Lyrics We Call Upon the Author - Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
What
we
once
thought
we
had,
we
didn't
And
what
we
have
now
will
never
be
that
way
again
So
we
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Our
myxomatoid
kids
spraddle
the
streets
We've
shunned
them
from
the
greasy-grind
The
poor
little
things
they
look
so
sad
and
old
As
they
mount
us
from
behind
I
ask
them
to
desist
and
to
refrain!
Then
we
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Well,
rosary
clutched
in
his
hand
He
died
with
tubes
up
his
nose
And
a
cabal
of
angels
with
finger
cymbals
Chanted
his
name
in
code
We
sour
fists
at
the
punishing
rain
And
we
called
upon
the
author
to
explain
He
said,
everything
is
messed
up
round
here
Everything
is
banal
and
jejune
There
is
a
planetary
conspiracy
against
the
likes
of
you
and
me
In
this
idiot
constituency
of
the
moon
Well,
he
knew
exactly
who
to
blame!
And
we
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Prolix!
Prolix!
Nothing
a
pair
of
scissors
can't
fix
Well,
I
go
guruing
down
the
street
And
young
people
gather
round
my
feet
And
they
ask
me
things
– but
I
don't
know
where
to
start
They
ignite
the
powder-trail
straight
to
my
father's
heart
And,
yeah,
once
again
I
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Who
is
this
great
burdensome
slavering
dog-thing
That
mediocres
my
every
thought?
I
feel
like
a
vacuum
cleaner
– a
complete
sucker!
It's
fucked
up
and
he
is
a
fucker
But
what
an
enormous
and
encyclopaedic
brain!
I
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Rampant
discrimination
Mass
poverty,
third
world
debt
Infectious
disease,
global
inequality
And
deepening
socio-economic
divisions
Well,
it
does
in
your
brain
We
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Now
hang
on
My
friend
Doug
is
tapping
on
the
window!
Hey
Doug,
how
you
been?
(hey
Doug)
Well,
he
brings
me
a
book
on
holocaust
poetry
– complete
with
pictures
And
then
he
tells
me
to
get
ready
for
the
rain
And
we
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Prolix!
Prolix!
Something
a
pair
of
scissors
can
fix!
Bukowski
was
a
jerk!
Berryman
was
best!
He
wrote
like
wet
papier
maché
But
he
went
the
Hemming-way
Weirdly
on
wings
and
with
maximum
pain
We
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Down
in
my
bolthole
I
see
they've
published
Another
volume
of
unreconstructed
rubbish
"The
waves,
the
waves
were
soldiers
moving"
Well,
thank
you
– thank
you!
Thank
you
and
again
I
call
upon
the
author
to
explain
Prolix!
Prolix!
Nothing
a
pair
of
scissors
can't
fix
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