| Song | We Call Upon The Author |
| Artist | Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds |
| Album | Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!! |
| Oh, what we once thought we had, we didn't | |
| And what we have now will, will never be that way again | |
| So we call upon the author to explain | |
| Our myxomatoid kids spraddle the streets | |
| We’ve shunned them from the greasy grind | |
| The poor little things they look so sad and old | |
| As they mount us from behind | |
| I ask them to desist and to refrain | |
| And then we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, a rosary clutched in his hand | |
| He died with tubes up his nose | |
| And a cabal of angels with, with finger cymbals | |
| Chanted his name in code | |
| We shook our fists at the punishing rain | |
| And we called upon the author to explain | |
| He said, everything is messed up 'round here | |
| Everything is banal and jejune | |
| There’s a planetary conspiracy against the likes of you and me | |
| In this idiot constituency of the moon | |
| Well, he knew exactly who to blame | |
| And we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, prolix, prolix | |
| Nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix | |
| Well I, I go guruing down the street | |
| And young people gather 'round my feet | |
| And they ask me things but | |
| I don’t know where to start | |
| They ignite the powder trail straight to my father’s heart | |
| And yeah, once again | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, who is this great burdensome slavering dog thing | |
| That mediocres my every thought? | |
| I feel like a vacuum cleaner, a complete sucker | |
| It’s fucked up and he is a fucker | |
| But what an enormous and encyclopedic brain | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, we call upon the author to explain, alright, yeah | |
| Well, rampant discrimination | |
| Mass poverty, third world debt | |
| Infectious disease, global inequality | |
| And deepening socio-economic divisions | |
| Well, it does in your brain | |
| We call upon the author to explain | |
| Oh, now hang on, my friend | |
| Doug is tapping on the window“ | |
| Hey, Doug, how you been?” | |
| Well, he brings me a book on holocaust poetry | |
| Complete with pictures and then he tells me to get ready for the rain | |
| And we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, you know | |
| I say prolix, prolix | |
| Some a pair of scissors can’t fix | |
| Bukowski was a jerk, | |
| Berryman was the best | |
| He wrote like wet paper maché but he went the | |
| HemingwayWeirdly on wings and with maximum pain | |
| We call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah well, | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah well, down in my bolt hole | |
| I see they've published | |
| Another volume of unreconstructed rubbish | |
| Well, the waves, the waves were soldiers moving | |
| Well, thank you, ya thank you, thank you | |
| And again | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, I call upon the author to explain | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, we call upon the author to explain | |
| I said, prolix, prolix | |
| There's nothing a pair of scissors can’t fix |
| Oh, what we once thought we had, we didn' t | |
| And what we have now will, will never be that way again | |
| So we call upon the author to explain | |
| Our myxomatoid kids spraddle the streets | |
| We' ve shunned them from the greasy grind | |
| The poor little things they look so sad and old | |
| As they mount us from behind | |
| I ask them to desist and to refrain | |
| And then we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, a rosary clutched in his hand | |
| He died with tubes up his nose | |
| And a cabal of angels with, with finger cymbals | |
| Chanted his name in code | |
| We shook our fists at the punishing rain | |
| And we called upon the author to explain | |
| He said, everything is messed up ' round here | |
| Everything is banal and jejune | |
| There' s a planetary conspiracy against the likes of you and me | |
| In this idiot constituency of the moon | |
| Well, he knew exactly who to blame | |
| And we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, prolix, prolix | |
| Nothing a pair of scissors can' t fix | |
| Well I, I go guruing down the street | |
| And young people gather ' round my feet | |
| And they ask me things but | |
| I don' t know where to start | |
| They ignite the powder trail straight to my father' s heart | |
| And yeah, once again | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, who is this great burdensome slavering dog thing | |
| That mediocres my every thought? | |
| I feel like a vacuum cleaner, a complete sucker | |
| It' s fucked up and he is a fucker | |
| But what an enormous and encyclopedic brain | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, we call upon the author to explain, alright, yeah | |
| Well, rampant discrimination | |
| Mass poverty, third world debt | |
| Infectious disease, global inequality | |
| And deepening socioeconomic divisions | |
| Well, it does in your brain | |
| We call upon the author to explain | |
| Oh, now hang on, my friend | |
| Doug is tapping on the window" | |
| Hey, Doug, how you been?" | |
| Well, he brings me a book on holocaust poetry | |
| Complete with pictures and then he tells me to get ready for the rain | |
| And we call upon the author to explain | |
| Well, you know | |
| I say prolix, prolix | |
| Some a pair of scissors can' t fix | |
| Bukowski was a jerk, | |
| Berryman was the best | |
| He wrote like wet paper maché but he went the | |
| HemingwayWeirdly on wings and with maximum pain | |
| We call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah well, | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah well, down in my bolt hole | |
| I see they' ve published | |
| Another volume of unreconstructed rubbish | |
| Well, the waves, the waves were soldiers moving | |
| Well, thank you, ya thank you, thank you | |
| And again | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, I call upon the author to explain | |
| I call upon the author to explain | |
| Yeah, we call upon the author to explain | |
| I said, prolix, prolix | |
| There' s nothing a pair of scissors can' t fix |