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Thread: Lyrics That Matter

  1. #81
    Senior Member jimistephen's Avatar
    Join Date
    Aug 2013
    Location
    Rogers Ar
    Posts
    395
    I think Corey Taylor is the best song writer in my generation. I'd have to admit that I've never listen to a slipknot song start to finish, but once I got in to orange amps and then Jim Root, and then stone sour I was blown away by some of the things he says.

    You were my fire
    So I burned
    Til' there was nothing left of me

    I, I touched your face
    I held you close
    Til' I could barely breathe

    Why give me hope
    then give me up
    Just to be the death of me
    Save the rest of me

    Cause I see you
    But I can't feel you anymore
    So go away...

    I need you
    But I can't need you anymore
    You hesitate

    Now, now and then
    You come around
    Like there's something left for me

    We were one,
    Ooh, we were everything
    I'm still here
    But I'll just keep the rest of me

    Cause I see you
    But I can't feel you anymore,
    So go away...

    I need you,
    But I can't need you anymore
    You hesitate

    Ooh, we never made it...
    You hesitated.

    Ooh, I don't believe
    That I see you
    But I can't feel you anymore,
    So go away...

    I need you,
    But I can't need you anymore
    You hesitate

    Cause I see you
    But I can't feel you anymore
    So go away...

    I need you,
    But I can't need you anymore
    You hesitate
    Hesitate

    You were my fire
    So I burned
    Now there's nothing left of me...

  2. #82
    Senior Member jfb's Avatar
    Join Date
    Dec 2012
    Location
    Creve Coeur, MO
    Posts
    6,041
    I have ranted and raved about Martin Simpson everywhere, but not yet in this thread...so...

    Here's my favorite Simpson tune. I remember vividly the first time I heard it. How I thought I understood it's greatness immediately only to receive a blow to astonishingly simple. When the verse I have bolded was sung I was wrecked. I have never in my life been slapped so hard.

    Martin Simpson - Never Any Good

    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job,
    Not steady enough for the office,
    Not hard enough for the hod.
    You'd rather be riding your Norton
    Or going fishing with your split cane rod.
    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job.

    When your grammar school days were over,
    It was nineteen-seventeen,
    And you did the right and proper thing.
    You were just eighteen.
    You were never mentioned in dispatches.
    You never mentioned what you did or saw.
    You were just another keen young man
    In the mud and stink of war.

    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job,
    Not steady enough for the office,
    Not hard enough for the hod.
    You'd rather be singing the Pirate King,
    Or going fishing with your split cane rod.
    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job.

    You came home from the Great War
    With the pips of a captain's rank.
    A German officer's Luger,
    And no money in the bank.
    Your family sent you down in the coal mine
    To learn to be captain there,
    But you didn't stand it very long.
    You needed the light and the air.

    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job,
    Not steady enough for the office,
    Not hard enough for the hod.
    You'd rather be watching performers fly
    Or fishing with your split cane rod.
    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job.

    When the second war came along,
    You knew what should be done.
    You would re-enlist to teach young men
    The booby trap and the gun;
    And they sent you home to Yorkshire,
    With a crew and a Lewis gun,
    So you could save your seaside town
    From the bombers of the Hun.

    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job,
    Not steady enough for the office,
    Not hard enough for the hod.
    You'd rather be finding the nightjar's nest,
    Going fishing with your split cane rod.
    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job.

    And when my mother came to your door,
    With a baby in her arm,
    Her big hurt boy only nine years old,
    Trying to keep her from harm,
    If you had been a practical man,
    You would have been forewarned.
    You would have seen that it never could work,
    And I would have never been born.

    There's no proper work in your seaside town,
    So you come here looking for a job.
    You were storeman at the power station
    Just before I came along.
    Nobody talked about how you quit,
    But I know that's what you did.
    My mother said you were a selfish man,
    And I was your selfish kid.

    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job,
    Not steady enough for the office,
    Not hard enough for the hod;
    And your Norton it was soon gone
    Along with your split cane rod.
    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job.

    You showed me eyebright in the hedgerow,
    Speedwell and travellers joy.
    You showed me how to use my eyes
    When I was just a boy;
    And you taught me how to love a song
    And all you knew of nature's ways:
    The greatest gifts I have ever known,
    And I use them every day.


    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job,
    Not steady enough for the office, maybe,
    Not hard enough for the hod.
    You'd rather be riding your Norton
    Or going fishing with your split cane rod.
    You were never any good with money.
    You couldn't even hold a job.
    Plank Owner

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