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A Magical Childhood
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Home, wreathed with all its gods; ethereal and existent; and now they're all dead.
cheese weird odd death chicken funny ass shit humor evil magical cheesy biscuit
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Looking for a song about sh*biscuits and/or golden chickens? Hasenyager combines comedy and music in order to realize your dreams.
Hasenyager is an Americanized version of Haschenjager, which is German for 'rabbit hunter.' I am that hunter, or huntress, if you will, and I take my profession very seriously. Which means that, actually, I don't hunt rabbits. I do, however, make half-assed music with Audacity, and upload it onto SoundClick.
Song Info
Genre
Alternative • Experimental
Charts
Peak #612
Peak in subgenre #106
Author
Hasenyager
Rights
Hasenyager 2008
Uploaded
June 07, 2008
Track Files
MP3
MP3 3.4 MB • 128 kbps • 3:45
Story behind the song
This song really showcases my lack of rhythm. Partially based off my childhood. I didn't 'worship the soul of our sick and bleeding dog,' though. But he did have a bleeding ear. The world didn't technically 'sort of glitter' either. Everything else is true.
Lyrics
I had a magical childhood At the top of the falls In the thick yellow roses In the dark and dank garage I was a magical child at Home, wreathed with all its gods Ethereal and existent And now they're all dead I wondered how the sky could connect to the air without making it blue I was insane and immortal At the top of the pine In its spiny stiff branches I knew the world was mine All mine I wore flowery dresses In the dirty sandbox And I worshipped the soul of Our sick and bleeding dog And world sort of glittered Chickadees sort of sang I was sort of less dead inside And now I'm more dead I wondered how the sky could connect to the air without making it blue When my foot fell asleep I asked my mom what it was She had no idea what I was trying to convey I had a magical childhood With Barney and Lambchop In their cold plastic eyes I pretended I wasn't painfully shy I was a magical child those Days when I walked past those wasps Flourishing on our wooden fence And now they're all dead I wondered how the sky could connect to the air without making it blue I pondered things like the complexities of what made something false or true We moved to another town and I didn't like that new place It was too quiet at night without the shootings across the street
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