Human Of The Year | Far

Hello, hello
Calling a Karl Projectorinski
To the front of the cathedral
You have won, dear sir
May I congratulate you first?

8th Floor | Live at the Crocodile Café

I came in from the rain which
Wasn’t really rain
It was just
January snow in denial
And something must have gotten lost
In the translation
Russian to English
And winter wasn’t wintery today

Baobabs | Begin To Hope (Special Edition)

And I wouldn’t raise my child inside this city anyway
They grow up too savvy and they grow up too fast
And they know about buying shit and they know about sex
And they know about investment banking and also about brokerage firms
And they know about the numbers and they know about the words
And they know about the bottom line and also about stones
And they know about careers and about the real deals
And they all grow up and become people’s people with people skills

Field Below | Live In California 2006

I wish I’d see your face below 
I wish I’d hear you whispering low 
But you don’t live downtown no more 
And everything must come and go 

The Flowers | Soviet Kitsch

The flowers you gave me are rotting and still I refuse to throw them away.
Some of the bulbs never opened quite fully
They might so i’m waiting and staying awake.
Things I have loved i’m allowed to keep
I’ll never know if I go to sleep.

Us | Live In London

We wear our scarves just like a noose
But not ‘cause we want eternal sleep
And though our parts are slightly used
New ones are slave labor you can keep

Lacrimosa | Songs/Mary Ann meets the Gravediggers

We keep on burying our dead
We keep on planting their bones in the ground
But they won’t grow, the sun doesn’t help
The rain doesn’t help

Pavlov’s Daughter | 11:11/Mary Ann meets the Gravediggers

The grave diggers getting stuck in the machine
Picking getting slim, slimmer
I hear them say my name
Regin-ah, regin-ah, regin-a-ah

Yes I’m putting the boulder to my ear
And I still can’t hear
Whadya think I was an amateur
Playin’ with my temperatureturetureture…

20 Years Of Snow | Begin To Hope

But I got to get me out of here 
This place is full of dirty old men 
And the navigators with their mappy maps 
And moldy heads and pissing on sugarcubes

Ain’t No Cover | Live At Bull Moose

It ain’t no cover, it ain’t no style
I shouldn’t bother, he’s eight miles high
But I adore him, and I implore him
Sayin’ I love none other
But this ain’t no style