The Men are Called Horsemen There
So you need me to say that I’m sorry
That someone undressed me as professed to me
In Spain with their eyes
Ba dum-bum ba da dum.
I’m sorry ’cause someone told me to watch
And I watched for it all over
Spain with my eyes.
Ba dum-bum ba da dum.
If I’m sorry, then so are you
Cause I, I go where you tell me to.
On horseshoes.
The Casanova ran
Toward the Eastern lands
His cock was in his hand
You got to ride away from him
You gotta ride away from him.
“But if you ride over there
they’ll put bows in your hair
they will stand back and
stare at you to Spain with their eyes.”
Ba dum-bum ba da dum.
It never occurred to me
It never occurred to me
It never occurred to me
That the men are called horsemen there
Oh, the men are called horsemen there
Oh, the men are called horsemen and
I’M NO HORSEMEN!
Oh, the men are called horsemen and
I’M NO HORSEMEN!
Oh, the men are called horsemen and
I’M NO HORSEMEN!
I’M NO HORSEMEN! And you are no angel
I’m no horse and you are no angel.
If I was a horse I would
Rush like a leopard.
If I was a horse I would
Trample the shepherd down.
If I was a horse I’d have
Twigs in my mane.
If I was a horse I would throw up the reins.
If I was you
If I was a horse I would throw up the reins.
If I was you… Oh, oh oh oh oh oh.
If I was a horse I would throw up the reins.
If I was you… Oh, oh oh oh oh oh.
But I am no horse and you are no angel
Oh, oh oh oh oh oh.
I said if I was a horse I would throw up the reins.
If I was you. Oh, oh oh oh oh oh.
Your hand’s in my back
Your hand’s on my muscles
Your weight on my back
It keeps me from trouble
But oh, oh oh oh oh oh
But such weights never did stay
In Madrid, did they
Where someone says, “fuck me” someone else says, “ok.”
You gotta ride me to a pasture
on a ride to kiss all the wings.
Where someone says “fuck me” someone else says, “ok.”
I za kraj zime...
Nightingale/December Song
So let me hammer this point home:
I see us all as lonely fires
that have burned alive as long as we remember.
But like all fireworks and all sunsets,
we all burn in different ways:
You are a fast explosion, and I am the embers.
And though your flames are quick and mean,
they will not last the year,
but expire like a sudden falling star,
that only nightingales had seen,
before migrating to southern jungles.
And in this way you will come find me in December.
He said he’d like to move to Nashville
to master the guitar,
where he would live a single day the way I live a single year.
He covered his body in mud,
went hunting for the sun,
and then went swimming in a lake of holy water.
You are too hot for me.
I am too slow for you.
You are a fast explosion and I am the embers.
You need the one who slowly burns,
and burns to stay alive.
In this way you will come find me in December
So let me hammer this point home:
I see us all as lonely fires
that have burned alive as long as we remember.
But like all sacrificial virgins,
we all burn in different ways:
You are a fast explosion,
and I am the embers.
And though your flames are quick and mean,
they will not last the year,
but expire like a sudden shooting star,
that only nightingales had seen,
before transforming into bluebirds.
And in this way you will come find me in December.
