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My heart became a drunken runt
on the day I sunk in this shunt,
to tap me clean
of all the wonder
and the sorrow I have seen,
since I left my home:
My home, on the old Milk Lake,
where the darkness does fall so fast,
it feels like some kind of mistake
(just like they told you it would;
just like the Tulgeywood).
When I came into my land,
I did not understand:
neither dry rot, nor the burn pile,
nor the bark-beetle, nor the dry well,
nor the black bear.
But there is another,
who is a little older.
When I broke my bone,
he carried me up from the riverside.
To spend my life
in spitting-distance
of the love that I have known,
I must stay here, in an endless eventide.
And if you come and see me,
you will upset the order.
You cannot come and see me,
for I set myself apart.
But when you come and see me,
in California,
you cross the border of my heart.
Well, I have sown untidy furrows
across my soul,
but I am still a coward,
content to see my garden grow
so sweet & full
of someone else's flowers.
But sometimes
I can almost feel the power.
Sometimes I am so in love with you
(like a little clock
that trembles on the edge of the hour,
only ever calling out "Cuckoo, cuckoo").
When I called you,
you, little one,
in a bad way,
did you love me?
Do you spite me?
Time will tell if I can be well,
and rise to meet you rightly.
While, moving across my land,
brandishing themselves
like a burning branch,
advance the tallow-colored,
walleyed deer,
quiet as gondoliers,
while I wait all night, for you,
in California,
watching the fox pick off my goldfish
from their sorry, golden state –
and I am no longer
afraid of anything, save
the life that, here, awaits.
I don't belong to anyone.
My heart is heavy as an oil drum.
I don't want to be alone.
My heart is yellow as an ear of corn,
and I have torn my soul apart, from
pulling artlessly with fool commands.
Some nights
I just never go to sleep at all,
and I stand,
shaking in my doorway like a sentinel,
all alone,
bracing like the bow upon a ship,
and fully abandoning
any thought of anywhere
but home,
my home.
Sometimes I can almost feel the power.
And I do love you.
Is it only timing,
that has made it such a dark hour,
only ever chiming out,
"Cuckoo, cuckoo"?
My heart, I wear you down, I know.
Gotta think straight,
keep a clean plate;
keep from wearing down.
If I lose my head,
just where am I going to lay it?
(For it has half-ruined me,
to be hanging around,
here, among the daphne,
blooming out of the big brown;
I am native to it, but I'm overgrown.
I have choked my roots
on the earth, as rich as roe,
here,
down in California.)
on the day I sunk in this shunt,
to tap me clean
of all the wonder
and the sorrow I have seen,
since I left my home:
My home, on the old Milk Lake,
where the darkness does fall so fast,
it feels like some kind of mistake
(just like they told you it would;
just like the Tulgeywood).
When I came into my land,
I did not understand:
neither dry rot, nor the burn pile,
nor the bark-beetle, nor the dry well,
nor the black bear.
But there is another,
who is a little older.
When I broke my bone,
he carried me up from the riverside.
To spend my life
in spitting-distance
of the love that I have known,
I must stay here, in an endless eventide.
And if you come and see me,
you will upset the order.
You cannot come and see me,
for I set myself apart.
But when you come and see me,
in California,
you cross the border of my heart.
Well, I have sown untidy furrows
across my soul,
but I am still a coward,
content to see my garden grow
so sweet & full
of someone else's flowers.
But sometimes
I can almost feel the power.
Sometimes I am so in love with you
(like a little clock
that trembles on the edge of the hour,
only ever calling out "Cuckoo, cuckoo").
When I called you,
you, little one,
in a bad way,
did you love me?
Do you spite me?
Time will tell if I can be well,
and rise to meet you rightly.
While, moving across my land,
brandishing themselves
like a burning branch,
advance the tallow-colored,
walleyed deer,
quiet as gondoliers,
while I wait all night, for you,
in California,
watching the fox pick off my goldfish
from their sorry, golden state –
and I am no longer
afraid of anything, save
the life that, here, awaits.
I don't belong to anyone.
My heart is heavy as an oil drum.
I don't want to be alone.
My heart is yellow as an ear of corn,
and I have torn my soul apart, from
pulling artlessly with fool commands.
Some nights
I just never go to sleep at all,
and I stand,
shaking in my doorway like a sentinel,
all alone,
bracing like the bow upon a ship,
and fully abandoning
any thought of anywhere
but home,
my home.
Sometimes I can almost feel the power.
And I do love you.
Is it only timing,
that has made it such a dark hour,
only ever chiming out,
"Cuckoo, cuckoo"?
My heart, I wear you down, I know.
Gotta think straight,
keep a clean plate;
keep from wearing down.
If I lose my head,
just where am I going to lay it?
(For it has half-ruined me,
to be hanging around,
here, among the daphne,
blooming out of the big brown;
I am native to it, but I'm overgrown.
I have choked my roots
on the earth, as rich as roe,
here,
down in California.)
Lyrics submitted by kitteh, edited by millivanilliscoop
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My heart became a drunken runt
On the day i sunk in this shunt
To tap me clean
Of all the wonder
And the sorrow I have seen
Since I left my home:
My home on the old Milk Lake
Where the darkness does fall so fast
It feels like some kind of mistake
(Just like they told you it would;
just like the Tulgeywood).
When i came into my land
I did not understand:
Neither dry rot, nor the burn pile
Nor the bark-beetle, nor the dry well,
Nor the black bear.
But there is another,
who is a little older
When I broke my bone,
he carried me up from the riverside
To spend my life
in spitting distance,
of the love that I have known,
I must stay here, in an endless eventide.
And if you come and see me
you will upset the order.
You cannot come and see me,
For I set myself apart.
But when you come and see me,
in California
you cross the border of my heart.
Well, I have sown untidy furrows
across my soul,
but I am still a coward,
content to see my garden grow
so sweet & full
of someone else's flowers.
But sometimes
I can almost feel the power.
Sometimes I am so in love with you
(like a little clock
that trembles on the edge of the hour,
only ever calling out "Cuckoo, cuckoo")
When I called you,
you, little one
in a bad way,
did you love me?
Do you spite me?
Time will tell if I can be well,
and rise to meet you rightly.
While, moving across my land,
brandishing themselves
like a burning branch,
advance the tallow-colored,
wall-eyed deer,
quiet as gondoliers,
while I wait all night, for you,
in California,
watching the fox pick off my goldfish
from their sorry, golden state-
and I am no longer afraid
of anything, save
the life that, here, awaits.
I don't belong to anyone.
My heart is heavy as an oil drum.
I don't want to be alone.
My heart is yellow as an ear of corn,
and I have torn my soul apart, from
pulling artlessly with fool commands.
Some nights
I just never go to sleep at all,
and I stand,
shaking in the doorway like a sentinel,
all alone,
bracing like the bow upon a ship,
and fully abandoning
any thought of anywhere
but home,
my home.
Sometimes I can almost feel the power.
And I do love you.
Is it only timing,
that has made it such a dark hour,
only ever chiming out,
"Cuckoo, cuckoo"?
Cu-ckoo, cu-ckoo, koo, ha-a, ha-hour, ha-a, ha-a [x4]
My heart, I wear you down, I know
Gotta think straight,
Keep a clean plate;
keep from wearing down.
If I lose my head
Just where am I going to lay it?
(For it has half-ruined me,
to be hanging around,
here, among the Daphne,
blooming out the big brown;
I am native to it, but I'm overgrown.
I am choked my roots
on the earth, as rich as roe,
here,
down in California)
oh this, this.
i think she fled to a new place not only because she and her lover (temporarily) ended things, but also because she had some things to deal and work through on her own. she wanted to face the issues in her past that made her hesitant to go back to her home. i believe that she does not end up really facing them, as a life in california is the only thing that scares her now.
in this part of the narrative, she turns to drinking in her sorrowful state. although she knows that her former lover was the one that chose to take separate paths, she wants him to come see her in california. in her heart, however, i believe that she knows he does not plan to, and she justifies this by saying that he "cannot come and see [her]." later, she realizes how much she still wants to love him, and she "wait[s] all night" for him to show, even though she knows that he will not.
"...nor the black bear", prevalent in southern california and the state emblem
"...watching the foxes pick off my goldfish from their sorry golden state"
"...my heart is heavy as an oil drum" (california being famous for its oil)
"...my heart is yellow as an ear of corn" (the vast golden fields of corn, after which 'the golden state' was named,as well as it's association with sunshine and goldmining)
This song has really grown on me the last few listens.
"Eventide"
"just like they told you it would
just like the Tugleywood"
"untidy furrows across my soul"
"fool commands"
"(for it has half-ruined me,
to be hanging around,
here among the Daphne
blooming out the big brown
I'm a native to it, but I'm overgrown
On the earth, as rich as roe
here
down in California )"
From the songbook