Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds - We Call Upon The Author Lyrics






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
And then we call upon the author to explain

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 shook our fists at the punishing rain
And we call upon the author to explain

He said everything is messed up around 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!
Prolix! Prolix! Nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!

Well, I go guruing down the street, young people gather round my feet
Ask me things, but I don'r know where to start
They ignite the power-trail ssstraight to my father's heart
And once again I call upon the author to explain

We 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

Oh rampant discrimination, mass poverty, third world debt, infectious diseease
Global inequality and deepening socio-economic divisions
Well, it does in your brain
And we call upon the author to explain

Now hang on, my friend Doug is tapping on the window (Hey Doug, how you been?)
Brings me back a book on holocaust poetry complete with pictures
Then tells me to get ready for the rain
And we call upon the author to explain

I say prolix! Prolix! Something a pair of scissors can fix

Bukowski was a jerk! Berryman was best!
He wrote like wet papier mache, went the Heming-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
Yeah, we call upon the author to explain

Prolix! Prolix! There's nothing a pair of scissors can't fix!





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Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds We Call Upon The Author Comments
  1. j.... l....

    Bukowski was a jerk...

  2. I.... B....

    PROLIX,PROLIX.....agreed this civilization is a mother fucking joke...dupe dupe dupe.

  3. M.... ....

    is it just me or is this song the best fuck you God song of all time

  4. S.... Y....

    I love the break at 3:59

  5. S.... U....

    This is some funny shit!

  6. N.... N....

    I saw him on this tour

  7. D.... R....

    If you use up all the exclamation marks, there won't be any left for anyone else to use. We'll be stuck in a world where no one can exclaim or get excited. Please ulladubullab, won't you think of the children?

    D.... R....

    I actually own the lyrics to all of Nick Cave's albums (save for the stuff that's on Skeleton Tree) and that is how they're actually typed. Guess Cave was back on heroin or something.

    D.... R....

    Frankly, this song is a huge exclamation mark in itself. It's called artistic liberty with an intention. Heroin... Jesus! Were you joking? Anyway, this is undoubtedly one of Nick Cave's best albums if not the best together with Murder Ballads.

    D.... R....

    Im gonna go ahead and say that using !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!, &tc and mmmmmmmmmmultiple letters in your official lyrics makes you a pillock

  8. B.... B....

    Quite excellent indeed!

  9. P.... R....

    Terrific album!!

    P.... R....

    i agree

  10. G.... S....

    TheRandomn0ise: That's what your father said when you first learned to speak.

  11. d.... ....

    All makes perfect metaphorical sense, for the slightly odway, jilted generation.

  12. d.... ....

    Genius at the least.