PJ Harvey - Angelene

My first name, Angelene.

The prettiest mess you’ve ever seen.

Love for money is my sin –

any man calls, I’ll let him in.

Rose is my colour and white.

A pretty mouth and green my eyes.

I see men come and go

but there’ll be one who will collect my soul and come to me.

Two-thousand miles away he walks upon the coast.

Two-thousand miles away – it lays open like a road.

Dear God, life ain’t kind –

people getting born and dying,

but I’ve heard there’s joy untold

laying open on that road in front of me.

My first name, Angeline.

PJ Harvey - A Perfect Day Elise

He got lucky one time
hitting with the girl in room 509.
She turned her back on him, facing the frame
and said, Listen Joe, don’t you come here again.

White sun scattered all over the sea –
he could think of nothing but her name, ‘Elise’.
God is the sweat running down his back.
The water soaked her blonde hair black.

It’s a perfect day Elise.

He got burned by the sun –
his face so pale and his hands so worn –
let himself in room 509,
said a prayer, pulled the trigger and cried

It’s a perfect day Elise.

PJ Harvey - The River

And they came to the river
and they came from the road
and he wanted the sun
just to call his own
and they walked on the dirt
and they walked from the road
till they came to the river
till they came up close.

Throw your pain in the river
to be washed away slow.

And we walked without words
and we walked with our lives
two silent birds
circled by,

like our pain in the river
to be washed away slow.

And we followed the river
and we followed the road
and we walked through this land
and we called it a home
but he wanted the sun
and I wanted it all
and the white light scattered
and the sun set low,

like our pain in the river
to be washed away slow.

PJ Harvey - The Wind

Catherine liked high places
High up on the hills
A place for making noises
Noises like the whales
Here she built a chapel with
Her image on the wall
A place where she could rest and
A place where she could wash
And listen to the wind blow

She dreamt of children's voices
And torture on the wheel
Patron-Saint of nothing
A woman of the hills
She once was a lady
Of pleasure, and high-born
A lady of the city
But now she sits and moans
And listen to the wind blow

I see her in her chapel
High up on a hill
She must be so lonely
Oh Mother, can't we give
A husband to our Catherine?
A handsome one, a dear
A rich one for the lady
Someone to listen with