Buck 65 - Riverbed 2 lyrics
[Buck 65 - Riverbed 2 lyrics]
The river it'self feeds on souls
The suicides
The ones who let go of the controls
Like the woman whose beauty
They couldn't replace
The morgue even made a plaster
Cast of her face
There's at least one a week
More women than men
For some reason or other
It changes by season
It sometimes has nightmares
Which truly is frightening
When the sky becomes filled
With bouquets of lightening
Raindrops seeping into the letter
Box while I'm sleeping
Makes it seem like those who
Wrote me were weeping
The river's emotional with waves
Made of mercury
Sometimes brutal, sometimes nurturing
It rocks me to sleep
With oscillations of anguish
It whispers it's secrets but
In it's own language
It leaves me to languish
It breaks all of my promises
It threatens my premises
It's my friend and my nemesis
My houseboat is well suited for finer affairs
I think, it just needs a few minor repairs
It's like a lawnchair chapel
To make an analogy
Moss at the waterline, skirted with algae
Held together with the help of
Nothing other than trust
The chimney and water tank
Is covered with rust shutters cover windows
Some of which are stained glass
All the way around the deck is
A railing of plain brass
Unpolished and pretty, Norweigan design
From the front there's a
Clothes line reaching behind
To the back where the anchor
And gang plank hang out
There's a chance you might see two or three
Pairs of pants waving in the wind
The inside is wooden, by
Every means reinforced
All around by heavy beams
Low ceilings and oil lamps
Candles and incense
A great big bed that would
Be fit for a princess
Pot bellied stove, transistor radio
Roll top desk, this is the way to go
A person can dream here
And write with impunity
The sunlight is proper
There is endless opportunity
The views are inspiring, bare and chameleon
Reflections and shadows play on the ceiling
Troubles are handled with propriety
And no delay all I have to do is draw
The anchor up and float away
The suicides
The ones who let go of the controls
Like the woman whose beauty
They couldn't replace
The morgue even made a plaster
Cast of her face
There's at least one a week
More women than men
For some reason or other
It changes by season
It sometimes has nightmares
Which truly is frightening
When the sky becomes filled
With bouquets of lightening
Raindrops seeping into the letter
Box while I'm sleeping
Makes it seem like those who
Wrote me were weeping
The river's emotional with waves
Made of mercury
Sometimes brutal, sometimes nurturing
It rocks me to sleep
With oscillations of anguish
It whispers it's secrets but
In it's own language
It leaves me to languish
It breaks all of my promises
It threatens my premises
It's my friend and my nemesis
My houseboat is well suited for finer affairs
I think, it just needs a few minor repairs
It's like a lawnchair chapel
To make an analogy
Moss at the waterline, skirted with algae
Held together with the help of
Nothing other than trust
The chimney and water tank
Is covered with rust shutters cover windows
Some of which are stained glass
All the way around the deck is
A railing of plain brass
Unpolished and pretty, Norweigan design
From the front there's a
Clothes line reaching behind
To the back where the anchor
And gang plank hang out
There's a chance you might see two or three
Pairs of pants waving in the wind
The inside is wooden, by
Every means reinforced
All around by heavy beams
Low ceilings and oil lamps
Candles and incense
A great big bed that would
Be fit for a princess
Pot bellied stove, transistor radio
Roll top desk, this is the way to go
A person can dream here
And write with impunity
The sunlight is proper
There is endless opportunity
The views are inspiring, bare and chameleon
Reflections and shadows play on the ceiling
Troubles are handled with propriety
And no delay all I have to do is draw
The anchor up and float away