Вершы:
Decemberists The Picaresque

Four score years Living down in this rain swept town Sea salt tears Swimming round as the rain comes down Mr Postman, do you have a letter for me

Eli, the barrow boy of the old town Sells coal and marigolds and he cries out all down the day Below the tamaracks he is crying Corn cobs and candle wax

Here she comes in her palanquin On the back of an elephant On a bed made of linen and sequins and silk All astride on her father's line With the king

In matching blue raincoats our shoes were our show boats We kicked around From stairway to station we made a sensation With the gadabout crowd And oh

I fell on the playing field, the work of an errant heel The din of the crowd and the loud commotion Went deafening silence and stopped emotion The season

We are two mariners Our ship's sole survivors In this belly of a whale It's ribs our ceiling beams It's guts our carpeting I guess we have some time to

Sixteen military wives Thirty-two softly focused brightly colored eyes Staring at the natural tan Of thirty-two gently clenching wrinkled little hands

On the lam from the law On the steps of the capitol You shot a plainclothes cop on the ten o'clock And I saw momentarily They flashed a photograph

I'm an engine driver On a long run, on a long run Would I work beside her She's a long one, such a long one And if you don't love me let me go And if