Poor Fractured Atlas — текст песни (Elvis Costello)

Hes out in the woods with his squirrel gun

To try to recapture his anger

Hes screaming some words at the top of his lungs

Until he begins to feel younger

But back at his desk in the city we find

Our trembling punch-drunken fighter

Who cant find the strength now to punish the length

Of the ribbon in his little typewriter



Poor fractured atlas

Threw himself across the mattress

Waving his withering pencil

As if it were a pirates cutlass

Im almost certain hes trying to increase his burden

He said "thats how the child in me planned it;

A woman wouldnt understand it"



I believe there was something that I wanted to say

Before I conclude this epistle

But you would forgive me for holding my tongue

cause man made the blade and the pistol

Yes man made the waterfall over the dam

To temper his tantrum with magic

Now you cant be sure of that tent of azure

Since he punched a hole in the fabric



Chorus



A woman wouldnt understand it

A woman wouldnt understand it