Joanna Newsom


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driven through by her own sword
summer died last night, alone
even the ghosts huddle up for warmth
autumn has come to my hometown

friendly voices, dead and gone
singing star of the country down
even the ghosts help raise the barn
here now in my hometown

when out of the (massing apples in the bogs)
in the cold West
flew a waxwing who falls and died against my breast
and all the while, rain, like a weed in the tide, swans and lisps
down on the gossiping lawn, saying, "tsk, tsk, tsk"

i may have changed
it's hard to gauge
time won't account for how i've aged
would i could tie your lying tongue
who says that leaving keeps you young

and i have got no control
over my heart, over my mind
over the hills, the rainclouds roll
i, winter, here wait for a sign

to cast myself out over the water
riven like a wishbone
you'd hardly guess
i was my own mother's daughter
i, a naturally (given alone)
and i lay low when i return
and i move like a gurney whose wheels are squeakin'
alone in a home
and i laugh when you speak
of my pleasure-seekin'

among the tall pines
along the lay-lines
lay away the rune kings
they lie where the moon leans
lie where alone, my violent love lays
down in a row of silent dove-grey days
here in a row of silent dove-grey days

wherever i go, i am snow-bound
by thoughts of him who my runes shine
i love them all, one by one
cannot gain ground
cannot outrun
but time marches along
you can't always stick around
but when the final count is done
i will be in my hometown
i will be in my hometown

Autor(es): Joanna Newsom

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Joanna Newsom en Septiembre