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Just Passing Through Lyrics
At ten o'clock is when I rise from my grave,
and cast my eyes over the ideas that I couldn't save,
become regret and break upon me now wave after wave,
bid me remember what I've done.
A strange appeal is in the magazine zodiac,
what inspiration are the women of the dog track,
where there's a wheel and there's a well and there's a big rack,
the perfumed killers from the north,
collect each Saturday to brood and sally forth...
I don't know enough to know not to show it
Or tell it like I know more,
I'm sorry baby, but your roving poet's just a bank balance troubadour,
who can't sing the song anymore.
At ten o'clock is when you open up your apple eyes,
and drink a cup into the one of earth the other skies,
and out your mouth a tiny burst of tiny baby cries
"O where o where o where did you get into to?"
A strange appeals unto a pocket where a body lay,
I saw a dream of such a couple only yesterday,
when the one did leave the other went to war -Enola Gay,
she had a halo, was a heroine,
she had a halo, was a heroine...
Well I know I'm not loathe to show it,
I smile like a bandsaw,
I'm sorry darlin' but your roving poet's just a footloose man-whore,
who can't talk the talk anymore..
We're just passing through
Just passing through
At ten o'clock is when I rise from my grave,
and cast my eyes over the ideas that I couldn't save,
become regret and break upon me now wave after wave,
bid me remember what I done.
When time doesn't tear you pay a fee to make it rip,
the ditch witch, the back hoe, the bobcat, the tip,
soil from the hillock spilling over on that solemn lip,
it covers up the cedar mirror,
do you ever see your weakness any clearer?
We were winding up the road to the site
with the windows down and the cigarettes alight,
singing some rubbish about "my soul's alright",
I didn't know what I could do...
We were winding up the road to the site
with the windows down and the cigarettes alight,
singing some rubbish about "my soul's alright",
I didn't know what I could do...
It's just you and I and some other guy forever passing through
We're just passing through
Like a gall stone
Just passing through
Like a rat through a snake
Just passing through
Like a little rubbish through a rake
Just passing through
The sound you make when you hit the ground
The saddest sound you'll ever make
Ooh...
and cast my eyes over the ideas that I couldn't save,
become regret and break upon me now wave after wave,
bid me remember what I've done.
what inspiration are the women of the dog track,
where there's a wheel and there's a well and there's a big rack,
the perfumed killers from the north,
collect each Saturday to brood and sally forth...
Or tell it like I know more,
I'm sorry baby, but your roving poet's just a bank balance troubadour,
who can't sing the song anymore.
and drink a cup into the one of earth the other skies,
and out your mouth a tiny burst of tiny baby cries
"O where o where o where did you get into to?"
A strange appeals unto a pocket where a body lay,
I saw a dream of such a couple only yesterday,
when the one did leave the other went to war -Enola Gay,
she had a halo, was a heroine,
she had a halo, was a heroine...
I smile like a bandsaw,
I'm sorry darlin' but your roving poet's just a footloose man-whore,
who can't talk the talk anymore..
Just passing through
and cast my eyes over the ideas that I couldn't save,
become regret and break upon me now wave after wave,
bid me remember what I done.
the ditch witch, the back hoe, the bobcat, the tip,
soil from the hillock spilling over on that solemn lip,
it covers up the cedar mirror,
do you ever see your weakness any clearer?
with the windows down and the cigarettes alight,
singing some rubbish about "my soul's alright",
I didn't know what I could do...
We were winding up the road to the site
with the windows down and the cigarettes alight,
singing some rubbish about "my soul's alright",
I didn't know what I could do...
It's just you and I and some other guy forever passing through
Like a gall stone
Just passing through
Like a rat through a snake
Just passing through
Like a little rubbish through a rake
Just passing through
The saddest sound you'll ever make
Song Info
Submitted by
macchimo On Apr 06, 2009
More Augie March
One Crowded Hour
There Is No Such Place
Asleep in Perfection
Pennywhistle
Owen's Lament
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I'm not sure, but I suspect this song is about Oppenheimer or Einstein. Both saw their ideas that they couldn't save and both knew of the Enola Gay. Oppenheimer would've been the only one "winding up the road to the site." And I think that they both thought they didn't "know enough to know not to show it."
There are a lot of lines in this song that my idea doesn't work with, though. Like the "women of the dog track."