Up in the city, they're all safe with their troubles, with art on their minds. Up in the city, they're telling each other how they're beyond redemption, in the comfort of a neon Budweiser sign. Up in the city, they're telling each other how there ain't no hope, in the comfort of a Gotye tune. Up in the city, they're writing sonnets and things of such, telling each other and the others how hard it is to be them.
And down in the river, I'm in trouble; here no man can rescue me.
Up in the city, they're shrieking in delight at the next song - careful not to forget to tell the rest of the world, every ear to hear, how terrible life is.
And down in the river, I'm fighting the tide.
Up in the city, they're warm in coats made in far away places, wearing smiles custom-made from above - careful not to forget to furrow in pain for a picture.
And down in the river, my ship has been dashed to pieces and I'm cussing, I'm asking forgiveness, and cussing some more.
And I wish I had a heathen crew to throw me overboard when they find out I'm the reason we're going down. And I wish for a giant fish to swallow me up. I remember Jonah and I might as well have seen it with my own eyes, I believe it so hard.
Up in the city, they're telling each other why my love could never be. They're telling each other and the others how it begins in ooze and ends in waste, why there ain't nobody who's guilty and why there ain't nobody can be made innocent. Up in the city, they're unaware of my drowning, beneath them somewhere, where no man, no woman, no guitar riff, no wit can rescue me.
And I thought I saw the lights of the city above me go out; but it was just the murky depths taking it away from me. And I thought I saw Leviathan, coming at me with them fiery eyes; but it was just some weird thing that happens to your head when you lose your breath.
But I looked up, and I saw the Lord Jesus' feet. And it was so strange; I was drowning and terrified, but my mind, though short-circuiting with no air, still found time to revel in the thought that up there in the city somewhere, they were reveling in the thought of Him being dead, and how they'd tell me what I saw was just some malfunction, biology's fault.
And I reached my hand up, and before I could touch the strap of His sandal, I found myself on the shore. I prepared myself to cough and hack up the muddy waters that filled my lungs. But I only lay in peace on a thousand rocks, rocks that stayed rocks when Jesus rebuked the devil and refused to turn stone to bread. I could see bits and pieces of my ship, flotsam and jetsam still battered by the wind and waters, angry foam waves fighting with each other to destroy the last piece of my work.
Up in the city, they cried how ugly the storm below them would be; they announced to the world that it's a tragedy that no one can escape, for wind and wave obey no one, and no one will be held accountable if he murders in the wrath of nature; then they climbed inside the jukebox with their chosen romantic cohorts and wrote:
"it's moments like these that make life worth living..."
The city just ain't no good.
And down in the river, I'm in trouble; here no man can rescue me.
Up in the city, they're shrieking in delight at the next song - careful not to forget to tell the rest of the world, every ear to hear, how terrible life is.
And down in the river, I'm fighting the tide.
Up in the city, they're warm in coats made in far away places, wearing smiles custom-made from above - careful not to forget to furrow in pain for a picture.
And down in the river, my ship has been dashed to pieces and I'm cussing, I'm asking forgiveness, and cussing some more.
And I wish I had a heathen crew to throw me overboard when they find out I'm the reason we're going down. And I wish for a giant fish to swallow me up. I remember Jonah and I might as well have seen it with my own eyes, I believe it so hard.
Up in the city, they're telling each other why my love could never be. They're telling each other and the others how it begins in ooze and ends in waste, why there ain't nobody who's guilty and why there ain't nobody can be made innocent. Up in the city, they're unaware of my drowning, beneath them somewhere, where no man, no woman, no guitar riff, no wit can rescue me.
And I thought I saw the lights of the city above me go out; but it was just the murky depths taking it away from me. And I thought I saw Leviathan, coming at me with them fiery eyes; but it was just some weird thing that happens to your head when you lose your breath.
But I looked up, and I saw the Lord Jesus' feet. And it was so strange; I was drowning and terrified, but my mind, though short-circuiting with no air, still found time to revel in the thought that up there in the city somewhere, they were reveling in the thought of Him being dead, and how they'd tell me what I saw was just some malfunction, biology's fault.
And I reached my hand up, and before I could touch the strap of His sandal, I found myself on the shore. I prepared myself to cough and hack up the muddy waters that filled my lungs. But I only lay in peace on a thousand rocks, rocks that stayed rocks when Jesus rebuked the devil and refused to turn stone to bread. I could see bits and pieces of my ship, flotsam and jetsam still battered by the wind and waters, angry foam waves fighting with each other to destroy the last piece of my work.
Up in the city, they cried how ugly the storm below them would be; they announced to the world that it's a tragedy that no one can escape, for wind and wave obey no one, and no one will be held accountable if he murders in the wrath of nature; then they climbed inside the jukebox with their chosen romantic cohorts and wrote:
"it's moments like these that make life worth living..."
The city just ain't no good.
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