Song Info
Share URL of this page

Fare Thee Well


Romance between homeless intellectuals.
Author
Copyright
Album
Uploaded on
Genre
Copyright
Album
Uploaded on
Genre
Take charge
Charts position
» highest in charts: # 342 (150,326 songs currently listed in Acoustic)
» highest in sub-genre: # 54 (20,589 songs currently listed in Acoustic > Acoustic Rock)
» highest in sub-genre: # 54 (20,589 songs currently listed in Acoustic > Acoustic Rock)
About the song
No idea. Dumpster Einsteins.
Lyrics
Fare Thee Well
I met you baby by the trash machine
Where we were sorting through recycled things
I hoped that you would be my garbage queen
But you know
Your flowered panties hadn?t seen a wash
Except in gutters where our boots would slosh
Sex was perfunctory at times though lush
But you know
Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well.
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
Philosophy is born of pain
It?s a luxury we understand a single thing.
That all the critics live in thought machines.
An artist?s smart enough to spike their guns.
We started out with nothing, now we?re done
But you know.
We would have made it but our hands weren't clean.
I blame it on the anti-aging cream.
You blame it on the psychopathic gene
But you know
Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
I sought my refuge in the arms of Jung
You favored Nietszche?s anti-God harangue
We outgrew Hesse just like everyone
But you know
All the answers in philosophy
Cannot exterminate hypocrisy
I was true to you and you to me
But you know
Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well.
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
Philosophy is born of pain
It?s a luxury we understand a single thing.
I met you baby by the trash machine
Where we were sorting through recycled things
I hoped that you would be my garbage queen
But you know
Your flowered panties hadn?t seen a wash
Except in gutters where our boots would slosh
Sex was perfunctory at times though lush
But you know
Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well.
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
Philosophy is born of pain
It?s a luxury we understand a single thing.
That all the critics live in thought machines.
An artist?s smart enough to spike their guns.
We started out with nothing, now we?re done
But you know.
We would have made it but our hands weren't clean.
I blame it on the anti-aging cream.
You blame it on the psychopathic gene
But you know
Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
I sought my refuge in the arms of Jung
You favored Nietszche?s anti-God harangue
We outgrew Hesse just like everyone
But you know
All the answers in philosophy
Cannot exterminate hypocrisy
I was true to you and you to me
But you know
Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well.
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
Philosophy is born of pain
It?s a luxury we understand a single thing.