A Box for Black Paul

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Nick Cave

Nicholas Edward "Nick" Cave (born 22 September 1957) is an Australian musician, songwriter, author, screenwriter, composer and occasional film actor. more »

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Who'll build a box for Black Paul?
I'm inquiring on behalf of his soul
I'd be beholding to ya all
For a lil' information, yes some kinda information
Just who'll dig the hole?
When ya done ransacking his room
Grabbing anything that shines,
Throw the scrap down on the street
Like all his books and his notes.
All the junk that he wrote
The whole fuckin' lot right up in smoke
Ain't there nothing sacred anymore
Someone will build a box for Black Paul?
And there shooting off his guns
And there shooting off their mouths
Saying 'F*ck with us and die!'
(Let's see that rat of fear go scuttle in their skulls)
'Cover that eye! Cover that frozen eye!'

Black-puppet, in a heap up against the stoning-wall
Blud-puppet, go to sleep, ma-ma won't scold ya anymore

Armies of ants, wade up the lil red streams
They're heading for the mother-pool
O lord, it's cruel, O man it's hot!
And some of them ants they yes ilot to the spot
Who threw the first stone at Black Paul?

'Don't ack us', say the critics and the hacks
The pen-pushers and the quacks
'We jes cum to git dah facks!'
'We jes cum to git dah facks!'
Hey, hey, hey, hey

Here is the hammer, that build the scaffold,
And built the box,
Here is the shovel, that dug the hole,
In this ground of rocks,
And here is the pile of stones!
And for each one planted, God only knows,
A blud-rose grown,
These are the true Demon-Flowers!
These are the true Demon-Flowers!
Stand back everyone! Blud-black everyone!

Who'll build a box for Black Paul?
Who'll carry it up the hill?

'Not I', said the widow, adjusting his veil
'Ah will not drive the nail
Or cart his puppet-body home,
For ah done that one hundred times before,
Yeah! ah done that one hundred times or more,
And why should ah dress his wounds?
When he has wounded my dress, nighty,
Right across the floor'

Who'll build a box for Black Paul?
Who'll carry it up the hill?
Who'll bury it in the black-soil?
And from the words and the thickets
Come the ghosts of his victims
'We love you!'
'Ah love you!'
'and this will not hurt a bit,
We'll go up,up,up,up,up into Death
Up,up,up,up, inhale its breath
O yeah, Death favors those that favor Death'

Here is the stone, and this is the inscription at bare
'Below Lies Black Paul, Under The Upper
But Above and Beyond The Surface-Flat-Fall There.'

And all the angels come on down,
And all you men and women crowd around
And all the widows weeping into their skirts
And all the lil gals and the lil Boys
And the scribes with mein-pens parsed
All the hullaballoo, all the noise
All the hullaballoo, all the noise
All the hullaballoo, all of the noise
Clears his throat of black blud
Singin Black Paul like a lonely boy

We-e-e-ll, ah have cried one thousand tears
Ah've cryed a thousand tears, its true
And the next stormy night ya know,
That I'm still crying them for you

Well, ah had a gal she was so sweet,
Red dress, and long red hair hanging down
And heaven yes ain't heaven
Without that lil' gal hanging around

Well, ya know I've loin a bad-man
And Lord knows ah dun some good things too
But ah confess, my soul will never rest
Until you, until you build
Until ya build a box for my gal, too.

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