The Decemberists - July, July! lyrics
[The Decemberists - July, July! lyrics]
There is a road that meets the road
That goes to my house
And how it green grows there
And we've got special boots
To beat the path to my house
And it's careful
And it's careful when I'm there
And I say your uncle was
A crooked French Canadian
And he was gut-shot running gin
And how his guts were all
Suspended in his fingers and how he held 'em
How he held 'em, held 'em in
And the water rolls down the drain
The water rolls down the drain
Oh, what a lonely thing in a lonely drain
July, July, July it never seemed so strange
July, July, July it never seemed so
It never seemed so strange
This is the story of the road
That goes to my house
And what ghosts there do remain
And all the troughs that run the
Length and breadth of my house
And the chickens
How they rattle chicken chains
And we'll remember this when we
Are old and ancient
Though the specifics might be vague
And I'll say your camisole was
A sprightly light magenta
When in fact it was a nappy bluish grey
And the water rolls down the drain
The blood rolls down the drain
Oh, what a lonely thing in a blood red drain
July, July, July it never seemed so strange
July, July, July it never seemed so
It never seemed so strange
It never seemed so strange
It never seemed so strange
It never seemed so stra-a-a-a-a-ange
That goes to my house
And how it green grows there
And we've got special boots
To beat the path to my house
And it's careful
And it's careful when I'm there
And I say your uncle was
A crooked French Canadian
And he was gut-shot running gin
And how his guts were all
Suspended in his fingers and how he held 'em
How he held 'em, held 'em in
And the water rolls down the drain
The water rolls down the drain
Oh, what a lonely thing in a lonely drain
July, July, July it never seemed so strange
July, July, July it never seemed so
It never seemed so strange
This is the story of the road
That goes to my house
And what ghosts there do remain
And all the troughs that run the
Length and breadth of my house
And the chickens
How they rattle chicken chains
And we'll remember this when we
Are old and ancient
Though the specifics might be vague
And I'll say your camisole was
A sprightly light magenta
When in fact it was a nappy bluish grey
And the water rolls down the drain
The blood rolls down the drain
Oh, what a lonely thing in a blood red drain
July, July, July it never seemed so strange
July, July, July it never seemed so
It never seemed so strange
It never seemed so strange
It never seemed so strange
It never seemed so stra-a-a-a-a-ange