Junk Bond Trader
Status
Elliott Smith Song
Alternate Version/Title
Written By
Elliott Smith
Recording Sessions
October 1998 (Abbey Road Studios, London, England, UK - Place Pigalle Demos) - unofficially circulating
July-August 1999 (Capitol Recording Studios - Los Angeles, CA - Primary Figure 8 Sessions)
Availability of Official Release
Figure 8
Lyrics
The imitation picks you up like a habit
Writing in the glow of the TV’s static
Taking out the trash to the man
Give the people something they’d understand
A stickman flashing a fine-lined smile
Junk bond trader trying to sell a sucker a style
Rich man in a poor man’s clothes
The permanent installment of the daily dose
And you tell off when you tell it like it is
Your world’s no wider than your hatred of his
Checking into a small reality
Boring like a drug you take too regularly
The athlete’s laugh, the broken crutch
The first true love that folded at the slightest touch
Brought down like an old hotel
People diggle through rubble for things they can resell
Happy holidays, said sick savior
The leaving lover that I still favor
I won’t take your medicine, I don’t need a remedy
To be everything I’m supposed to be
I don’t want nobody else
I can do it by myself
We’re meant to be together
Now I’m a policeman directing traffic
Keeping everything moving, everything static
I’m a hitchhiker you’ll recognize passing
On your way to some everlasting
Better sell it while you can
Better sell it while you can
Better sell it while you can
Better sell it while you can
Abbey Road demo version
The imitation wore a colorful habit
Writing in the glow of the TV’s static
Taking out the trash to the man
Give the people something they understand
A stickman flashing a fine-line smile
A junk bond trader trying to sell a sucker a style
Rich man in a poor man’s clothes
The permanent installment of the daily dose
And you tell people they’re too paranoid
But it’s only you they must avoid
Fast asleep in a small reality
Boring as a drug you take too regularly
The athelete’s laugh, the broken crutch
The first true love failed because you felt too much
Night brought you to no decision
But to execute every day with precision
“Happy Holidays,” said sad saviour
The leaving line that I still favor
You gave me rhetoric
No sympathy
The sad song of a symphony
But I don’t expect
Anyone to quite connect
My broken heart together
Now I’m a policeman directing traffic
Keeping everything moving, everything static
I’m the hitchhiker you’ll recognize passing
On your way to some everlasting
Everlasting waving hand
Everlasting waving hand
Everlasting waving hand
Everlasting waving hand
Everlasting waving, everlasting waving hand
Audio