A Box For Black Paul
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds
Who’ll build a box for black Paul?
Ah’m enquirin on behalf of his soul
Ah’d be beholdin to ya all
For a lil information just a little indication
Just who’ll dig the hole?
When ya done ransackin his room
grabbin any damn thing that shines
throw the scraps down on the street
Like all his books and his notes
All the junk that he wrote
The whole fuckin lot right up in smoke
Ain’t there nothin sacred anymore
Who will build a box for Black Paul?
And their shootin off his guns
And their shootin off their mouths
Sayin ‘Fuck with us… and Die’
(But see that rat of fear go scuttle in their skulls)
‘Cover that eye!’ ‘Cover that frozen eye!!’
Armies of ants, wade up the lil red streams
they’re heading for the mother-pool
O lord, its cruel, O man it’s hot!
And some of them ants they just climb to the spot
Black-puppet, in a hoop up against the stoning-wall
Blud-puppet go to sleep, ma-ma won’t scold ya anymore
Who’ll build a box for Black Paul?
Who’ll build a box for Black Paul?
Who’ll carry it up the hill?
Who’ll bury it in the black-soil?
And from the woods and the thickets
Come the ghosts of his victims
‘We love you!’
‘Ah love you!’
‘and this will not hurt a bit,
‘we’ll go up, up, up, up, up, up into Death
‘up, up, up, up inhale its special breath
‘O yeah, Death favours those who favor death’
Here is the stone, and this the inscription it bare,
‘Below Lies black Paul, Under The Upper..
‘But Above and Beyond The Surface-Flat-Fall There.’
And all the angels come on down
And all the men and women crowd around
And all the widows weeping into their skirts
And all the lil gals and the lil Boys
And the scribes with poison-pens poised
All the hullaballoo, all the noise
All the hullaballoo, all the noise
All the hullaballoo, all the noise
Black Paul clears his throat of black blud
And singing in the voice of a lonely boy…
‘Don’t ask us’ say the critics and the hacks
The pen-pushers and the quacks
‘We jus cum to get dat facks!’
‘We jus cum to get dat facks!’
Hey, hey, hey, hey…
We-e-e-ll, ah have cryed one thousand tears
Ah’ve cried a thousand tears its true
And the next stormy night you know,
That ah’m still cryin’ them for you.
Well, ah had a gal she was so sweet
Red dress and long red hair hangin down
And heaven just ain’t heaven
Without that lil girl hangin around
Well, ya know ah’ve bin a bad-man
And lord knows ah dun some good things too
But ah confess, my soul will never rest
Until you, until you build
Until ya built a box for my gal, too.
‘Not I,’ said the widow, adjusting this veil
‘Ah will not drive the nail,
‘Or cart his puppet-body home,
‘for ah done that one thousand times before,
‘Yeah! ah done that one thousand times or more,
‘And why should ah dress his wounds?
‘When he has wounded my dress, nighty,
‘Right across the floor
‘Here is the hammer, that build the scaffold,
and build the box…
Here is the shovel, that dug the hole,
n this ground of rocks…
And here is the pile of stones!
and for each one planted, God only knows,
a blue-rose grown…
These are the true Demon-Flowers!!
These are the true Demon-Flowers!!
Blue-Black every one! Stand back everyone!
Who’ll build a box for Black Paul?
Who’ll carry it up the hill?
