Demon John

Jeff BuckleyJeff Buckley 

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Jeff Buckley

Jeffrey Scott "Jeff" Buckley (November 17, 1966 – May 29, 1997), raised as Scotty Moorhead, was an American singer-songwriter and guitarist. He was the son of Tim Buckley, also a musician. After a decade as a session guitarist in Los Angeles, Buckley amassed a following in the early 1990s by playing cover songs at venues in Manhattan's East Village, such as Sin-é, gradually focusing more on his own material. After rebuffing much interest from record labels and his father's manager Herb Cohen, he signed with Columbia, recruited a band, and recorded what would be his only studio album, Grace. more »

Year:

1998

5:13

97 Views

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Say farewell, g'night, Sonny-Jim,
In your defenseless, winning smile.
What do you hope to win?
And bliss face down, defended.
Well, now stoned Demon John
There's no town the boy cannot belong

Why did you come here?
Is it to excavate all your sins? Boil within?
Slaughter like the daughter of the devil you send me.
I have to deal, you called me here.
You couldn't say that you were juiced
The night that you were introduced
To Demon John
Gonna take him with you when you go?
Dance down slow. Oh, way down.
You cannot escape the bar-side  angel dissector
You undo you life with too much cocoon,
Who's your protector?
Dark is the city where the white girls walk by,
Down below your eyes, just like fireflies.
You call me here, come on here, follow me dear,
Past cascades of rage and fear.
You called me here.
You couldn't say that you had been juiced
The time that you were introduced to Demon John.
Well, you knew you had to want to go , dance down slow.
By the light of the sun, murder comes
Today or tonight
Better get yourself and transcend it,
Or burst of light
Blaze stars into me,
While the love breaks through here and now.
So, murder by the light of the sun.
Please don't get too close to me.
You said you are for real, it's not pretend.
All memories stolen, know this for yourself.
How would you like to be the happiest man in the world?
Behind the weathered field hands, whose blistered
Paws
Harvest cut, for wedding clothes they'll never wear,
Marching down a road that was never there.
It takes place on a sunlit face and the backbone broken.
Please bring us light, Demon John, you Demon John.
Take him with you when you go.

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