The Decemberists - The Tain Lyrics
PART Icrone: here upon this pillowmade of reed and willowyou're a fickle little twisterare you sweet on your sister?your fallow won't leave you alone.and granted for their pleasurepossesions laid to measureshe's a salty little pisserwith your ***** in her kisserbut now she's a will of her own.PART IIhusband: damn your ankles and eyes widefrom you fingernails to your ponytails too.king of the insects and the m-5over charlemagne in a motorcade too.and baby needs a new prizebaby needs a new and shiny prize.captain: in this place called heavenlyyou were born here.this place called heavenlyyou were born here.you were born here.husband: and now all the marchers descend from highi will dedicate all of my awakenings to this.and damn all the angles that opress my sighti will bleed your heart through a samovar soon.captain: in this place called heavenlyyou were born here.this place called heavenlyyou were born here.you were born here.PART IIIsoldier: they settled dust in your hairto watch you shake and shout it out.with our armaments baredwe shed our bags and travel alls.from the lee of the wallhe comes in the chang and the chariotand all his eunuchs in thrallcan scarce lift his line and lariat.here com loose his houndsto blow me down.chorus of waifs: blow me down.soldier: on this stretch of groundi'll lay me down.chorus of waifs: lay me down.soldier: to sleep.chaplain: and now stricken with pangsthat tear at our backs like thistle downthe mirror's soft silver tainreflects our last and birthing hoursoldier: here com loose his houndsto blow me down.chorus of waifs: blow me down.soldier: on this stretch of groundi'll lay me down.chorus of waifs: lay me down.soldier: to sleep.PART IVeveningwidow: o the wind is blowing, it hurts your skinas you climb up hillside, forest and fen.your arms full of lullabies, orchids and wineyour memories wrapped within paper and twine.the room that you lie in is dusty and hardsleeping soft babies on piles of yardsof gingham, taffeta, cotton and silkyour dry hungry mouths cry for your mother's milk.when the dawn commes to greet you, you'll rise with clothes onand advance with the others, singing old songsof cattle and maidens and withered old queens.let the music carry you on.the room that you lie in is dusty and hardsleeping soft babies on piles of yardsof gingham, taffeta, cotton and silkyour dry hungry mouths cry for your mother's milk.PART Vwoman: darling dear what have you done?your clothes are town, your make-up runs.daughter: i ran through brambles, blooming thistlei washed my face in the river when you whistled me on.woman: darling dear, what hav eyou done?your hands and face are smeared with blood.daughter: the chaplain came and called me outto beat and to butcher his mother's sowwoman: but darling dear, they found him deadthis morning on the riverbed.but hush now darling, don't you cry.your reward's in the sweet by-and -by.hush now baby, don't you cry.your reward's in the sweet by-and-by.crone: and now we've seen your powerssoftly stretch the hoursyou're a fickle little twisterare you sweet on your sister?as now you go wandering home.
