Song information On this page you can find the lyrics of the song Emily, artist - Joanna Newsom. Album song Ys, in the genre Иностранная авторская песня
Date of issue: 13.11.2006
Record label: Drag City
Song language: English
Emily |
The meadowlark and the chim-choo-ree and the sparrow |
Set to the sky in a flying spree, for the sport of the pharaoh |
Little while later the Pharisees dragged a comb through the meadow |
Do you remember what they called up to you and me, in our window? |
There is a rusty light on the pines tonight |
Sun pouring wine, lord, or marrow |
Down into the bones of the birches |
And the spires of the churches |
Jutting out from the shadows |
The yoke, and the axe, and the old smokestacks and the bale and the barrow |
And everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope |
In the mouth of the south below |
We’ve seen those mountains kneeling, felten and grey |
We thought our very hearts would up and melt away |
From that snow in the nighttime |
Just going |
And going |
And the stirring of wind chimes |
In the morning |
In the morning |
Helps me find my way back in |
From the place where I have been |
And, Emily — I saw you last night by the river |
I dreamed you were skipping little stones across the surface of the water |
Frowning at the angle where they were lost, and slipped under forever |
In a mud-cloud, mica-spangled, like the sky’d been breathing on a mirror |
Anyhow — I sat by your side, by the water |
You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger |
Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December |
I promised you I’d set them to verse so I’d always remember |
That the meteorite is a source of the light |
And the meteor’s just what we see |
And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid |
Of the fire that propelled it to thee |
And the meteorite’s just what causes the light |
And the meteor’s how it’s perceived |
And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void |
That lies quiet and offering to thee |
You came and lay a cold compress upon the mess I’m in |
Threw the windows wide and cried, «Amen! |
Amen! |
Amen!» |
The whole world stopped to hear you hollering |
You looked down and saw now what was happening |
The lines are fading in my kingdom |
(Though I have never known the way to border them in) |
So the muddy mouths of baboons and sows and the grouse and the horse and the hen |
Grope at the gate of the looming lake that was once a tidy pen |
And the mail is late and the great estates are not lit from within |
The talk in town’s becoming downright sickening |
In due time we will see the far buttes lit by a flare |
I’ve seen your bravery, and I will follow you there |
And row through the nighttime |
So healthy |
Gone healthy all of a sudden |
In search of a midwife |
Who can help me |
Who can help me |
Help me find my way back in |
And there are worries where I’ve been |
And say, say, say in the lee of the bay; |
don’t be bothered |
Leave your troubles here where the tugboats shear the water from the water |
(Flanked by furrows, curling back, like a match held up to a newspaper) |
Emily, they’ll follow your lead by the letter |
And I make this claim, and I’m not ashamed to say I know you better |
What they’ve seen is just a beam of your sun that banishes winter |
Let us go! |
Though we know it’s a hopeless endeavor |
The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined and hold us close forever |
Though there is nothing would help me come to grips with a sky that is gaping |
and yawning |
There is a song I woke with on my lips as you sailed your great ship towards |
the morning |
Come on home, the poppies are all grown knee-deep by now |
Blossoms all have fallen, and the pollen ruins the plow |
Peonies nod in the breeze and while they wetly bow |
With hydrocephalitic listlessness ants mop up their brow |
And everything with wings is restless, aimless, drunk and dour |
The butterflies and birds collide at hot, ungodly hours |
And my clay-colored motherlessness rangily reclines |
Come on home, now! |
All my bones are dolorous with vines |
Pa pointed out to me, for the hundredth time tonight |
The way the ladle leads to a dirt-red bullet of light |
Squint skyward and listen |
Loving him, we move within his borders |
Just asterisms in the stars' set order |
We could stand for a century |
Staring |
With our heads cocked |
In the broad daylight at this thing |
Joy landlocked in bodies that don’t keep |
Dumbstruck with the sweetness of being, till we don’t be |
Told: take this |
Eat this |
Told: the meteorite is a source of the light |
And the meteor’s just what we see |
And the meteoroid is a stone that’s devoid |
Of the fire that propelled it to thee |
And the meteorite’s just what causes the light |
And the meteor’s how it’s perceived |
And the meteoroid’s a bone thrown from the void |
That lies quiet and offering to thee |