The Decemberists

Eli, the barrow boy
Of the old town
Sells coal and marigolds
And he cries out
All down the day

Below the tamaracks
He is crying:
“Corn cobs and candle wax for the buying”
All down the day

“Would I could afford to buy my love a fine robe
Made of gold and silk Arabian thread
But she is dead and gone and lying in a pine grove
And I must push my barrow all the day
And I must push my barrow all the day”

Eli, the barrow boy
When they found him
Dressed all in corduroy
He had drowned in
The river down the way

They laid his body down in a church yard
But still when the moon is out
With his push cart
He calls down the day

“Would I could afford to buy my love a fine gown
Made of gold and silk Arabian thread
But I am dead and gone and lying in a church ground
And still I push my barrow all the day
Still I push my barrow all the day”




가사입력NAKMUSE

Billy Liar's got his hands in his pockets
Staring over at the neighbor's, knickers down.
He's got his knickers down.

So the summer is eternity for you?
Sleeping in until your father's shaking you down
He's shaking you down.

And the mailroom shift gets a real short shrift
As you dole out the packages, no-one seems to want you around
All skulking around.

Let you legs loss on the lino
'Til your sinews spoil
Will you stay here for a while, dear,
'Til the radio plays something familiar?
Plays something familiar.

All a-drifting, he's a no-good boyo
Sent a-fishing for a whalebone corset frame
(His only catch all day)

So he sits and lets the current take him
A gentle breeze will leave his pants in disarray
And at his ankles laid.

As he drifts to sleep with a moan and a weep
He is decked by a Japanese geisha with a garland of pearls
How she twists and twirls!

Let you legs loss on the lino
'Til your sinews spoil
Will you stay here for a while, dear,
'Til the radio plays something familiar?
Plays something familiar.

Myla Goldberg sets a steady hand upon her brow
Myla Goldberg hangs a crooked foot all upside down

It comes around it comes around
It comes around it comes around

Pretty hands do pretty things when pretty times arise
Seraphim and seaweed swim where stick-limbed Myla lies

It comes around it comes around
It comes around it comes around

Still now you're waiting to grow
Inside you're old
Sew wings to your pigeon toes
Put paper to pen
to spell out "Eliza"

We begin with sticky shins make sticky then our shoes
Shoes beget to clothes and hat 'til sticky's sticking too

Finiculi finicula finiculi finicula

Listen in as shin-kicked Jim relates his story sad
About a boy who kicked until his shins were all but rubberbands
But now

I know New York I need New York
I know I need unique New York

Still now you're waiting to grow
Inside you're old
Sew wings to your pigeon toes
Put paper to pen
to spell out "Eliza"
Eliza
Eliza

This is the story of your red right ankle
And how it came to meet your leg
And how the muscle bone and sinews tangled
And how the skin was softly shed
And how it whispered,
"Oh, adhere to me for we are bound by symmetry
And whatever differences our lives have been
We together make a limb"
This is the story of your red right ankle

This is the story of your gypsy uncle
You never knew cause he was dead
And how his face was carved an ripped with wrinkles
In the picture in your head
And remember how you found the key
To his hide-out in the Pyrenees,
But you wanted to keep his secret safe,
So you threw the key away?
This is the story of your gypsy uncle

This is the story of the boys who loved you
Who love you now and loved you then
And some were sweet and some were cold and snuffed you
And some just layed around in bed
And some, they crumbled you straight to your knees
Did it cruel, did it tenderly
Some they crawled their way into your heart
To rend your ventricles apart
This is the story of the boys who loved you
This is the story of your red right ankle

I was meant for the stage,
I was meant for the curtain.
I was meant to tread these boards,
Of this much i am certain.

I was meant for the crowd,
I was meant for the shouting.
I was meant to raise these hands
With quiet all about me. oh, oh.

Mother, please, be proud.
Father, be forgiven.
Even though you told me
'Son, you'll never make a living.' oh, oh.

From the floorboards to the fly,
Here I was fated to reside.
And as I take my final bow,
Was there ever any doubt?
And as the spotlights fade away,
And you're escorted through the foyer,
You will resume your callow ways,
But I was meant for the stage.

The heavens at my birth
Intended me for stardom,
Rays of light shone down on me
And all my sins were pardoned.

I was meant for applause.
I was meant for derision.
Nothing short of fate itself
Has affected my decision. oh, oh.

From the floorboards to the fly,
here i was fated to reside.
And as I take my final bow,
Was there ever any doubt?
And as the spotlights fade away,
And you're escorted through the foyer,
You will resume your callow ways,
But I was meant for the stage.
to moonn6pence from shootingstar