Cold brains,
Unmoved,
Untouched,
Unglued
Alone at last
No thoughts,
No mind
To rot
Behind
A trail of disasters
A final the curse
Abandoned hearse
We ride disowned
Corroded to the bone
The fields of green
Are bent, obscene
I lay upon the gravel
A worm of hope
A hangman's rope
Pulls me one way or the other
A final curse
Abandoned hearse
We write this song
Corroded to the bone
A bird of song
Is heard no longer
In the evacuated heavens
The drain is drawn
And drained and gone
And on and on, it doesn't matter
A final the curse
Abandoned hearse
We rock the salt
Corroded to the bone
Beck - Mutations Album Lyrics
Beck - Mutations Lyrics
Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher
Nobodys Fault But My Own
Treated you like a rusty blade
A throwaway from an open grave
Cut you loose from a chain gang
And let you go
And on the day you said it's true
Some love holds, some gets used
Tried to tell you I never knew
It could be so sweet
Who could ever be so cruel,
Blame the devil for the things you do
It's such a selfish way to lose
The way you lose these wasted blues
These wasted blues
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
That it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
When the moon is a counterfeit
Better find the one that fits
Better find the one that lights
The way for you
When the road is full of nails,
Garbage pails and darkened jails
And their tongues
Are full of heartless tales
That drain on you
Who would ever notice you
You fade into a shaded room
It's such a selfish lose
The way you lose these wasted blues
These wasted blues
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault But my own
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own...
A throwaway from an open grave
Cut you loose from a chain gang
And let you go
And on the day you said it's true
Some love holds, some gets used
Tried to tell you I never knew
It could be so sweet
Who could ever be so cruel,
Blame the devil for the things you do
It's such a selfish way to lose
The way you lose these wasted blues
These wasted blues
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
That it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
When the moon is a counterfeit
Better find the one that fits
Better find the one that lights
The way for you
When the road is full of nails,
Garbage pails and darkened jails
And their tongues
Are full of heartless tales
That drain on you
Who would ever notice you
You fade into a shaded room
It's such a selfish lose
The way you lose these wasted blues
These wasted blues
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault But my own
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own
Tell me that it's nobody's fault
Nobody's fault
But my own...
Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher
Lazy Flies
Lazy flies all hovering above
The magistrate, he puts on his gloves
And he looks to the clouds
All pink and disheveled
There must be some blueprints,
Some creed of the devil
Inscribed in our minds
A hideous game
Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris
To harness dead-horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust
Out in the mangroves
The mynah birds cry
In the shadows of sulfur
The trawlers drift by
They're chewing dried meat
House of disrepute
The dust of opiates
And syphilis patients
On brochure vacations
Fear has a glare that traps you
Like searchlights
The puritans stare
Their souls are fluorescent
The skin of a robot
Vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos
Carouse in the parlor
Their hand-grenade eyes
Invalid and blind
Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris
To harness dead-horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust
The magistrate, he puts on his gloves
And he looks to the clouds
All pink and disheveled
There must be some blueprints,
Some creed of the devil
Inscribed in our minds
A hideous game
Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris
To harness dead-horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust
Out in the mangroves
The mynah birds cry
In the shadows of sulfur
The trawlers drift by
They're chewing dried meat
House of disrepute
The dust of opiates
And syphilis patients
On brochure vacations
Fear has a glare that traps you
Like searchlights
The puritans stare
Their souls are fluorescent
The skin of a robot
Vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos
Carouse in the parlor
Their hand-grenade eyes
Invalid and blind
Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris
To harness dead-horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Canceled Check
I hate to do this
But you're a pain in the neck
I thought you knew this
You're handing me a canceled check
You're so helpless
Your girlfriends think you're a saint
I'll give you a quarter
I'll keep my judgements to myself
And I get caught up
In the moonlight
Reaching out for a rotten egg
I don't want to beg
It's crystal clear
Your time is nearly gone
Count your blessings
And do the things that you should
O the has-beens
That never had it so good
Stormy weather
The kids are making a racket
In the wilderness
The wild lives are so mild
And I get caught up
In the moonlight
Reaching out for a rotten egg
I don't wanna beg
It's crystal clear your time is nearly gone
Awe
And I get caught up
In the moonlight
Reaching out for a rotten egg
I don't wanna beg
It's crystal clear your time is nearly gone...
But you're a pain in the neck
I thought you knew this
You're handing me a canceled check
You're so helpless
Your girlfriends think you're a saint
I'll give you a quarter
I'll keep my judgements to myself
And I get caught up
In the moonlight
Reaching out for a rotten egg
I don't want to beg
It's crystal clear
Your time is nearly gone
Count your blessings
And do the things that you should
O the has-beens
That never had it so good
Stormy weather
The kids are making a racket
In the wilderness
The wild lives are so mild
And I get caught up
In the moonlight
Reaching out for a rotten egg
I don't wanna beg
It's crystal clear your time is nearly gone
Awe
And I get caught up
In the moonlight
Reaching out for a rotten egg
I don't wanna beg
It's crystal clear your time is nearly gone...
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
We Live Again
These withered hands
Have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand
And leftover nightmares
Over the hill
A desolate wind
Turns shit to gold
And blows my soul crazy
The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end
O hungry days
The footsteps of fools
Gazing alone
Through sex-painted windows
Dredging the night
Drunk libertines
Stink like a colognes
From the newfangled wasteland
The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end
Love is a plague
In a mix-match parade
Where the castaways look so deranged
When will the children learn
To let their wildernesses burn
And love will be new never cold and vacant
These withered hands have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares
The end
Of the end
We live again
Oh I grow weary of the end
Have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand
And leftover nightmares
Over the hill
A desolate wind
Turns shit to gold
And blows my soul crazy
The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end
O hungry days
The footsteps of fools
Gazing alone
Through sex-painted windows
Dredging the night
Drunk libertines
Stink like a colognes
From the newfangled wasteland
The end
O the end
We live again
O I grow weary of the end
Love is a plague
In a mix-match parade
Where the castaways look so deranged
When will the children learn
To let their wildernesses burn
And love will be new never cold and vacant
These withered hands have dug for a dream
Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares
The end
Of the end
We live again
Oh I grow weary of the end
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Tropicalia
When they beat
On a broken guitar
And on the streets
They reek of tropical charms
The embassies lie in hideous shards
Where tourists snore and decay
When they dance in a reptile blaze
You wear a mask
An equatorial haze
Into the past
A colonial maze
Where there's no more confetti to throw
You didn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waiting in vague hotels
To be evicted
You're out of luck
You're singing funeral songs
To the studs
They're anabolic and bronze
They seem to strut
In their millennial fogs
'til they fall down and deflate
You didn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waiting in vague hotels
To be evicted
Now you've had your fun
Under an air-conditioned sun
It's burned into your eyes
Leaves you plain and left behind
See them eyes and fall
Into the jaws of a pestilent love
You didn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waiting in vague hotels
To be a victim
On a broken guitar
And on the streets
They reek of tropical charms
The embassies lie in hideous shards
Where tourists snore and decay
When they dance in a reptile blaze
You wear a mask
An equatorial haze
Into the past
A colonial maze
Where there's no more confetti to throw
You didn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waiting in vague hotels
To be evicted
You're out of luck
You're singing funeral songs
To the studs
They're anabolic and bronze
They seem to strut
In their millennial fogs
'til they fall down and deflate
You didn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waiting in vague hotels
To be evicted
Now you've had your fun
Under an air-conditioned sun
It's burned into your eyes
Leaves you plain and left behind
See them eyes and fall
Into the jaws of a pestilent love
You didn't know what to say to yourself
Love is a poverty you couldn't sell
Misery waiting in vague hotels
To be a victim
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Dead Melodies
Where will you go
When this day is over
A gambler's purse
Lays on the road
Straight to your door
Snakes have gone crazy tonight
Winding their way out of sight
A laugh, a joke
A sentiment wasted
Seasons of strangers
They've come and gone
Doldrums are pounding,
Cheapskates are clowning this town
Who could disown themselves now
Engineer, slow down this old train
Cinders and chaff
Laugh at the moon
Night birds will cackle
Rotting like apples on trees
Sending their dead melodies... to me
When this day is over
A gambler's purse
Lays on the road
Straight to your door
Snakes have gone crazy tonight
Winding their way out of sight
A laugh, a joke
A sentiment wasted
Seasons of strangers
They've come and gone
Doldrums are pounding,
Cheapskates are clowning this town
Who could disown themselves now
Engineer, slow down this old train
Cinders and chaff
Laugh at the moon
Night birds will cackle
Rotting like apples on trees
Sending their dead melodies... to me
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Bottle Of Blues
F*ckin trees with the pumpkin pie!
I just found me a bottle of blues
Some strange comfort for a soul to soothe
Ain't it hard
Ain't it hard,
To want somebody who doesn't want you
And I've been waiting for a year, a day
Some strange weather must be blowing' my way
Cause I got no mind to go or to stay,
Or be left behind
Holding' hands with an impotent dream
In a brothel of fake energy
Put a nickel in the graveyard machine
I get higher and lower
I get higher and lower
Like a tired soldier
With nothing' to shoot
And nowhere to lose
This bottle of blues
Egos drone
And pose alone
Like black balloons
All banged and blown
On a backwoods river
The infidels shiver
In the stench of belief
I tell my momma I'm a hundred years late
I'm over the rails
And out of the race
And the crippled psalms
Of an age that won't thaw
Are ringing in my ears
Holding' hands with an impotent dream
In a brothel of fake energy
Put a nickel in the graveyard machine
I get higher and lower
I get higher and lower
Like a tired soldier
With nothing' to shoot
And nowhere dreams it's a..
Bottle of blues
I just found me a bottle of blues
Some strange comfort for a soul to soothe
Ain't it hard, ain't it hard,
To want somebody who doesn't want you
Holding' hands with an impotent dream
In a brothel of fake energy
Put a nickel in the graveyard machine
I get higher and lower
I get higher and lower
Like a tired soldier
With nothing' to shoot
And nowhere dreams it's a..
Bottle of blues
Bottle of blues
I just found me a bottle of blues
Some strange comfort for a soul to soothe
Ain't it hard
Ain't it hard,
To want somebody who doesn't want you
And I've been waiting for a year, a day
Some strange weather must be blowing' my way
Cause I got no mind to go or to stay,
Or be left behind
Holding' hands with an impotent dream
In a brothel of fake energy
Put a nickel in the graveyard machine
I get higher and lower
I get higher and lower
Like a tired soldier
With nothing' to shoot
And nowhere to lose
This bottle of blues
Egos drone
And pose alone
Like black balloons
All banged and blown
On a backwoods river
The infidels shiver
In the stench of belief
I tell my momma I'm a hundred years late
I'm over the rails
And out of the race
And the crippled psalms
Of an age that won't thaw
Are ringing in my ears
Holding' hands with an impotent dream
In a brothel of fake energy
Put a nickel in the graveyard machine
I get higher and lower
I get higher and lower
Like a tired soldier
With nothing' to shoot
And nowhere dreams it's a..
Bottle of blues
I just found me a bottle of blues
Some strange comfort for a soul to soothe
Ain't it hard, ain't it hard,
To want somebody who doesn't want you
Holding' hands with an impotent dream
In a brothel of fake energy
Put a nickel in the graveyard machine
I get higher and lower
I get higher and lower
Like a tired soldier
With nothing' to shoot
And nowhere dreams it's a..
Bottle of blues
Bottle of blues
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
O Maria
There was no one nothing to see
The night is useless and so are we
Cause everybody knows
The fabric of folly
Is fallen apart at the seams
And I've been looking' for a good time
But the pleasures are seldom and few
There's no whiskey there's no wine
Just the concrete and a worried mind
Cuz everyone knows death creeps in slow
'Til you feel safe in his arms
And I've been looking' for a new friend
And I don't care if he's decrepit and gray
O Maria haven't you known
Days so careless
All on your own
Everybody knows the circus is closed
And the animals have gone wild
And I've been looking' for my shadow
But this place is so bright and so clean
There was no one nothing to see
The night is useless and so are we
Cause everybody knows
The fabric of folly
Is fallen apart at the seams
And I've been looking' for a good time
But the pleasures are seldom and few
The night is useless and so are we
Cause everybody knows
The fabric of folly
Is fallen apart at the seams
And I've been looking' for a good time
But the pleasures are seldom and few
There's no whiskey there's no wine
Just the concrete and a worried mind
Cuz everyone knows death creeps in slow
'Til you feel safe in his arms
And I've been looking' for a new friend
And I don't care if he's decrepit and gray
O Maria haven't you known
Days so careless
All on your own
Everybody knows the circus is closed
And the animals have gone wild
And I've been looking' for my shadow
But this place is so bright and so clean
There was no one nothing to see
The night is useless and so are we
Cause everybody knows
The fabric of folly
Is fallen apart at the seams
And I've been looking' for a good time
But the pleasures are seldom and few
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Sing It Again
A town of disrespect
The trains are wrecked
The night is younger then us
Nowhere is anywhere else
You keep to yourself
Stirring the dregs where I have laid
The exit signs are flashing
Dead ends they won't come to life anymore
I pledge the rest
I should have guessed
Your love was hanging by threads
Tongues tied under the moon,
My love is a room of broken bottles
And tangled webs
The misers wind their minds
Like clocks that grind their gears
On and on
And if it's meant
Some accident
Some coincidence
Crumbs fall out of the sky
When you wander by
The dust clouds blow
Nobody's home
Oh won't you lay my bags
Upon on the funeral fire and sing it again
Oh won't you lay my bags
Upon on the funeral fire and sing it again
The trains are wrecked
The night is younger then us
Nowhere is anywhere else
You keep to yourself
Stirring the dregs where I have laid
The exit signs are flashing
Dead ends they won't come to life anymore
I pledge the rest
I should have guessed
Your love was hanging by threads
Tongues tied under the moon,
My love is a room of broken bottles
And tangled webs
The misers wind their minds
Like clocks that grind their gears
On and on
And if it's meant
Some accident
Some coincidence
Crumbs fall out of the sky
When you wander by
The dust clouds blow
Nobody's home
Oh won't you lay my bags
Upon on the funeral fire and sing it again
Oh won't you lay my bags
Upon on the funeral fire and sing it again
Writer: Beck Hansen
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Copyright: Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
Static
It's so easy to laugh at yourself
And all those jokes
Have already been written
Seems like another vain attempt
To let yourself fall out of the oven
Holy mountains
They look so tired
And it's a perfect day
To lock yourself inside
Who you fooling' with the fools are right
It's the same thing
But it's almost as different
Hard to tell when it pacifies your mind
Leaves you stranded with a broken engine
Lazy desert looks so mangled
Let me drown in a convalescent bliss
Get up from your bed of rest
Been a long time since you've lived
But the static in your mind
Leaves you hollow and unkind
With a shock electric wave
Turns you on
You've been flunked out
Of the devils house
Delinquent hygienes are so abrasive
Some distortion that's never been known
On the treadmill
You've been running' forever
Holy mountains, they look so tired
And it's a perfect day
To lock yourself inside
Be gone
And all those jokes
Have already been written
Seems like another vain attempt
To let yourself fall out of the oven
Holy mountains
They look so tired
And it's a perfect day
To lock yourself inside
Who you fooling' with the fools are right
It's the same thing
But it's almost as different
Hard to tell when it pacifies your mind
Leaves you stranded with a broken engine
Lazy desert looks so mangled
Let me drown in a convalescent bliss
Get up from your bed of rest
Been a long time since you've lived
But the static in your mind
Leaves you hollow and unkind
With a shock electric wave
Turns you on
You've been flunked out
Of the devils house
Delinquent hygienes are so abrasive
Some distortion that's never been known
On the treadmill
You've been running' forever
Holy mountains, they look so tired
And it's a perfect day
To lock yourself inside
Be gone
Copyright: Lyrics © Original Writer and Publisher
Mutations is the sixth studio album by the American songwriter Beck, released on November 3, 1998, by DGC Records. Though less commercially successful than the preceding Odelay, it won a Grammy Award for Best Alternative Music Album.
The record's front cover, a picture of Beck tangled in plastic wrap, was taken by the music photographer Autumn de Wilde. Art direction was by designer Robert Fisher. The interior artwork features sculptures and drawings by artist Tim Hawkinson.
Performed By:
BeckThe record's front cover, a picture of Beck tangled in plastic wrap, was taken by the music photographer Autumn de Wilde. Art direction was by designer Robert Fisher. The interior artwork features sculptures and drawings by artist Tim Hawkinson.
Genre(s): Folk rock, psychedelic rock, country, neo-psychedelia
Producer(s): Beck Hansen, Nigel Godrich
Length: 49:17
Released: November 3rd, 1998
Year: 1998