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Anecdotes
Joanna Newsom Lyrics


Sending the first scouts over
Back from the place beyond the dawn
Horse, bear your broken soldier
Eyes frozen wide at what went on

And time, in our camp, is moving
As you’d anticipate it to
But what is this sample proving?
Anecdotes cannot say what Time may do

I kid with rufous nightjar
When our men are all asleep
It ain’t about how rare you are
But how hard you are to see
Take, you and me

When are you from, said he
In our blind of winter leaves
As we sighted out their fliers
In the grayscale of the night
And fumbled on the bare ground
To bury round landmines
While the dew lay down and dried

We signal private poorwill, when morning starts to loom:
Pull up from your dive
Till we hear the telltale Boom
Too soon
Hotdogging loon, caught there
Like a shard of mirror in the moon

Now they’ve stopped giving orders
But i follow anyway
Laying in our state of torpor
Waiting out the day
While the dew burns away

Rushing, tearing, speeding home
Bound to a wheel that is not my own
Where round every bend I long to see
Temporal infidelity

All along the road, the lights stream by
I want to go where the dew won’t dry
I want to go where the light won’t bend
Far as the eye may reach, nor end

But inasmuch as that light is loaned
And, insofar as we’ve borrowed bones
Must every debt now be repaid
In star-spotted, sickle-winged night raids
While we sing to the garden, and we sing to the stars
And we sing in the meantime
Wherever you are?

In the folds and the branches
Somewhere, out there
I was only just born into open air
Now hush, little babe
You don’t want to be
Down in the trenches
Remembering with me

Where you will not mark my leaving
And you will not hear my parting song
Nor is there cause for grieving
Nor is there cause for carrying on

And daughter, when you are able
Come down and join, the kettle’s on
And your family’s round the table
Will you come down, before the sun is gone?

Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Written by: Joanna Newsom

Lyrics Licensed & Provided by LyricFind
To comment on specific lyrics, highlight them
Most interesting comments from YouTube:

Silly Sr

Sending the first scouts over,
back from the place beyond the dawn:
Horse, bear your broken soldier,
eyes frozen wide at what went on.

And Time, in our camp, is moving
as you’d anticipate it to.
But what is this sample proving?
Anecdotes cannot say what Time may do.

I kid with Rufous Nightjar,
when our men are all asleep:
"It ain’t about how rare you are,
but how hard you are to see.
Take, you and me—"

“When are you from?” said he,
in our blind of winter leaves,
as we sighted out their fliers
in the grayscale of the night
fumbled on the bare ground
to bury round landmines,
while the dew lay down and dried.

We signal Private Poorwill, when morning starts to loom:
“Pull up from your dive!”
till we hear the telltale Boom,
too soon—
hotdogging loon, caught there
like a shard of mirror in the moon!

Now they’ve stopped giving orders,
but I follow anyway,
laying in our state of torpor,
waiting out the day
while the dew burns away.

Rushing, tearing, speeding home:
bound to a wheel that is not my own,
where round every bend I long to see
temporal infidelity.

And all along the road, the lights stream by.
I want to go where the dew won't dry.
I want to go where the light won’t bend—
far as the eye may reach—nor end.

But inasmuch as that light is loaned,
insofar as we’ve borrowed bones,
must every debt now be repaid
in star-spotted, sickle-winged night raids,
while we sing to the garden, and we sing to the stars,
and we sing in the meantime,
wherever you are?

In the folds and the branches,
somewhere, out there,
I was only just born into open air.
Now hush, little babe.
You don’t want to be
down in the trenches,
remembering with me,

where you will not mark my leaving,
and you will not hear my parting song.
Nor is there cause for grieving.
Nor is there cause for carrying on.

—and daughter, when you are able,
come down and join! The kettle's on,
and your family's round the table.
Will you come down, before the sun is gone?



fernando ganddini

Sending the first scouts over,
back from the place beyond the dawn:
Horse, bear your broken soldier,
eyes frozen wide at what went on.

And Time, in our camp, is moving
as you’d anticipate it to.
But what is this sample proving?
Anecdotes cannot say what Time may do.

I kid with Rufous Nightjar,
when our men are all asleep:
"It ain’t about how rare you are, 
but how hard you are to see.
Take, you and me—"

“When are you from?” said he,
in our blind of winter leaves,
as we sighted out their fliers
in the grayscale of the night
fumbled on the bare ground
to bury round landmines,
while the dew lay down and dried.

We signal Private Poorwill, when morning starts to loom:
“Pull up from your dive!”
till we hear the telltale Boom,
too soon—
hotdogging loon, caught there
like a shard of mirror in the moon!

Now they’ve stopped giving orders,
but I follow anyway,
laying in our state of torpor,
waiting out the day
while the dew burns away.

Rushing, tearing, speeding home:
bound to a wheel that is not my own,
where round every bend I long to see
temporal infidelity.

And all along the road, the lights stream by.
I want to go where the dew won't dry.
I want to go where the light won’t bend—
far as the eye may reach—nor end.

But inasmuch as that light is loaned,
insofar as we’ve borrowed bones, 
must every debt now be repaid
in star-spotted, sickle-winged night raids,
while we sing to the garden, and we sing to the stars,
and we sing in the meantime,
wherever you are?

In the folds and the branches,
somewhere, out there,
I was only just born into open air.
Now hush, little babe.
You don’t want to be
down in the trenches,
remembering with me,

where you will not mark my leaving,
and you will not hear my parting song. 
Nor is there cause for grieving.
Nor is there cause for carrying on.

—and daughter, when you are able,
come down and join! The kettle's on,
and your family's round the table. 
Will you come down, before the sun is gone?



ninavioletfan

Sending the first scouts over,
back from the place beyond the dawn:
Horse, bear your broken soldier,
eyes frozen wide at what went on.


And Time, in our camp, is moving
as you’d anticipate it to.
But what is this sample proving?
Anecdotes cannot say what Time may do.

I kid with Rufous Nightjar,
when our men are all asleep:
"It ain’t about how rare you are,
but how hard you are to see.
Take, you and me—"

“When are you from?” said he,
in our blind of winter leaves,
as we sighted out their fliers
in the grayscale of the night
fumbled on the bare ground
to bury round landmines,
while the dew lay down and dried.

We signal Private Poorwill, when morning starts to loom:
“Pull up from your dive!”
till we hear the telltale Boom,
too soon—
hotdogging loon, caught there
like a shard of mirror in the moon!

Now they’ve stopped giving orders,
but I follow anyway,
laying in our state of torpor,
waiting out the day
while the dew burns away.

Rushing, tearing, speeding home:
bound to a wheel that is not my own,
where round every bend I long to see
temporal infidelity.

And all along the road, the lights stream by.
I want to go where the dew won't dry.
I want to go where the light won’t bend—
far as the eye may reach—nor end.

But inasmuch as that light is loaned,
insofar as we’ve borrowed bones,
must every debt now be repaid
in star-spotted, sickle-winged night raids,
while we sing to the garden, and we sing to the stars,
and we sing in the meantime,
wherever you are?

In the folds and the branches,
somewhere, out there,
I was only just born into open air.
Now hush, little babe.
You don’t want to be
down in the trenches,
remembering with me,

where you will not mark my leaving,
and you will not hear my parting song.
Nor is there cause for grieving.
Nor is there cause for carrying on.

—and daughter, when you are able,
come down and join! The kettle's on,
and your family's round the table.
Will you come down, before the sun is gone?



All comments from YouTube:

Kevin Van de Sande

my favorite parts of this song are when she sings "rushing, tearing, speeding home, bound to a wheel that is not my own" and "but inasmuch as that light is loaned, and insofar as we're borrowed bones, must every debt now be repaid?" the way she sings it just really strikes a chord with me

Veronica Proctor

the bit from "rushing, tearing, speeding home" to the end of the song is my favourite section of the entire thing. it's so perfect. also "I wanna go where the dew won't dry" is a Lyric and I go fucking insane

Indran Fernando

I agree, the way the song gets a bit colder and darker there gives me shivers

tobanias tobiasson

This song is one of her best works yet. It really is a quintessential Joanna Newsom song. It is a little bit of everything that makes her great in it. It has the epic feel of the Y's album combined with the more concise song craft of Have One On Me. The climax that begins around the 3:12 mark is so beautiful that it is nearly overwhelming, then when it hits its high mark, she brings it down to the soft ending.

Luc L'Heureux

Flat out fucking genius

Margeaux Chandler

This is one of the most tragically beautiful songs ever made. Joanna Newsom is a genius poet, storyteller, composer, musician and artist.

katelyn evans

It must mean even more to her now that she has a daughter. I know it does for me.

vadim kolomiets

feelings like I went a long way through a magic forest

Simon Brooke

One of the best living musicians

José Luis Núñez Rivera

I agree with you all.

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