First and foremost, let it be said,
I am writing this at 7:10 am,
On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt.
Astronomically speaking, it's the first day of Autumn.
But the sun is hanging round like summer's hungover.
They'll knock the garage down and build flats where I sit.
The traffic's so persistent that it barely registers
And it smells like a mix between petrol and dog shit.

Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"

Sometimes it's just enough to know I keep him on his toes.
Is he as sympathetic as me to the untimely demise of your synthetic clothes?
I've displayed marriage proposals on the Jumbotrons of ballgames you've not been at,
I've written eulogies in guestbooks of galleries in the hopes that you might pass

Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"

She; nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door.
He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr.
Me; rolling, writhing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall.
When I hold sea shells to my ears, I'm pretty sure I can hear you.

He gave a gift of the Faber book of love poems,
Annotated the ones he thought applied the most.
Not gonna win you round with prose,
If anyone should know then it's I should know.
Girl, there must be a reason you let it slip,
Went to the point of sending the message.
Six months of visceral catherine wheels,
Kissing carnivores to make it seem like less of a deal.

Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"

I promise after this I will pick up the phone book
And choose the name that my eyes fall upon on their first look.
Aim all of my poorly composed declarations there in the future.
I'm so sorry to have to put you through a lifetime of dedications
You never desired

But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head
Ok, I'm a little bit drunk and I mean just a little bit
No lush in denial, only rather coquettish
I'm fifteen years old and my parents' only son,
Like I barely survived a girls' school education.
Even prettier now that you've grown your hair long,
I'm a slip of a man since I cut mine all off.

Please just let me be the one to keep track
Of the freckles and the moles on your back.


Lyrics submitted by iwishiwasthemoon, edited by TheSatah

I Just Sighed. I Just Sighed, Just So You Know song meanings
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11 Comments

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  • +1
    General CommentWhere'd you get those lyrics? I cannot understand how he can be saying writing, and not writhing. Not only does it sound like the latter, but the former doesn't make ANY sense. Are you sure you've got that right?
    tjwellson January 24, 2010   Link
  • +1
    General CommentI'm almost 100% sure that it's "rolling, WRITHING on the floor." That makes more sense to me.
    AllsWellThatEndson January 08, 2011   Link
  • +1
    Song Meaning"A song by means of apologising to a girl for writing songs about her. An argument between head and heart. I should never let that blackened thing win out. She grew her hair long as I cut mine short. She got more and more beautiful as I became less of myself. I made her boyfriend uncomfortable and I'm sorry for that. The sea shell's from the same place as the sand in Knee Deep at ATP." - Gareth
    ArcticSoundson January 20, 2012   Link
  • 0
    General Commentthat makes a lot more sense, yeah. fixed.
    iwishiwasthemoonon January 03, 2010   Link
  • 0
    General Comment"board games" should be "ball games"
    tjwellson January 02, 2010   Link
  • 0
    General CommentOfficial lyrics:

    First and foremost, let it be said,
    I am writing this at 7:10 am,
    On the hard dry tarmac of a vacant forecourt.
    Astronomically speaking, it's the first day of Autumn.
    But the sun is hanging round like summer's hungover.
    They'll knock the garage own and build flats where I sit.
    The traffic's so persistent that it barely registers
    And it smells like a mix between petrol and dog shit.

    Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
    I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"

    Sometimes it's just enough to know I keep him on his toes.
    Is he as sympathetic as me to the untimely demise of your synthetic clothes?
    I've displayed marriage proposals on the Jumbotrons of ballgames you've not been at,
    I've written eulogies in guestbooks of galleries in the hopes that you might pass

    Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
    I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"

    She; nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door.
    He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr.
    Me; rolling, writing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall.
    When I hold sea shells to my ears, I'm pretty sure I can hear you.

    He gave a gift of the Faber book of love poems,
    Annotated the ones he thought applied the most.
    Not gonna win you round with prose,
    If anyone should know then it's I should know.
    Girl, there must be a reason you let it slip,
    Went to the point of sending the message.
    Six months of visceral catherine wheels,
    Kissing carnivores to make it seem like less of a deal.

    Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back
    I just sighed, the universe replied: "let this pass you by"

    I promise after this I will pick up the phone book
    And choose the name that my eyes fall upon on their first look.
    Aim all of my poorly composed declarations there in the future.
    I'm so sorry to have to put you through a lifetime of dedications
    That you never desired.

    ... But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head...
    I'm a little bit drunk and I mean just a little bit
    No lush in denial, only rather coquettish
    I'm fifteen years old and my parents' only son,
    Like I barely survived a girls' school education.
    Even prettier now that you've grown your hair long,
    I'm a slip of a man since I cut mine all off.

    Please just let me be the one to keep track
    Of the freckles and the moles on your back.

    tommaytoon January 21, 2010   Link
  • 0
    General CommentI love this song, he seems to want to be with her, and not just for a one night stand or something, he wants it to be something long term and meaningful - only someone you were planning to be with for a long time would be keeping track of the moles on your back really. She doesn't want to be with him (and has a boyfriend) so he's apologising for all the things he's dedicated to her that she didn't want, and choosing someone else at random to declare his love to in future, so that he doesn't keep bothering her with it. Sweet, in a sad sort of way.
    hahaheeheehahaon February 01, 2010   Link
  • 0
    My InterpretationThe song is about that feeling of complete and utter desperation and devastation that comes with complete and utter rejection from an unrequited love, one that he's so totally enamored and obsessed with that he wants such an intimate but otherwise menial notion as tracking the moles and freckles on her back. He's realizing it's time to move on, so this becomes something of an confession of his transgression and an apology for the hassle it's caused her.
    grinreaper87on June 06, 2010   Link
  • 0
    General CommentThe man's desire to for his love interest reaches deeper than a fling
    "Just let me be the one that keeps track of the moles on your back"
    As in how some couples would check each other for moles that could prove to be cancerous the author is extending interest in protecting her in even the most simplistic forms.

    Although he is able to come to the realization that his attention is unwanted, the truth is still difficult to accept
    "... But this one sentence bludgeons me over the head...
    I'm a little bit drunk and I mean just a little bit"

    somethinxxrealon August 18, 2010   Link
  • 0
    General CommentCan someone explain these lines to me? Im not completely getting the roles.


    She; nervous and barefoot, chats to me at the front door.
    He; boyfriend, inside's a saint, becoming a martyr.
    Me; rolling, writing on the floor, stared daggers pulled from my thoracic wall.
    DrakelikesNachoson September 15, 2010   Link

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