In regards to the meaning of this song:
Before a live performance on the EP Five Stories Falling, Geoff states “It’s about the last time I went to visit my grandmother in Columbus, and I saw that she was dying and it was the last time I was going to see her. It is about realizing how young you are, but how quickly you can go.”
That’s the thing about Geoff and his sublime poetry, you think it’s about one thing, but really it’s about something entirely different. But the lyrics are still universal and omnipresent, ubiquitous, even. So relatable. That’s one thing I love about this band. I also love their live performances, raw energy and Geoff’s beautiful, imperfectly perfect vocals. His voice soothes my aching soul.
Her father was an astronaut
And all the other things the little boys dreamed about
Staring at the ceiling
Laying on their backs and bellies
Caught up in the season
Playing on the front porch, swinging
Baseballs in the backlot
Talkin words that don’t have meanings
Her father was an astronaut
Her father was a cowboy
Ridin towards the big sun setting
Bullets in the bad guys
Beans around the campfire, singing
Tunes bout the old trails
Talkin words that don’t have meanings
Her father was a cowboy
And in my sleep my hair grows
It’s hard to keep these things that
We have in common anymore
Anymore, anymore
Her father was a prostitute
Selling his own body
To men across the business table
How to make an offer
Talkin words that don’t have meanings
Your father was a prostitute
And in the rain storm
Windshield wipers steer the fates of
The car drivers and
I am putting all my faith in
These doors keeping all my secrets safe and warm
Warm, warm
It’s not certain whether you are right or you are wrong
And it’s not certain whether plane tickets will break my fall
But I’m hoping that sitting next to the telephone’s twisting chords
Will keep me til the time you call
Oh, oh
Her father was a Casanova
Her father was a palindrome
Her father was a picture taker
Her father held the head of the women that he loved in his own hands
Her blood is mine, her blood is yours
Hands, and we will burst inside these borders
Clinging tight to these ideas
It’s hard to keep these things that we have in common anymore
Anymore, anymore, anymore
And all the other things the little boys dreamed about
Staring at the ceiling
Laying on their backs and bellies
Caught up in the season
Playing on the front porch, swinging
Baseballs in the backlot
Talkin words that don’t have meanings
Her father was an astronaut
Her father was a cowboy
Ridin towards the big sun setting
Bullets in the bad guys
Beans around the campfire, singing
Tunes bout the old trails
Talkin words that don’t have meanings
Her father was a cowboy
And in my sleep my hair grows
It’s hard to keep these things that
We have in common anymore
Anymore, anymore
Her father was a prostitute
Selling his own body
To men across the business table
How to make an offer
Talkin words that don’t have meanings
Your father was a prostitute
And in the rain storm
Windshield wipers steer the fates of
The car drivers and
I am putting all my faith in
These doors keeping all my secrets safe and warm
Warm, warm
It’s not certain whether you are right or you are wrong
And it’s not certain whether plane tickets will break my fall
But I’m hoping that sitting next to the telephone’s twisting chords
Will keep me til the time you call
Oh, oh
Her father was a Casanova
Her father was a palindrome
Her father was a picture taker
Her father held the head of the women that he loved in his own hands
Her blood is mine, her blood is yours
Hands, and we will burst inside these borders
Clinging tight to these ideas
It’s hard to keep these things that we have in common anymore
Anymore, anymore, anymore
Lyrics submitted by Hinkleberry42
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