Freud

Steve Kilbey / Martin Kennedy

Appears On:

Lyrics (unofficial)

Sigmund Freud looked out the window in a deep dark November
He was writing in his notebook
Ideas whirled around in his head
The snow swirled and the summer came
The birds of the sky returned
The fields were waving
And in the most fertile bloom
Madness is a blessing, he thought
As he scribbled incessantly
Everything was all mixed up
The whores and the sailors and the mothers and the sons
The hills and crescents and the message in a cloud
The thoughts of a woman as she falls asleep in summer
The hypnagogia bizarre as all hell

"What do you make of that, Herr Doktor?" she rudely asked
Freud thought about that bitch a bit too much, said his wife
Where did work end and dream begin?
On the farm boys?
They'd go out on Saturday nights to a visiting circus
If you had some money in your pocket, you might get lucky
It didn't make sense, none of it
Freud puffed on his pipe and scratched under his chin
He thought about the stockings and the barn
He thought about the inscrutable vision of the Orient
He thought about Rachel and the way she looked the last time he had seen her
No, it did not make sense
He hoped dinner would be served soon
The snow would come, he'd light another fire
And the memories would linger in a pale glass
And the memories would fade in the tall grass