Provisionally 'I' practically alive
Mistook signs for signified
And so since I’ve often tried
To run them off a cliff like
Gadarene swine
and tied my thought-ropes in anchor bends
wondering whether we were
someone better then,
or maybe just better able to pretend
(and what better means to our inevitable end!)
Bear: No, I don't know if I know
though some, with certainty insist
'no certainty exists'
well I'm certain enough of this: in the past 14 years, there's only one girl I've kissed
In the blistering heat of the Asbury pier
we sat quiet as monks on the Ferris wheel
Until looking down at the waltzer
and out at the sea
I asked her, “did it ever have that recurring fantasy
where you push little kids
from the tops of the ride?”
she shook her head no
I said “oh, neither do I”
and with my grandmother's ring
I went down on one knee
and the subsequent catastrophe
has since haunted me
like a fiberglass ghost in the attic
my inconveniently selective memory
as provisionally 'You' mercifully
withdrew all the
bearing points we thought we knew
Day's run, days set plot
our compass shot
we sailed waywardly on
singing out midnight archer songs
until well past dawn
it's still dark in the deck of our boat
haphazardly blown broken bows
our aimless arrow-words
don't mean a thing
so by now I think
it's pretty obvious that there's no God
and there's definitely a God!
Fox: I dreamt of the rocks at the Asbury dunes,
and that you jumped from the top
of the Log Flume,
and they gather like wolves
on the boardwalk below
and they're howling for answers
no wolf can know
I charged at the waves
With a glass in my hand
I was tossed like a ball
at the bottle stand
and landed beside your
remains on the stones
where you cold fingers
wrapped around my ankle bone
while maybe ten feet away was a star
thousands of times the size of our sun
exploding like the tiny balloons
you'd throw darts at
Bear: I slept until our chest was full
of yarn we spun from Shetland wool
in socks from where the Dorset grows
sheared and scoured hours before
the rooster crows
Fox: the price of German silver fell
threw this disused thalers
down the superstition well
Corrections from lyric booklet
Provisionally 'I' practically alive Mistook signs for signified And so since I’ve often tried To run them off a cliff like Gadarene swine and tied my thought-ropes in anchor bends wondering whether we were someone better then, or maybe just better able to pretend (and what better means to our inevitable end!) Bear: No, I don't know if I know though some, with certainty insist 'no certainty exists' well I'm certain enough of this: in the past 14 years, there's only one girl I've kissed In the blistering heat of the Asbury pier we sat quiet as monks on the Ferris wheel Until looking down at the waltzer and out at the sea I asked her, “did it ever have that recurring fantasy where you push little kids from the tops of the ride?” she shook her head no I said “oh, neither do I” and with my grandmother's ring I went down on one knee and the subsequent catastrophe has since haunted me like a fiberglass ghost in the attic my inconveniently selective memory as provisionally 'You' mercifully withdrew all the bearing points we thought we knew Day's run, days set plot our compass shot
we sailed waywardly on singing out midnight archer songs until well past dawn it's still dark in the deck of our boat haphazardly blown broken bows our aimless arrow-words don't mean a thing so by now I think it's pretty obvious that there's no God and there's definitely a God!
Fox: I dreamt of the rocks at the Asbury dunes, and that you jumped from the top of the Log Flume, and they gather like wolves on the boardwalk below and they're howling for answers no wolf can know
I charged at the waves With a glass in my hand I was tossed like a ball at the bottle stand and landed beside your remains on the stones where you cold fingers wrapped around my ankle bone while maybe ten feet away was a star thousands of times the size of our sun exploding like the tiny balloons you'd throw darts at
Bear: I slept until our chest was full of yarn we spun from Shetland wool in socks from where the Dorset grows sheared and scoured hours before the rooster crows
Fox: the price of German silver fell threw this disused thalers down the superstition well
Thanks man
Thanks man