byaspringforaspell:

What is this from? Did you scan it? Would be great to know the original source. Awesome find!

talking-to-a-song:

I think the Bill Callahan part is the BEST part…the juxtaposition of his emotionless voice against her ethereal, childlike voice is both heartbreaking and provoking.

I agree!

New group on Facebook “Joanna Newsom ~ News & Discussion” Open to all, please feel free to join up. x

https://www.facebook.com/#!/groups/JoannaNewsomUnofficial/

This is the song for Baby Birch.
I will never know you.
And at the back of what we’ve done,
there is that knowledge of you.

Well I wish we could take every path.
I could spend a hundred years
adoring you.
Yes, I wish we could take every path,
because you know I hated to close
the door on you.

Do you remember staring,
up at the stars,
so far away in their bulletproof cars?
We heard the rushing, slow intake
of the dark, dark water,
and the engine breaks,
and I said,

How about them engine breaks?
And, if I should die before I wake,
will you keep an eye on Baby Birch?
Because I’d hate to see her
make the same mistakes.

When it was dark,
I called and you came.
When it was dark, I saw shapes.
When I see stars, I feel, in your hand,
and I see stars,
and I reel, again.

Well mercy me. I’ll be goddamned.
It’s been a long, long time
since I last saw you.
And I have never known the plan.
It’s been a long, long time.
How are you?
Your eyes are green. Your hair is gold.
Your hair is black. Your eyes are blue.
I closed the ranks, and I doubled back —
but, you know, I hated to close
the doggone door on you.

We take a walk along the dirty lake.
Hear the goose,
cussing at me over her eggs.
You poor little cousin.
I don’t want your dregs
(A little baby fussing over my legs).

There is a blacksmith,
and there is a shepherd,
and there is a butcher-boy,
and there is a barber, who’s cutting
and cutting away at my only joy.
I saw a rabbit,
as slick as a knife,
and as pale as a candlestick,
and I had thought it’d be harder to do,
but I caught her, and skinned her quick:
held her there,
kicking and mewling,
upended, unspooling, unsung and blue;
told her “wherever you go,
little runaway bunny,
I will find you.”
And then she ran,
as they’re liable to do.

Be at peace, baby,
and be gone.
Be at peace, baby,
and be gone.

There grows a weed, looks like a flower
Looks like baby’s breath on a mirror

My girl and I rushed atop the altar
The sacrifice was made
It was not easy undertaking
The roots gripped soft like a living grave

Oh young girl at the wedding
Baby’s breath in her hair
A crowning lace above her face
That will last a day
Before it turns to hay

Good plans are made by hand
I’d cut a clearing in the land
And for a little bed
For her to cry comfortable in

And each day I looked out on the lawn
And I wondered what all was gone
Until I saw it was lucky old me
How could I run without losing anything?
How could I run without becoming lean?
It was agreed, it was agreed
It was me tearing out the baby’s breath

Oh I am a helpless man, so help me
I’m on my knees gardening
It was not a weed, it was a flower
My baby’s gone, oh where has my baby gone?
And she was not a weed, she was a flower

And now I know you must reap what you sow, or sing