A Verbal Fig Leaf · Track 13 · middle
Fadoodling
Fadoodling (1610s) — Pure invented nonsense. The century's favourite move. VOLUME: II. THE COINERS, 1600–1699. THE DODGE THIS ERA: The dodge became SPORT. Urquhart translating Rabelais invented dozens in an afternoon; nobody was hiding anything, they were competing. The richest century on the list, and the most useless for actually concealing meaning. Sing the AVOIDANCE, never the anatomy.
No audio yet — generation pending.
Lyrics
[Intro] [Verse 1] We left the blunt words in the dirt with the plough They carry too much of the animal heat We sit at the table and measure the sound Of a rhythm we tap with the sides of our feet I have a spill of the iron-gall ink And a habit of making a maze of the gate You tell me your conquest, I’ll match it with mine But we must not be common, we have to be safe. [Chorus] We are fadoodling. A trip of the tongue and a tap of the boot We are fadoodling. It means whatever I want it to do A flourish of breath when the meaning is plain A way to get caught in the middle of the storm Without getting wet, without losing the game Just keeping the syllables busy and warm. [Verse 2] John tries to win with a clatter of brass He strings together the meadow and wood But I want a word that can dance on a wire And bounce in the spaces where silence has stood My mouth feels the shape of the secret to come My mind races forward to alter the thought I give it a prefix, I give it a spin I build a new house with a beautiful lock. [Chorus] We are fadoodling. A trip of the tongue and a tap of the boot We are fadoodling. It means whatever I want it to do A flourish of breath when the meaning is plain A way to get caught in the middle of the storm Without getting wet, without losing the game Just keeping the syllables busy and warm. [Bridge] The barmaid is listening, pouring the drink She knows what we mean by the tilt of the chair She knows that the grander the term we invent The less we can handle the weight of the air We are hiding the pulse in a beautiful coat Because the plain truth is too close to the bone. [Outro] So give me a nonsense, a ribbon, a bow A place where the absolute truth doesn't go A little fadoodling To keep the dark out Just tossing the letters And turning about.