Post by Ardbeg... innit on Mar 14, 2011 11:34:38 GMT -6
Sirius-XM satellite radio had had a special channel on for the last few days, dedicated to Simon and Garfunkle because its the 40th anniversary of their BOTW album... 40 years, goddamnit Marx Brothers movies are 40 years old, not that album.
Listening to the playlist, I had forgotten how talented Paul Simon was in painting pictures with his lyrics. Even beyond the big hits (Sounds of Silence, The Boxer, BOTW), the "second string" songs like Desultory Conversation, Patterns, A Poem on the Underground Wall, America, all have a quality of lyrics that I feel is missing in the current generation of lyricists.
Listening to the playlist, I had forgotten how talented Paul Simon was in painting pictures with his lyrics. Even beyond the big hits (Sounds of Silence, The Boxer, BOTW), the "second string" songs like Desultory Conversation, Patterns, A Poem on the Underground Wall, America, all have a quality of lyrics that I feel is missing in the current generation of lyricists.
The last train is nearly due,
The underground is closing soon,
And in the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows.
His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
And hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within its silent socket,
He holds a colored crayon.
Now from the tunnel's stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.
And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon rosary
Tighter in his hand.
Now from his pocket quick he flashes,
The crayon on the wall he slashes,
Deep upon the advertising,
A single worded poem comprised
Of four letters.
And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.
The underground is closing soon,
And in the dark deserted station,
Restless in anticipation,
A man waits in the shadows.
His restless eyes leap and scratch,
At all that they can touch or catch,
And hidden deep within his pocket,
Safe within its silent socket,
He holds a colored crayon.
Now from the tunnel's stony womb,
The carriage rides to meet the groom,
And opens wide and welcome doors,
But he hesitates, then withdraws
Deeper in the shadows.
And the train is gone suddenly
On wheels clicking silently
Like a gently tapping litany,
And he holds his crayon rosary
Tighter in his hand.
Now from his pocket quick he flashes,
The crayon on the wall he slashes,
Deep upon the advertising,
A single worded poem comprised
Of four letters.
And his heart is laughing, screaming, pounding
The poem across the tracks rebounding
Shadowed by the exit light
His legs take their ascending flight
To seek the breast of darkness and be suckled by the night.
