Poets

The Tragically Hip · Yer Favourites/Hipeponymous [2005]

Spring starts when a heartbeat's pounding

When the birds can be heard above the reckoning

carts doing some final accounting

Lava flowing in Superfarmer's direction

He's been getting reprieve from the heat in the frozen-food section



Don't tell me what the poets are doing

Don't tell me that they're talking tough

Don't tell me that they're anti-social

Somehow not anti-social enough



And porn speaks to its splintered legions

To the pink amid the withered cornstalks in them winter regions

While aiming at the archetypal father

He says with such broad and tentative swipes "Why do you even bother?"

Don't tell me what the poets are doing

Don't tell me that they're talking tough

Don't tell me that they're anti-social

Somehow not anti-social enough



Don't tell me what the poets are doing

On the street and the epitome of vague

Don't tell me how the universe is altered

When you find out how he gets paid



If there's nothing more that you need now

Lawn cut by bare-breasted women

Beach bleached, towels within reach for the women gotta make it

That'll make it by swimming