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Small ground owls range themselves
On posts along the road
Little old lady ground owls
Like wisdom, come out of the sea
Small young ground owls are like the weather
There it comes, there it comes
No one stuffs a small owl
Without a red lantern
Without a red robe in a black room
Without a wardrobe where scratchy reeds squeak mildly
In the Argentine countryside
The little owls await the hour
Like the Creoles and the Indians
They wait without hope
Ranged on posts along the road
Watching the cars pass
A buick, a ford, a pontiac, a plymouth, a cadillac
In which the taxidermists ride
With their wives and children
Without a red robe in a black room
Without a wardrobe where scratchy reeds squeak mildly
No one stuffs an owl
Without a red lantern
Without a red robe in a black room
To dissect lions who need lightning
For little owls who need forgetfulness
On posts along the road
Little old lady ground owls
Like wisdom, come out of the sea
Small young ground owls are like the weather
There it comes, there it comes
No one stuffs a small owl
Without a red lantern
Without a red robe in a black room
Without a wardrobe where scratchy reeds squeak mildly
In the Argentine countryside
The little owls await the hour
Like the Creoles and the Indians
They wait without hope
Ranged on posts along the road
Watching the cars pass
A buick, a ford, a pontiac, a plymouth, a cadillac
In which the taxidermists ride
With their wives and children
Without a red robe in a black room
Without a wardrobe where scratchy reeds squeak mildly
No one stuffs an owl
Without a red lantern
Without a red robe in a black room
To dissect lions who need lightning
For little owls who need forgetfulness
Lyrics submitted by Whatsifsowhatsit
Track duration: 03:13
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I've just listened to the song and I wanted to find out what other people think about it, but apparently not too many people have commented on it here. ;)
It's actually the first time that I've paid attention to the first two thirds of the lyrics and I noticed how morbid the whole song really is. I mean, a taxidermist who drives past the owls he is about to kill...
Anyway, the one line that goes "Like the Creoles and the Indians they wait without hope" to me signifies a very political undertone. The poem that Fellows uses was written by Julio Cortázar in 1962. I don't really know much about him, but I suppose he is referring to cultural imperialism (think of all the American cars...) and how that led to the extinction of indigenous cultures in South America.
I have to say I think I liked the lyrics more before I knew about the global scale because now it just doesn't feel as intimate any more. Still, I think it's very interesting and goes beyond the themes that Fellows usually deals with. (Although it fits in with the constant references to birds that she makes! She's really obsessed with it, isn't she?)