decemberists silentbob A cautionary song there's a place your mother goes when everybody else is soundly sleeping through the lights of beacon street and if you listen you can hear her weeping, she's weeping, cause the gentlemen are calling and the snow is softly falling on her petticoats. and she's standing in the harbour and she's waiting for the sailors in the jolly boat. see how they approach with dirty hands and trousers torn they grapple 'til she's safe within their keeping a gag is placed between her lips to keep her sorry tongue from any speaking, or screaming and they row her out to packets where the sailor's sorry racket calls for maidenhead and she's scarce above the gunwales when her clothes fall to a bundle and she's laid in bed on the upper deck and so she goes from ship to ship, her ankles clasped, her arms so rudely pinioned 'til at last she's satisfied the lot of the marina's teeming minions, and their opinions and they tell her not to say a thing to cousin, kindred, kith or kin or she'll end up dead and they throw her thirty dollars and return her to the habor where she goes to bed, and this is how you're fed so be kind to your mother, though she may seem an awful bother, and the next time she tries to feed you collard greens, remember what she does when you're asleep 040603 ... skinny this is the story of your red right ankle and how it came to meet your leg and how the muscle bone and sinews tangle and how the skin was softly shed and how it whispered (oh adhered to me?) for we are bound by semetry whatever differences our lifes have been we together make a limb this is the story of your red right ankle 040603 ... silentbob This is the story of the BOYS who loved you Who love you now and loved you then And some were sweet, some were cold and snuffed you And some just laid around in bed. Some had crumbled you straight to your knees Did it cruel, did it tenderly Some had crawled their way into your heart To rend your ventricles apart This is the story of the boys who loved you This is the story of your red right ankle. 040604 ... silentbob there is a road that meets the road that goes to my house and how it green grows there and we've got special boots to beat the path to my house and it's careful and it's careful when i'm there and i say your uncle was a crooked french canadian and he was gut-shot runnin gin and how his guts were all suspended in his fingers and how he held 'em how he held 'em held, 'em in and the water rolls down the drain, the water rolls down the drain, o what a lonely thing! in a lonely drain! july, july, july! never seemed so strange this is the story of the road that goes to my house and what ghosts there do remain and all the troughs that run the length and breadth of my house and the chickens how they rattle chicken chains and we'll remember this when we are old and ancient though the specifics might be vague and i'll say your camisole was sprightly light magenta when in fact it was a nappy blueish grey and the water rolls down the drain the blood rolls down the drain oh what a lonely thing in a blood red drain july, july, july! it never seemed so strange 040629 ... silentbob there's a wrinkle in the water where we laid our first daughter 060130 what's it to you? who go blather from