(1) Cold Brains Cold brains, unmoved Untouched, unglued Alone at last No thoughts, no mind To rot behind A trail of disasters A final curse Abandoned hearse We ride disowned Corroded to the bone The fields of green Are bent, obscene I lay upon the gravel A worm of hope A hangman’s rope Pulls me one way or the other A final curse Abandoned hearse We write this song Corroded to the bone A bird of song Is heard no longer In the evacuated heavens The drain is drawn And drained and gone And on and on It doesn’t matter Beck Hansen: vocals, guitars, piano, harmonica, glockenspiel Justin Meldal-Johnsen: bass Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: synthesizer Joey Waronker: drums and percussion	(2) Nobody’s Fault But My Own Treated you like a rusty blade A throwaway from an open grave Cut you loose from a chain gang And let you go And on the day you said it’s true Some love holds, some gets used Tried to tell you I never knew It could be so sweet Who would ever be so cruel Blame the devil for the things you do It’s such a selfish way to lose The way you lose these wasted blues These wasted blues Tell me that it’s nobody’s fault Nobody’s fault but my own When the moon is a counterfeit Better find the one that fits Better find the one that lights the way for you When the road is full of nails Garbage pails and darkened jails And their tongues are full of heartless tales That drain on you Who would ever notice you You fade into a shaded room It’s such a selfish way to lose The way you lose these wasted blues These wasted blues Tell me that it’s nobody’s fault Nobody’s fault but my own Beck Hansen: vocals, guitar, piano Justin Meldal-Johnsen: bass Joey Waronker: percussion David Campbell: viola Larry Corbett: cello Warren Klein: sitar, tambura Fred Sesliano: esraj	(3) Lazy Flies Lazy flies all hovering above The magistrate puts on his gloves And he looks to the clouds All pink and disheveled There must be some blueprint Some creed of the devil Inscribed in our minds A hideous game vanishes in the air The vanity of slaves Who wants to be there To sweep the debris To harness dead horses To ride in the sun A life of confessions Written in the dust Out in the mangroves The mynah birds cry In the shadows of sulphur The trawlers drift by They’re chewing dried meat In a house of disrepute The dust of opiates And syphilis patients on brochure vacations Fear has a glare that traps you like searchlights The puritans stare their souls are fluorescent The skin of a robot vibrates with pleasure Matrons and gigolos carouse in the parlor Their hand-grenade eyes invalid and blind Beck Hansen: vocals, guitars Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: keyboards Justin Meldal-Johnsen: electric bass, percussion Joey Waronker: drums and percussion
(4) Canceled check I hate to do this But you’re a pain in the neck I thought you knew this You’re handing me a canceled check You’re so helpless Your girlfriends think you’re a saint I’ll give you a quarter I’ll keep my judgments to myself And I get caught up in the moonlight Reaching out for a rotten egg I don’t want to beg It’s crystal clear Your time is nearly gone Count your blessings Do the things that you should O the has-beens Never had it so good Stormy weather The kids are making a racket In the wilderness The wild lives are so mild Beck Hansen: vocals, slide gutair Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: piano, synthesizer, percussion Justin Meldal-Johnsen: bass Joey Waronker: drums Smokey Hormel: acoustic guitar Greg Leisz: pedal steel David Ralicke: trombone Elliott Caine: trumpet	(5) We Live Again These withered hands have dug for a dream Sifted through sand and leftover nightmares Over the hill a desolate wind Turns shit to gold and blows my soul crazy The end o the end We live again I grow weary of the end O hungry days In the footsteps of fools Gazing alone through sex-painted windows Dredging the night Drunk libertines Stink like colognes from a new-fangled wasteland Love is a plague In a mix-match parade Where the castaways look so deranged When will children learn To let their wildernesses burn And love will be new Never cold and vacant Beck Hansen: vocals, guitars Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: harpsichord Justin Meldal-Johnsen: upright bass Joey Waronker: drums	(6) Tropicalia When they beat on a broken guitar And all the streets They reek of tropical charms The embassies lie in hideous shards Where tourists snore and decay When they dance in a reptile blaze You wear a mask An equatorial haze Into the past A colonial maze Where there’s no more confetti to throw You wouldn’t know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn’t sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be evicted You’re out of luck You’re singing funeral songs To the studs They’re anabolic and bronze They seem to strut In their millennial fogs Till they fall down and deflate Now you’ve had your fun Under an air-conditioned sun It’s burned into your eyes Leaves you plain and left behind See them rise and fall Into the jaws of a pestilent love You wouldn’t know what to say to yourself Love is a poverty you couldn’t sell Misery waits in vague hotels To be a victim Beck Hansen: vocals Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: synthesizer, organ, percussion Justin Meldal-Johnsen: acoustic bass, percussion Joey Waronker: drums, percussion, synth drums Smokey Hormel: percussion, quica, acoustic guitars David Ralicke: flute, trombone
(7) Dead Melodies Where will you go When this day is over A gambler’s purse Lays on the road Straight to your door Snakes have gone crazy tonight Winding their way out of sight A laugh, a joke A sentiment wasted Seasons of strangers They come and go Doldrums are pounding Cheapskates are clowning this town Who could disown themselves now Engineer, slow down this old train Cinders and chaff Laugh at the moon Night birds will cackle Rotting like apples on trees Sending their dead melodies to me Beck Hansen: vocals, guitar Roger Joseph Manning, Jr.: keyboards Justin Meldal-Johnsen: upright bass, background vocals Joey Waronker: percussion Smokey Hormel: guitar, background vocals	(8) Bottle of Blues I just found me a bottle of blues Some strange comfort For a soul to soothe Ain’t it hard, ain’t it hard To want somebody who doesn’t want you And I’ve been waiting for a year or a day Some strange weather must be blowing my way Cos I got no mind to go or to stay Or be left behind Holding hands with an impotent dream In a brothel of fake energy Put a nickel in a graveyard machine I get higher and lower Like a tired soldier With nothing to shoot And nowhere to lose this bottle of blues Egos drone and pose alone Like black balloons, all banged and blown On a backwards river the infidels shiver In the stench of belief And tell my mama I’m a hundred years late I’m over the rails and out of the race And the crippled psalms of an age that won’t thaw Are ringing in my ears Beck Hansen: vocals, guitar, harmonica, synthesizer Roger Joseph Manning, Jr: synthesizer, background vocals Justin Meldal-Johnsen: bass Joey Waronker: drums	(9) O Maria There is no one, nothing to see The night is useless and so are we Because everybody knows The fabric of folly is falling apart at the seams And I’ve been looking for a good time But the pleasures are seldom and few There’s no whiskey there’s no wine Just the concrete and a worried mind Cos everybody knows death creeps in slow Till you feel safe in his arms And I’ve been looking for a new friend I don’t care if he’s decrepit and grey O Maria haven’t you known Days so careless All on your own Everybody knows the circus is closed And the animals have gone wild And I’ve been looking for my shadow But this place is so bright and so clean Beck Hansen: vocals Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: piano, organ Justin Meldal-Johnsen: upright bass Joey Waronker: drums Smokey Hormel: guitar David Ralicke: trombone
(10) Sing It Again A town of disrespect The trains are wrecked The night is younger than us Nowhere is anywhere else You keep to yourself Stirring the dregs where I have laid The exit signs are flashing Dead ends they won’t come to life anymore I pledge the rest I should have guessed Your love was hanging by threads Tongues tied under the moon My love is a room of broken bottles And tangled webs The misers wind their minds Like clocks that grind their gears on and on And if it’s meant Some accident Some coincidence Crumbs fall out of the sky When you wander by The dust clouds blow Nobody’s home Oh won’t you lay my bags upon the funeral fire And sing it again Beck Hansen: vocals Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: piano Justin Meldal-Johnsen: upright bass Joey Waronker: drums Smokey Hormel: guitar	(11) Static It’s so easy to laugh at yourself When all those jokes have already been written Seems like another vain attempt To let yourself fall out of the oven Holy mountains They look so tired And it’s a perfect day to lock yourself inside Who you fooling if the fools are right It’s the same thing but it’s almost as different Hard to tell when it pacifies your mind Leaves you stranded with a broken engine Lazy desert looks so mangled Let me drown in a convalescent bliss Get up from your bed of rest It’s been a long time since you’ve lived And the static in your mind Leaves you hollow and unkind With a shock electric wave Turns you on You’ve been flunked out of the devil’s house Delinquent hygienes are so abrasive Some distortion that’s never been known On the treadmill you’ll be running forever Holy mountains They look so tired And it’s a perfect day to lock yourself inside Beck Hansen: vocals, guitars Roger Joseph Manning Jr.: electric piano, organ Justin Meldal-Johnsen: bass Joey Waronker: drums, percussion

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