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The Dry Eyes Of E H Gombrich

from Pyrrhic Victories (album) by Buzzard Lope

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lyrics

Oh, little Jon, what strangeness is this?
You've gone and you've slipped through my grip.
I don't believe that I know what it means.

Oh, little Jon, it's not real,
So tell me again how it is I should feel,
'Cause I don't believe that I know.

I'm moving my hands in the shape of a song for you.
Where are you now that it's harvest time?

Oh, little Jon, I'm amazed by the paper thin walls,
The passage of time, and your hand on my shoulder.

Oh, little Jon, all my sons bear your name,
They're five hundred in number, all lit with your flame.
I don't believe that I know what they mean.

I'm moving my hands in a curse of the cauldron cold.
Where are you now that it's harvest time?

Oh, little Jon, I'm a three legged stool,
Dancing blindfold among eggs,
You in three, me in two,
But each six, and each dozen you crash into view,
Dancing slow tarantelle, glass arachnid 'gainst blue.

Oh, little Jon, I'm a child now,
And no, I will not sleep:
I will not construct 'round your absence
The cage of a day gone, a week gone,
Lest I grow old in your absence with the dry eyes of E H Gombrich.

Where are you now that it's harvest time?

credits

from Pyrrhic Victories (album), released November 18, 2013
Words by R Illingworth, music by Buzzard Lope

Roger Illingworth - vocals, piano,
Adam Jarvis - double bass
Raphael Saib - drums
with
Rose Malone Illingworth - cello
George Young - saxophones, clarinet
Gill Sandell - toy piano

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Buzzard Lope London

Alternative trio ploughing the raucous and melancholic furrows of Tom Waits and Elliott Smith.

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