I'm so tired of playing music I don't want to play music anymore I want to work in a bank I want to work in a store Set fire to my ukulele, my amps and patch cords And never play music anymore The sound technician is bitching And by 'bitching' I mean complaining Not 'bitchin' the way kids in the 80s were saying He doesn't like our band We're getting dirty looks and more He's grumbling 'I've never had to mic a goddamn glockenspiel before'. The promoter has gone AWOL If he ever even existed The headlining band says 'how was your set, Sorry we missed it.' Getting changed in the bathroom the floor is covered in pee And there's no toilet paper Just Exclaim! magazine And the crowd is dead drunk Or maybe just dead Anyway they don't care Actually the lighting is bad and I think the folks I thought I saw were just chairs Maybe there weren't enough posters Maybe there's some kind of school trip But then magically there's a crowd and they all yell out 'Play some Tragically Hip!' If this was all my idea I guess I didn't think through it This is my full time job And I'm paying to do it I want to work in a bank I want to work in a store And never play music anymore.

If you're lost in the woods with your very best friend And all you have between you is a Canadian flag And all the wood is wet And you're really freezing cold You're going to die of hypothermia And that's a total drag What do you do, boy scout? What do you do, girl guide? Do you pray to the lord? Do you run run run away and hide? Do you burn the flag of your country to keep warm? No! Never never never never never do that. What you should do instead is Cut off your best friend's head Use their hair as kindling and cut out all their fat Heat the fat up on a rock and smear it on your body Peel away their skin and use it as a sleeping bag Eat the meat of your friend And use their bones as fire logs But never ever burn the Canadian flag.

I remember back when I was in the womb It felt like I was the first baby on the moon Blood cells were the stars and the placenta was the earth and I had amniotic fluid as my space food and I made all kinds of plans for when I got out the things I would do the things I’d talk about (when I learned to talk) and for when I learned to walk I planned the places I would go to like new Brunswick and the mall and the Toronto zoo. And from the uterus I planned out the world I would create I’d ride a scooter or a bus and I would go on dates And in the evenings I’d stay in and concentrate On drafting plans for my own benevolent state Yes I wanted to see that new world That big brown black green and blue world I was getting bored with the small old world I was in I wanted to make that new world My world would be a place where everyone would play saxophones But never soprano saxophones just tenors and baritones And once in a trumpet and a rusty old French horn Would play a solo and make us shake our little bones I was an ambitious little unborn child When the doctor did the ultrasound I winked and I smiled Then I just relaxed and laid back for a while I was patient cause that was kind of my style But to be honest I was looking forward to getting out of there And doing things like growing teeth and a bit of hair But I was also thinking that the whole birth thing was unfair Cause it would be over so quickly after so much time to prepare And then I was finally born into the disease of the world And so were thousands of other little boys and girls And we shook our little fists at the sky and cried and hurled our insults and our anger and took our flags and banners and unfurled them and they said: “Take us back to the old world! We don’t want this ugly new world! We were much happier back then, and we want back in, Take us back to the old world!”

Well I never really wanted to teach history I had a degree in migration and ethnic studies But somehow that was enough to qualify me To teach the past to the future Toronto bourgeoisie I was a bit nervous so I asked for advice From a retired professor who I always thought was nice He smiled and stroked his beard and rolled his 8-sided dice And said there’s only one thing to remember and I’ll tell you twice He said Thailand was never a colony And an island is surrounded by a lake or a sea These are things we can say with some certainty And you will never escape from your history No you will never escape from your history I told him I understand what you’re saying, logically But I’m not sure how to apply it pedagogically He just sat there and repeated, one day you will see That you can never escape from your history So before I started teaching I decided to test his theory I had a couple months’ vacation and my time was free I thought what better destination than Germany Which was once a nasty place for people like me I saw a German hairstylist in a German hair salon Her eyes were blue and her hair was blonde I fell in love in a second and I put her in this song I thought despite our antagonistic histories we could probably get along So I asked her for a date and to my surprise she said yes We went out for some bratwurst and I had to confess I was looking for the truth of what my professor professed She just smiled and said “that’s romantic, I guess. And I understand the question but I think the point is moot Yes I am a German atheist, you’re a Canadian Jew But the past only hurts the present if you want it to Remember it but don’t let it dictate terms to you Remember it but don’t let it dictate terms to you.”

We're gathered here to record a recording At the Quarantine We put the fun back in the Bay of Fundy At the house of Dave and Colleen At the Irving station I was standing in line When an old man with a stutter Told me the best joke of all time He said “What is yellow and red and orange And appropriate hippie attire And I said I give up and he gave me a wink And said ‘f-f-f-f-fire’ And I laughed, and then I sang This charmed life is charming beyond measure The work feels a lot like pleasure And there’s a season for leisure and there’s a season for leisure In this charmed life I love all of the things That people make I love the tricks and games and the millions of names The wrong answers and the right mistakes And as the cyclists cycle by With their pant legs tucked in tight I wonder what kind of white wine They’ll be drinking at home tonight And spring will bring the flowers To the feet of the city trees And the honey bees will buzz subtly like the ‘b’ in subtlety And the rabbis and the ministers Will play rock paper scissors in the park To decide once and for all whether unicorns Were left behind by Noah’s Ark And the bears in the woods and the cougars in the bars And the leeches and the sharks in the cars Will say This charmed life is charming beyond measure The work feels a lot like pleasure And there’s a season for leisure and there’s a season for leisure In this charmed life I love all of the things That people make I love the tricks and games and the millions of names The wrong answers and the right mistakes

La la la LA la la la la la la....la la la LA la lalalalalala...etc.

Well there's been a lot of bad weather And murder this summer Yeah the weather has been bad And murder is a bummer So hold my hand Let's go to the dance You wear your new dress I'll wear my shiny black pants We'll stay out of trouble No we won't get in fights We'll be in the middle of it all In the middle of the night So kiss me once Then kiss me again Three times for good luck OK let's make it ten Feel my unsteady heart And my two shaking legs This is the start right now This is Winnipeg!

There are some things I can't control And others remote control These are the things I love the most I want to show them to you before I go What about a ground squirrel at the top of a tree? What about a blind fish at the bottom of the sea? What about a fossil on the planet Mars? Or a blinking firefly in a dirty glass jar? I love these things more than I love you They don't need anything, they just do what they do. Have you seen the blue light Of the coldest kind of snow? Have you touched the hard ground Where nothing will grow? Have you shivered When you walked down the road And street lights went out as you passed below? I love these things more than I love you They don't need anything, they just do what they do. I

There are rabbits by the highway Making homes in embankments A diet of grass and diesel A lifetime of dodging cars There's a dog on my block He's missing a leg and an eye His owner is missing an arm And the dog sleeps in a box in the yard It's an animal city And we're moving to the countryside. All the pigeons with their little red feet Looking around for something to eat They're eating poisoned bread Hundreds of dead pigeons at my feet It's an animal city And we're moving to the countryside.

Love, it’s like a hurricane: it happens in Florida, it gets into everything. Love, it’s like a monster truck: it fills up whole stadiums, but it crushes smaller trucks Love, it’s like a marmoset: it may be small and cute, but sometimes it eats its young Love, it’s like a trailer park: ugly but functional, the rent is cheap enough Love, it’s like a garbage man: it collects waste and filth, it smells like rotting flesh Love, it’s like an interstate: it gets you from place to place, but it’s littered with dead raccoons Love, it’s like a newborn child: seems interesting when it’s young, gets pedestrian after a while Love, it’s like a hurricane: it happens in Florida, it destroys everything.

A few months ago I was feeling low I didn’t know which direction to go The rest of my band had other bands and real jobs and so I thought about maybe doing something solo I went to the synagogue to have a heart to heart talk With this rabbi I knew who liked indie rock I said I know I’m not exactly an observant Jew But if you don’t mind I’d like some advice from you I did my best to explain the situation He sat there and smiled and listened and was patient He said “well I’m no Rick Rubin, I’m no Phil Spector But I don’t think it’s wise to make a solo record Going solo only leads you deep inside your gooey old brain To the place where you keep your paranoia and pain Stick with the band, going solo’s a trap And nobody likes singer-songwriter crap.” And I said, rabbi, I’m picking up what you’re laying down. And it sure does get lonely without the whole band around But with all due respect I’ll give the band a brief rest He said ‘Whatever, but I’ll always like your first album best.’ I said well really on a solo album you should play everything yourself, and I can’t play the cello so I’ll get Darcy’s help And with Jordy pushing the buttons of technology I think it’s kind of a band anyway, so rabbi, sing with me: Solo albums are solo only when there’s noone else around So lonely people cry alone at night and make their lonely sounds Press go on the recording machine and stop when it’s all done This is an album not for solo only but for everyone