Joanna Newsom


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Joanna Newsom:
The Roots si na novinku pozvali Joannu Newsom a Monsters Of Folk - musicserver.cz


Joanna Newsom:
Na novince The Roots se představí Joanna Newsom - muzikus.cz


Joanna Newsom:
Indie folková víla Joanna Newsom vydala dvojhodinový trojalbum - hudba.sk


Joanna Newsom:
Novinka Joanny Newsom vyjde jako trojalbum - musicserver.cz


Joanna Newsom:
Joanna Newsom připravila na únor novou desku - musicserver.cz


Joanna Newsom:
Joanna Newsom potvrdila vydanie nového albumu - muzikus.cz


Animal Collective:
Zverský, ale chutný džem - sme.sk


 

Joanna Newsom

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ako:
Joanna Newsom - Ribbon Bows
Joanna Newsom - Ribbon Bows

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Rok vzniku: 2010
Pesničku videlo 1508 návštevníkov.

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Ribbon Bows

There is a spring, not far from here
The water runs both sweet and clear
Both sweet and clear, and cold
Could crack your bones with veins of gold

I stood, a-wagging, at the tap
Just a-waiting on the lagging, rising sap
I held the cold tin ladle to my lip
At the Shrine of the Thousand Arms
I lowered my eyes to sip

What a beautiful day to catch my drift
Or be caught up in it
You want your love, Love
Come and get your love
I only took it back
Because I thought you didn't

How my ears did ring
At the municipal pound
From that old hangdog
To which I was bound
Curled 'round the bottom rung
Doesn't anybody want you
Well, come on, darling
I could use someone like you around

I am not like you, I ain't from this place
And I do reserve the right
To repeat all my same mistakes
And, in the night, like you
I certainly bite and chew
What I can find and never seem to lose the taste

What a horrible face
I feel me make
For Pete's sake
What you have told me, I cannot erase
Though I keep on saying
And I do believe, it is not too late

All day, you're hassling me with trifles
Black nose of the dog, as cold as a rifle
Indicating, with a nudge
God, no God. God, no God
Sweet, appraising eye of the dog
Blink once if God, twice if no god

My mama may be ashamed of me
With all of my finery
Carrying on
Whooping it up till the early morn
Lost and lorn
Among the madding revelry

Sure, I can pass
Honey, I can pass
Particularly when I start to tip my glass
I'll be a sport and have a go at that old song
Singing unabashed, about “Them city girls,
With their ribbon bows, and their fancy sash”

But, though I get so sad
Could swear the night makes a motion to claim me
Around that second verse
I reckon I've felt worse and still held fast

But, later on, when I am alone
Alone at last
Well I take my god to task
I take my doggone god to task

 
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