Status
Elliott Smith Song
Alternate/Working Title
Circuit Rider
Written By
Elliott Smith
with poetry from Nelson Gary (2001-2003 version)
Recording Sessions
March - May 1996 (Smith Residence, Portland, OR - Either/Or Sessions at Elliott’s house)
May 2001 - Spring 2002 (Satellite Park Studios, Malibu, CA - McConnell Sessions) - two versions recorded, including an unofficially circulating alternate instrumental take with alternate poetry vocal take
January-October 2003 (New Monkey Studios, Los Angeles, CA and Smith Residence, Los Angeles, CA - Sessions with Fritz Michaud) - additional tracking, unofficially circulating
Availability of Official Release
From a Basement on the Hill
Heaven Adores You OST
Lyrics
last stop for a resolution
end of the line, is it confusion?
so go. go see whats there for you
nothing new, nothing new for you to use
i’ve got no new act to amuse you
i’ve got no desire to use you, you know
but anything that i could do, would never be good enough for you
if you can’t help it then just leave it alone (leave it alone)
leave it alone, yeah, just forget it
it’s really easy
i believe i’ll forget it too
still you’re keepin’ me around
til i finally drag us both down
pulling feathers out your hat
yes i believe that’s where it’s at
you belong tagging along
and i belong in your zoo
so i wait for confirmation
that you’re never gonna use your starting gun
unless its me it sounds like being him just wasn’t that much fun
anything that i could do
would never be good enough for you
if you can’t help it then just leave it alone (leave it alone)
leave me alone, yeah, just forget it
it’s really easy
i’ll just forget it too
coast to coast, coast to coast
i’ll do what i can so you can be what you do
coast to coast, coast to coast
i’ll do everything i can so you can be what you do
coast to coast, coast to coast
circuit rider comes every fifth sunday
oh my lord, i fell asleep one day
anything that i could do
is there anything that i could do
that someone doesn’t do for you
that someone didn’t do for you
that i have already done for you
Poetry overlaying the above lyrics by Nelson Gary entitled “Exile in Paradise’s Tourmaline”, written for this song by Elliott’s request:
Deacon of the invisible light in darkness
Indwelled to endow the lion’s share
Of golden rayed mane’s emanations,
To bright-eyed thronged masses, together in solitude
Seeking the secrets of near impossible
Intimacy, the miracle of oneness:
So is the unfulfilled, but nonetheless peaceful sanctuary
Of the Host of Hosts, the Creator, cloistered,
Somewhat sepulchral; thus exile and paradise
Eclipsed supernatural consensual in omnipresence.
Perpetual?
How do I scope, let alone define the region
Of boundless perimeter without peer or relation
To the pounding pulse of substance,
But at shell and core of emptiness, the infinite
Possibilities of nothingness, the gaze
At desolation unto oblivion to explicate
Through work, action, the harvest of wisdom.
To perceive is to be a perceiver with a perception
of the infinite possibilities of nothingness,
its sum over histories, preserving its purity
by perspicacity. Attainment of this perception
is the cornerstone of creativity’s foundation.
Imagination stretches until it leaps in belief
Only then does fabrication rip open
Baring bold, beautiful vision of truth’s relief
To behold, only to be shared with the fold
In exodus during this dark night of the soul.
If I could again find the beloved one and talk,
I’d then find the all, for she was the flutter of the flock.
Here, in mystical union, with my better half I am in eternal ardor
for she’s the instrumentality of cosmic splendor altogether;
I, meager minstrel player,
blessed with Seusspearean meter,
abide in her abode’s Holy of Holies, inner sanctum,
in erudition, meditation, prayer, the act of creation;
but love’s gravity pulls this ripe fullness
toward the strange attractor of the outsider’s emptiness
in parallel distribution to achieve equilibrium
for her to receive substance, hidden mirth’s
consummated revelation, the word, my spirit’s passion.
I am intimate with the discerning heart at heaven’s door,
its holy rhythm of opening, closing rapture
causing elliptical rigor of harmonious, sunwise measure,
raising high the roof beams, sweeping low the floor
in celestial symphonic song cyclic movements of cadence
from birth to death, catalogued in transitional moments’ radiance
and darkness, the organic clock of nature
engineered by her mind, heart’s best timekeeper.
Mathematics, physics, all logistics
find in her each their own highest aesthetic.
I receive enlightenment from contemplative calculus
that is reasoning toward understanding the catalytic
integral of order, but in the thick of it,
I have no peace for lack of symmetry,
sensing the absence of ecstasy’s revered reverie
in relief, for upon a foundation of stability
visionary inspiration is to be fulfilled
by intimate interaction of creativity
of bodily pillars initiated
in solar plexus by a flutter.
Without heavenly bodies’ radiation,
what is the sky’s complexion?
Without ascent and descent,
what by flying then is meant?
Cold, calibrated loneliness engineered
from my love, but, too, my fear
contributed to inflicting the great disappear.
If I despair, I swing from the pendulum
with a moody tick, until I chime ebullience
of vermilion rust in these unheard words.
In the end, what is there, but a moment of breath?
And in this, the pomegranate vapors of perfume
from open heirloom of hope
you let flow in seedling drops
sensuous and wet? Delectable
fragrance; clarity
crystalline taste of amethyst from
unbottled, unbridled violet hour.
Splash, secrete, stream, let me shower
you with diamond ember prismatic tears
“I love you, always…always.”
Didn’t you know I was kidding
when I was working, quipping
to you in sardonic tone:
The secret of intimacy
is
absence makes the heart grow fonder,
familiarity breeds contempt.
So you just stay away from me;
oh didn’t you know me any better?
Couldn’t you see through the post-modern banter?
Embittered perhaps by the loneliness, the exile
I forced upon you-I hope not worsened
by the wormwood in your absinthe-so
I could flourish
in a kingdom to steady my caprice,
ward off, bring to cessation my cowardice
but do know night and day at keyboard
was I commiserate with your cobalt spark
engraved in Divine Sanskrit all the way
down to the flavor and charm of its least quark,
desiring to give you all the while
my eternal reflection’s smile
on you in the erotic eighth dimension.
what my hyper-criticism in self-examination
could not countenance between paradise and exile.
My behavior, perhaps, egregious, underhand,
unforgivable my speech that walked
disembodied from the vulnerable
nascent bliss in the wilderness
you held out to me
in the palm of your hand.
Emanate
your presence,
and let me strive
in the indigo shadows for your tolerance.
When fog rolls in, clouds unfold
your selfless wings’ feathers
that float from arabesque pillows I sold
to be consumed by the snow white cold.
If only the plaster could hold, withstand
the flame, then this fountain torch
would know no shame and be outstripped
only by the sun that burns with the glory
and honor of your immortal, holy name.
In the twilight, the Morning Star’s glow,
unmistakable! Keeping my word, I go
with cerulean suede Tiffany bag
filled with ancient tourmaline of philosophy,
wisdom’s diadems, the jewel-smuggling trade.
Stones polished, then in consciousness
through experience laid
by the twins of history and prophecy,
and manchild of the moment,
who crafts them with love’s redemptive
powers of preservation and transformation.
Their sublime sagacity splits both jewel jackal
and thief in a decision almost too tough to tackle:
to be either emerald with envy
or emerald with naiveté while fortune does divvy
with chance in the opulence of opportunity
And I take mine
from one green world after the next.
No, I don’t take bets.
These chiseled, almost sculpted notes,
this, but the silent nomenclature
pages of the calendar’s future psalms.
Let them register from priceless indices
rolling over to calm
the grand, sweeping design of beatitudes’
rate of exchange in chance,
free-will’s meritorious motive for change,
within the blueprints of fate’s range mapped,
unrolled from its sealed scroll in meditative trance,
revealed at the windows by your face as you dance
looking out past the rain into deep space
by which to each is granted, given in grace,
a measure of faith
for master works to be completed, appraised bless-ed
on the scales of gevurah and hesed,
the counterbalance of judgment and mercy
on eyebrow scales weighing a sublime simile of
jasper-emerald-sapphire baubles.
I am, but a faithful servant to the wall’s inaudible calls
at this feast of silence that serves the din alms
with synthesis of digestion in music’s intestinal halls:
Firebird Suite and Symphony of Psalms.
Now, that I’ve rediscovered you
let me break the symmetry
of this party’s perfect ennui
by presenting you this epiphany
in gems thieved back from old men
who misused them to stone Stephen
and write Adonais into the pale hue.
1996 demo version
last stop for a resolution
end of the line, is it confusion?
so go
I don’t know what else to do
I got no new act to amuse you
I got no desire to amuse you, you know,
anything that I could do
never be good enough for you, if you can’t
help me, then just leave me alone
leave me alone
yeah, just forget it
it’s really easy i’ll just
forget it too
go home
go home
not quite angry
not that lucky
all too patient
thick and ugly
feels wrong
not for long
still something to do
last stop for a resolution
into this line and
in a confusion, so go
don’t know what else to do
never be good enough for you, if you can’t
help it then just leave it alone
leave it alone
yeah, just forget it
it’s really easy i’ll just
forget it too
coast to coast
coast to coast
stand you up on a box
but they don’t care what you do
coast to coast
coast to coast
stand you up on a box
but they don’t care what you do
go home
go home
coast to coast
riding with mary
i want your company and
getting it barely
but anything that i can do
anything that i can do
well it’s never good enough for you
it’s never good enough for you
and it’s never good enough for you