We run like a river

（By Okkervil River）


　　第一次聽到 Okkervil River 的音樂是在一年多前，社團的
期初 MV 影展，看的是下面 Youtube 播放的＜For Real＞一曲
，說震撼也還好，說吸引也還不到，反而到了影片的後面，團
員以幾個卡通造型現身時，反而讓我在心中嗤嗤地暗笑。
　　底下留言的朋友阿默說的話其實並不全然正確。並不一定
所有大聲哭喊，歇斯底里，悲痛，沈重…的歌聲和歌曲的調子
都會跟我很對痛（相反地，有時聽了太多，反而會使我感到一
股矯情或是厭煩之心。）其實很老實地說，我對於 Okkervil
River 喜愛的歌曲也並不多，反倒是專輯封面倒是都挺酷的，
除了這一張＜Down The River Of Golden Dreams＞，正如
上圖，另一張以二手價買到的＜Black Sheep Boy＞也是一樣
，總是些看來很機械，卻也很精細，對我來說覺得很可愛。

　　這一首 "The War Criminal Rises and Speaks" 肯定是我最
喜愛的 Okkervil River 的曲子，也是我聽過最富有感情的一曲
之一，一字一句發自內心陳述，從耳中進入了聽者的身體，深
達了我心中深處。

　　"Please stop ignoring the heart inside,
　　 oh you readers at home!"

　　再多幾個驚嘆號都不嫌多。

MV: For Real



＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝＝
The heart wants to feel.
The heart wants to hold.
The heart takes past Subway,
past Stop and Shop,
past Beal’s,
and calls it “coming home.”
The heart wants a trail
away from “alone,”
so the heart turns a sale
into a well-worn milestone
towards hard-won soft furniture,
fought-for fast food,
defended end table that
holds paperbacks and back U.S. News.
The mind turns an itch
into a bruise,
and the hands start to twitch
when they’re feeling ill-used.

And you’re almost back now,
you can see by the signs;
from the bank you tell the temperature
and then the time,
and the billboard reads some headlines.
The head wants to turn,
to avert both its eyes,
but the mind wants to learn
of some truth that might be
inside reported crimes.

So they found a lieutenant
who killed a village of kids.
After finishing off the wives,
he wiped off his knife
and that’s what he did.
And they’re not claiming that
there’s any excusing it;
that was thirty years back,
and they just get paid for the facts
the way they got them in.

Now he’s rising and not denying.
His hands are shaking, but he’s not crying.
And he’s saying “How did I climb
out of a life so boring into that moment?
Please stop ignoring the heart inside,
oh you readers at home!
While you gasp at my bloody crimes,
please take the time
to make your heart my home:
where I’m forgiven by time,
where I’m cushioned by hope,
where I’m numbed by long drives,
where I’m talked off or doped.
Does the heart wants to atone?

Oh, I believe that it’s so,
because if I could climb back through time,
I’d restore their lives and then give back my own:
tens of times now its size
on a far distant road
in a far distant time
where every night I’m still crying,
entirely alone.”

But the news today always fades away as you drive by,
until at dinnertime when you look into her eyes,
lit by evening sun - that, as usual, comes
from above that straight, unbroken line,
the horizon
- its rising
is a given,
just like your living.

Your heart’s warm and kind.
Your mind is your own.
Our blood-spattered criminal
is inscrutable;
don’t worry, he won’t
rise up behind your eyes
and take wild control.
He’s not of this time,
he fell out of a hole.