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Driven through by her own sword
Summer died last night, alone
Even the ghosts huddled up for warmth
Autumn has come to my hometown
Friendly voices, dead and gone
Singing, Star of the country down
(Even the ghosts help raise the barn
Here now in my hometown)
When out of the massing
that bodes and bides,In the cold West
Flew a waxwing who froze and died against my breast
And all the while, rain, like a weed in the tide, swans and lisps
Down on the gossiping lawns, saying, "tsk, tsk, tsk"
I may have changed
It's hard to gauge
Time won't account for how I've aged
Would I could tie your lying tongue
Who says that leaving keeps you young
And I have got no control
Over my heart, over my mind
Over the hills, the rainclouds roll
I'll winter here, wait for a sign
To cast myself out over the water
Riven like a wishbone
You'd hardly guess
I was my own mother's daughter
I ain't naturally given to roam.
And I lay low when I return
And I move like a gurney whose wheels are squeaking
Alone in a home
And I laugh when you speak
Of my pleasure-seekin'
Among the tall pines
Along the ley lines
Here, where the loon keens.
There, where the moon leans
where I know my violent love lays down,
in a row of silent dove-grey days
Here in a row of silent dove-grey days
Wherever I go, I am snow-bound
By thoughts of him whom I would shun
I love them all, one by one
Cannot gain ground
Cannot outrun
But time marches along
You can't always stick around
But when the final count is done
I will be in my hometown
I will be in my hometown
Summer died last night, alone
Even the ghosts huddled up for warmth
Autumn has come to my hometown
Friendly voices, dead and gone
Singing, Star of the country down
(Even the ghosts help raise the barn
Here now in my hometown)
When out of the massing
that bodes and bides,In the cold West
Flew a waxwing who froze and died against my breast
And all the while, rain, like a weed in the tide, swans and lisps
Down on the gossiping lawns, saying, "tsk, tsk, tsk"
I may have changed
It's hard to gauge
Time won't account for how I've aged
Would I could tie your lying tongue
Who says that leaving keeps you young
And I have got no control
Over my heart, over my mind
Over the hills, the rainclouds roll
I'll winter here, wait for a sign
To cast myself out over the water
Riven like a wishbone
You'd hardly guess
I was my own mother's daughter
I ain't naturally given to roam.
And I lay low when I return
And I move like a gurney whose wheels are squeaking
Alone in a home
And I laugh when you speak
Of my pleasure-seekin'
Among the tall pines
Along the ley lines
Here, where the loon keens.
There, where the moon leans
where I know my violent love lays down,
in a row of silent dove-grey days
Here in a row of silent dove-grey days
Wherever I go, I am snow-bound
By thoughts of him whom I would shun
I love them all, one by one
Cannot gain ground
Cannot outrun
But time marches along
You can't always stick around
But when the final count is done
I will be in my hometown
I will be in my hometown
Lyrics submitted by kitteh, edited by chrisbo1c7, forsqueak
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Driven through by her own sword
Summer died last night, alone.
Even the ghosts
huddle up for warmth.
Autumn has come to my hometown
Friendly voices, dead and gone,
singing, Star of the country down...
(even the ghosts help raise the barn,
here, now, in my hometown)
-when, out of the massing
that bodes and bides, in the cold west,
flew a waxwing, who froze
and died against my breast!
And all the while, rain,
like a weed in the tide,
swans and lists, down
on the gossiping lawn,
saying, "tsk, tsk, tsk".
I may have changed. It's hard to gauge.
Time won't account for how I've aged.
Would I could tie your lying tongue,
who says that leaving keeps you young.
I have got no control
over my heart, over my mind.
Over the hills, the rainclouds roll.
I'll winter here, wait for a sign.
To cast myself
out, over the water,
riven like a wishbone.
You'd hardly guess
I was my own mother's daughter;
I ain't naturally given to roam.
I lay low, when I return,
and I move
like a gurney
whose wheels are squeaking,
alone, here in my home,
and I laugh,
when you speak of my
pleasure-seeking
among the tall pines,
along the lay-lines.
Here, where the loon keens.
There, where the moon leans.
There,
where I know my violent love lays down,
in a row of silent, dove-gray days.
Here, in a row of silent, dove-gray days.
Wherever I go, I am snowbound
by thoughts of him
whom I would sun.
I loved them all,
one by one.
Cannot gain ground,
cannot outrun;
but time marches along.
You can't always stick around.
But, when the final count is done,
I will be in my hometown.
I will be in my hometown.
She's consistent in stating that she is not a roamer and finds touring and world-travel unlike her.
She'd prefer to stay in her home, collecting antiques, playing harp and sleeping into the evening.
I remember an early interview with JN in 2004 when she said that if the music didn't work out her dream job would be somewhere close to her hometown in a doo-dad or antique shoppe.
I believe when you begin interacting with other people (in this situation, romantically) people drum up ideas of you. "I laugh when you speak of my pleasure-seeking ways." Many people who come into contact with you may think you are something different than you are. Oh, so you are a harpist/songwriter who tours the world. You must love that. But, I don't think it's that cut and dry.
She loves making music and sharing it, I guess. But I think people can begin to mistake you for seeking out that sort of gypsy life for yourself and bending you into a caricature. Later, in 'Ribbon Bows' she specifies that she is not like that - but she can pass. Honey, she sure can pass.
That's all I think 'Autumn' is about, really. Tho I do think it's a bit of an elegy of sorts.
This verse says it best:
I may have changed. It's hard to gauge.
Time won't account for how I've aged.
Would I could tie your lying tongue,
who says that leaving keeps you young.
spiders, birch, bones, and birds.. lovely lovely lovely
singing, Star of the country down." as Down is actually a county in Ireland. But apparently you can say star of the country down aswell
I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane
Joanna has talked about being a big Nabokov fan in several interviews, so I don't think it's too big of a stretch to say this (plus the whole "bird flies into window" section of "Only Skin") might be related to the book.
i'm going to stick with the interpretation of the album as one whole story, and assume that it's the same narrator telling this one, and not joanna. her description of her hometown shows that she perceives it as both a dismal ghost-town and strangely beautiful at once. she reminisces about her relationship: “would I could tie your lying tongue...”
this is also one of two songs in the album in which the narrator stresses how unlike her mother she is. perhaps this is why being home makes her uncomfortable. as seen in “ribbon bows”, her mother does not approve of her and her life choices.