord have mercy on me, oh, Lord have mercy on me. Quit your griping, shine your shoes; tell you a little secret for your blues. Don't make no difference just watching from the stairs. Fat lady always claps her hands. Lord have mercy on me, sayin', even if you're robbing from the poor. Lord have mercy on me. I believe the words can change the heart. The words can change the heart. Lord, have mercy on me. Lord, have mercy on me. We're talking about two different things; television and Life magazine. Lord have mercy on me, oh, God, Lord have mercy on me. Getting closer everyday, getting closer everyday...
