the weather machine – back o’er oregon lyrics
let me go back o’er oregon
that little scar is nothing in the arms
of all the things have yet to come
i’d like to call it no big deal but we both know i’d be lying
i can never come back if i don’t go
well that plan may have been a waste
but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t nice
sometimes you use a sweet lie to get by
though it’s done me well this place
where there’s a mountain, there’s a sky
there’s too much left between to ease my mind
from where we got flowers by the fifth
where we learned back-handed love
where if you come off clever enough
you don’t have to cover anything up
and this city’s done me strange
though i’m’s courageous as i came
and that courage sure is honest but can feel like such a fickle thing
let me go back o’er oregon
that little scar is nothing in the arms
of all the things have yet to come
i’d like to call it no big deal but we both know i’d be lying
i can never come back if i don’t go
well explain to me this affinity
for naming all those settlements for things that crop up colorful
in spite of all the clouds
like you know what’s there, but don’t look down
there’s a perfect place that’s not quite now
and jesus has a lot of love
but the good book might not let you out
let me go back o’er oregon
that little scar is nothing in the arms
of all the things have yet to come
i’d like to call it no big deal but we both know i’d be lying
i can never come back if i don’t go
and that plan may have been a waste
but we’ll make it up sometime
i’ll find you when we’ve grown apart enough
where there’s a candle, there’s a light
a shadow dances right behind
saying, “come to me son, let me test your luck”
from where we got flowers by the fifth
where we learned back-handed love
where if you come off clever enough
you don’t have to cover anything up
and this city’s done me strange
though i’m’s courageous as i came
and that courage sure is honest but can feel like such a fickle thing
and explain to me this affinity
for naming all those settlements for things that crop up colorful
in spit of all the clouds
from the roses city of my birth
to the golden man stands in a cherry town
to a road-stop named for mountains
and women and their family ties
and flowers by the fifth
in spite, in spite of all, in spite of all the clouds
let me go back o’er oregon
that little scar is nothing in the arms
of all the things have yet to come
i’d like to call it no big deal but we both know i’d be lying
i can never come back if i don’t go
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