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• Artiste: Cass McCombs
• Titre: Knock Upon The Door
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“Hell!” sang the young minstrel, “hang tightly to your purses! Bitter winter on this blonde city and utter curses!” The song ended and the onlookers did roar Were I sincere, you bet I'd hear A knock upon the door “Hell!” went the Muse, intent, “you take me for granted! You've made me a harlot, if I may be candid!” The label dropped her, not before they shopped her in a bidding war Were I sincere, you bet I'd hear A knock upon the door The tired minstrel, leaving town, heard the Muse's weeping He turned up the Elvis tape in his grey car, creeping “Sex and Death! Was I not the breadth among the two?” she poured “Were you sincere, I bet you'd hear my knock upon your door!” He said, “Dear Muse, Come here! Need a lift somewhere? You've got the wrong man, I was only kidding back there. I worship you! Forgive me for behaving like such a boor. I am sincere: I hope to hear Your knock upon my door!” “The Causeless Cause of Flawless Flaws has video on you.” She scorned. “Evidence, in none defense, should I have you burned, deformed. Hey! Hell is real and so will be your sores! Heck with sincere, hark, I hear A knock upon the door.” The derisive Muse said, “your therapy isn't working, is it?” Memphis huckster-Hitler-hustler! Aren't you a Clear yet? Always brooding the meaning of sex, pretending to be poor. Klock is here! Hark, I hear A knock upon the door.” His head throbbed under her voice, ubiquitous and soft Beads streamed from his hair, soaking his black t-shirt's cloth gut feeling was to leave her words on the cutting-room floor He thought, “If I stay here, I'll never hear That knock upon the door” Muse, exhausted, peered the accosted, her hand on her abdomen A human voice to her songs, she could not condemn Because of a communion they had had of yore The blessed day is near, soon they'll hear A knock upon the door