Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds Lyrics

6. We Call Upon The Author

What we once thought we had, we didn’t 
And what we have now will never be that way again 
So we call upon the author to explain 

Our myxomatoid kids straddle the streets 
We’ve shunned them from the greasy-grind 
The poor little things they look so sad and old 
As they mount us from behind 
I ask them to desist and to refrain! 
Then we call upon the author to explain 

Well, rosary clutched in his hand 
He died with tubes up his nose 
And a cabal of angels with finger cymbals 
Chanted his name in code 
We shook our fists at the punishing rain 
And we called upon the author to explain 

He said, everything is messed up round here 
Everything is banal and jejune 
There’s a planetary conspiracy against the likes of you and me 
In this idiot constituency of the moon 
Well, he knew exactly who to blame! 
And we call upon the author to explain 

Prolix! Prolix! 
Nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix 

Well, I go guruing down the street 
And young people gather round my feet 
And they ask me things – but I don’t know where to start 
They ignite the powder-trail straight to my father’s heart 
And, yeah, once again 
I call upon the author to explain 

Who is this great burdensome slavering dog-thing 
That mediocres my every thought? 
I feel like a vacuum cleaner – a complete sucker! 
It’s fucked up and he is a fucker 
But what an enormous and encyclopedic brain! 
I call upon the author to explain 

Rampant discrimination 
Mass poverty, third world debt 
Infectious disease, global inequality 
And deepening socio-economic divisions 
Well, it does in your brain 
We call upon the author to explain 

Now hang on 
My friend Doug is tapping on the window! 
Hey Doug, how you been? (hey Doug) 
Well, he brings me a book on holocaust poetry – complete with pictures 
And then he tells me to get ready for the rain 
And we call upon the author to explain 

Prolix! Prolix! 
Nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix 

Bukowski was a jerk! 
Berryman was best! 
He wrote like wet paper maché 
But he went the Hemming-way 
Weirdly on wings and with maximum pain 
We call upon the author to explain 

Down in my bolthole I see they’ve published 
Another volume of unreconstructed rubbish 
“The waves, the waves were soldiers moving” 
Well, thank you – thank you! 
Thank you and again 
I call upon the author to explain 

Prolix! Prolix! 
Nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix

If you found error please correct these lyrics

If text is damaged you may return it to the last approved version