The Mountain Goats Album

the best ever death metal band out of denton
were a couple of guys, who'd been friends since grade school.
one was named cyrus, and the other was jeff.
and they practiced twice a week in jeff's bedroom.

the best ever death metal band out of denton
never settled on a name.
but the top three contenders, after weeks of debate,
were satan's fingers, and the killers, and the hospital bombers.

jeff and cyrus believed in their hearts they were headed
for stage lights and leer jets, and fortune and fame.
so in script that made prominent use of a pentagram,
they stenciled their drumheads and guitars with their names.

this was how cyrus got sent to the school
where they told him he'd never be famous.
and this was why jeff,
in the letters he'd write to his friend,
helped develop a plan to get even.
when you punish a person for dreaming his dream,
don't expect him to thank or forgive you.
the best ever death metal band out of denton
will in time both outpace and outlive you.
hail satan!
hail satan tonight!
hail satan!
hail hail!

Sophomore year
You rushed for an average of eight and third yards per carry
All eyes were on you

Junior year
You blew your knee out at an out town game
Nowhere to go but down, down, down
Nothing but the ground left for you to fall to

By July
You'd made a whole bunch of brand new friends
People you used to look down on

And you'd figured out a way to make real money
Giving ends to your friends and it felt stupendous
Chrome spokes on your Japanese bike

But selling acid was a bad idea
And selling it to a cop was a worse one
And the new law said that seventeen year olds could do federal time
You were the first one

So I sing this song for you
William Stanaforth Donahue
Your grandfather rode the boat over from Ireland
But you made a bad decision or two

she came in on the redeye to dallas-fort worth.
all the way from sunny taipei.
skin the color of a walnut shell,
and a baseball cap holding down her black hair.
and she came here after midnight.
the hot weather made her feel right at home.
come on in, we haven't slept for weeks.
drink some of this. it'll put color in your cheeks.

he drove from in from mexicali, no worse for wear.
money to burn, time to kill.
but five minutes looking in his eyes and we all knew he
was broken pretty bad, so we gave him what we had.
we cleared a space for him to sleep in,
and we let the silence that's our trademark
make its presence felt.
come on in, we haven't slept for weeks.
drink some of this. it'll put color in your cheeks.

they came in by the dozens, walking or crawling.
some were bright-eyed.
some were dead on their feet.
and they came from zimbabwe,
or from soviet, georgia.
east saint louis, or from paris, or they lived across the street.
but they came, and when they'd finally made it here,
it was the least that we could do to make our welcome clear.
come on in, we haven't slept for weeks.
drink some of this. it'll put color in your cheeks

you roared into the driveway of our southwestern ranch-style house
on a new kawasaki, all yellow and black
fresh out of the showroom.
our house faced west,
so the big orange sun positioned at your back,
lit up your magnificent silhouette.
how much better?
how much better can my life get?
900 cubic centimeters of raw whining power.
no outstanding warrants for my arrest.
whoa-whoa. whoa whoa.
the pirate's life for me.

i hopped on back of the bike, wrapped my arms around you.
and i sank my face into your hair.
and then i inhaled as deeply as i possibly could.
you were as sweet and delicious as the warm desert air.
and you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon,
we were the one thing in the galaxy god didn't have his eyes on.
900 cc's of raw whining power,
no outstanding warrants for my arrest.
hi diddle dee dee.
god damn!
the pirate's life for me!

Down here where the heat's so fine
I'll drink to your health and you drink to mine
As we try to make the money we scored out in Vegas
Hold out for a while

We drink vodka from Russia, we get out chocolates from Belgium
We have our strawberries flown in from England
But none of the money we spend seems to do us much good in the end
I've got a cracked engine block, both of us do

Yeah, the house and the jewels, the Italian race car
They don't make us feel better about who we are
I've got termites in the framework
So do you

Down here where the watermelon grows so sweet
Where I worship the ground underneath of your feet
We are experts in the art
Of frivolous spending

And it's gone on like this, for 3 years, I guess
And we're drunk all the time and our lives are a mess
And the deathless love we swore to protect with our bodies
Is stumbling across its bleak ending

But none of the rage in our eyes
Seems to finish it off where it lies
I got sugar in the fuel lines
Both of us do

Yeah, the fights and the lies that we both love to tell
Fail to send our love to its reward down in hell
I got pudding for a backbone
But so do you

two tall glasses of sweet iced tea
underneath the sweetgum tree,
and the love we once nurtured, you and me,
disintegrating violently.
stick your tongue out.
catch the pieces as they drift down the air.
i am too slow to catch them all,
not too far gone to care.

two slow summer hours spent picking at the bones,
figuring the interest on delinquent loans.
speaking in sad and mournful tones,
trying to squeeze tears out of mute stones.
wet your finger.
place it toward the wind.
feel disaster in the air.
we are far too slow to outrun it now.
not too far gone to care

wind out of oklahoma this morning smelled like blood and smoke.
and the crows discuss their future in the branches of
their louisiana live oak.
the limbs are strong and heavy and its leaves are all aglow.
and the branches brush the upper air,
but the roots reach down to where the bad people go.
and what will i do with you, pink and blue?
true gold. nine days old.

nice new clothes on you and old carboard produce box for a cradle.
i mashed some bananas in a coffee cup and
i fed you there at the kitchen table.
crows outside complaining about the finer points of local politics.
strange wind all full of new smells -- rust and fur and reception sticks.
and what will i do with you, pink and blue?
true gold. nine days old

we live high. our love gorges on the alcohol we feed it.
and it grows all fat and friendly
we have surplus if we need it.
we hold on as hard as we can.
our knuckles are white.
we write letters to each other, invent secrets to confess to.
i learn foreign and exotic terms of endearment by which to address you.
we feed fresh fruit to one another.
we stay up all night.
i am healthy, i am whole, but i have poor impulse control.
and i want to go home.
but i am home.

we are strong, we are faithful,
we are guardians of a rare thing.
we pay close careful attention to the news the morning air brings.
we show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through.
we are filled with riches and wonders,
our love keeps the things it finds.
and we dance like drunken sailors, lost at sea out of our minds.
you find shelter somewhere in me,
i find great comfort in you.
and i keep you safe from harm.
you hold me in your arms, and i want to go home.
but i am home

we took a weekend, drove to provo.
the snow was white and fluffy.
but a weekend in utah won't fix what's wrong with us.
the gray sky was vast and real cryptic above me.
i wanted you to love me like you used to do.

we took two weeks in the bahamas.
went out dancing every night.
tried to fight the creeping sense of dread with temporal things.
most of the time i guess i felt alright.
but i wanted you to love me like you used to do.

but you cannot run
and you cannot hide,
from the wreck we've made of our house,
and from the mess inside.

we went down to new orleans
one weekend in the spring.
looked hard for what we'd lost.
it was painful to admit it, but we couldn't find a thing.
i wanted you to love me like you used to do.

we went to new york city in september.
took the train out of manhattan to the grand army stop.
found that bench we'd sat together on a thousand years ago
when i felt such love for you i thought my heart was gonna pop.
i wanted you to love me like you used to do.

but i cannot run.
and i can't hide.
from the wreck we've made of our house.
from the mess inside

after three nights in jail, i head north from toyavale.
switch to 285 in pecos, head up to red bluff.
my walk's real steady and my eyes are real cold
but i feel like i'm all of sixteen years old --
lost in the travel lodge, with the television on with the sound down,
i don't feel so tough.
old issues of sunset magazine to read,
sleep for twelve hours, and dream about home.

i have no place to go, so i drive up to new mexico.
fix my eyes in the rearview when i cross the state line.
and i panic, i guess. and although it's quite late,
i take the first exit to 128.
i am coming back to midlind.
i hope you won't mind.
polaroids of the two of us scattered on the passenger's seat.
i drive slowly
and evenly
and i dream about home

i found an old rock in the dry dirt outside
the door of my motel room.
it was a triangle with soft rounded edges
and a split down the middle of one corner.
it was darker than english moss.
green like the soft frills of a peacock's plume.
i waited for you, but i never told you where i was.
it was you who taught me how to write these kinds of equations.
i waited on the steps for you,
and i hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot.
you taight me how to listen to these distant stations.
distant stations.

i saw the sky break.
i threw a rock at a crow who was playing in the mulch of some rose bushes by the motel office.
missed him by a good yard or two.
i sang old songs from nowhere.
los angeles.
albuquerque.
i said a small prayer for the poor and the naked and the hungry.
and i prayed real hard for you.
i waited for you, but i never told you where i was.
it was you who taught me how to write this kind of equation.
i waited on the steps for you,
and i hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot.
you taight me how to listen to these distant stations

will i see you there when that final trumpet blows?
will i see you there when that final trumpet blows?
if i don't see you there, i will run a comb through my hair.
and i will wait.
i will wait.
i will wait.

will you walk on in when the angel summons you?
will you walk on in when the angel summons you?
if i don't see you go, i will let the minions flow.
and i will wait.
i will wait.
i will wait.

down in dealey plaza, the tourists mill about.
down in dealey plaza, the tourists mill about.
and i am far from where we live, and i have not learned how to forgive.
but i will wait.
i will wait.
i will wait.
yeah

once a week
i make the drive
two hours east
to check the austin post office box
and i take the detour
through our old neighborhood
see all the chevy impalas
in their front yards up on blocks
and i park in an alley
and i read through the post cards you continue to send
where as indirectly as you can
you ask what i remember
i like these tortured deviced from my old best friend
well i'll tell you what i know
like i swore i always would
i don't think it will do you any good

i remember the train headed south out of bangkok
down toward the water.

i always get a late start
when the sun's going down
and the traffic's filling out
and the glare is hard to take
i wish the west texas highway was a mobius strip
i could ride it out for ever
when i feel my heart break
i almost swear i hear it happen
in fact clean and not hard
i come in off the highway and i park in my front yard
fall out of the car
like a hostage from a plane
think of you awhile
start wishing it would rain

and i remember the train heading south out of bangkok
down, down towards, the water.

come in to the house
put on a pot of coffee
walk the floors a little while
set your postcard on the table
with all the others like it
start sorting threw the pile
check the pictures
and the postmarks
and the captions
and the stamps
for a sign of any pattern at all
when i come up empty handed
the feeling almost overwhelms me
i let a few of my defenses fall
and i smile a bitter smile
it is not a pretty sight to see
i think about a railroad platform back in 1983

and i remember the train heading south out of Bangkok
down, down towards, the water

after one long season of waiting,
after one long season of wanting,
i am breaking open.
my insides are pink and raw.
and i hurts me when i move my jaw,
but i am taking tiny steps forward.
and i... i feel sure that my wounds will heal.
and i, i will bloom here in my room.
with a little water.
and a little bit of sunlight.
and a little bit of tender mercy,
tender
mercy.

the big trucks come up the highway.
and the big wheels rattle my windows.
and night, night comes to texas.
after one blind season alone in here,
after one long sweltering summer,
i, i'm going to find the exit.
and i will go to the house of a friend i know.
and i will let myself forget.
with a little water.
and a little bit of sunlight.
and a little bit of tender mercy,
tender
mercy