Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!!

Album: Dig, Lazarus, Dig!!! (2008)
Charted: 66
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  • Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, back in that hole

    Larry made his nest up in the autumn branches
    Built from nothing but high hopes and thin air
    Collected up some baby blasted mothers
    They took their chances and for a while
    They lived quite happily up there

    He came from New York City Man
    But he couldn't take the pace
    He thought it was like a dog eat dog world
    But he went to San Francisco
    Spent a year in outer-space
    With a sweet little San Franciscan girl

    I can hear my mother wailing
    And a whole lot of scraping of chairs

    I don't know what it is, but there's definitely something going on upstairs
    (Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, back in that hole)
    (I want you to dig
    I want you to dig)

    Yeah, New York City, he had to get out of there
    And San Francisco, well, I don't know
    And then to LA, where he spent about a day
    He thought even the pale sky-stars were smart enough to keep well away from LA

    Meanwhile Larry made up names for the ladies
    Like Miss Boo and Miss Quick
    He stockpiled weapons and took pot shots in the air
    He feasted on their lovely bodies like a lunatic
    And wrapped himself up in their soft yellow hair

    I can hear chants and incantations
    And some guy is mentioning me in his prayers

    I don't know what it is, but there's definitely something going on upstairs
    (Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, back in that hole)
    (I want you to dig
    I want you to dig
    I want you to dig)

    Well New York City Man,
    San Francisco, LA, I don't know
    But Larry grew increasing neurotic and obscene
    I mean: he, he never asked to be raised up from the tomb
    I mean: no one ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams

    Anyway, to cut a long story short
    Fame finally found him
    Mirrors became his torturers
    Cameras snapped him at every chance
    The women all went back to their homes
    And their husbands
    With secret smiles in the corners of their mouths

    He ended up, like so many of them do, back in the streets of New York City
    In a soup queue
    A dope fiend
    A slave
    Then prison
    Then the mad house
    Then the grave
    Oh poor Larry

    But what do we really know of the dead
    And who actually cares?

    Well I don't know what it is, but there's definitely something going on upstairs
    (Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, Lazarus
    Dig Yourself, back in that hole)
    (I want you to dig
    I want you to dig
    I want you to dig)

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