Three Sheets to Kishkiyya · Track 83 · middle
Crawsick
VOLUME IV — the HUNGOVER morning after. The idiom and the song's title hook: "Crawsick". Its true history: Ireland, 18th c. (Joyce used it in Ulysses) — 'sick in the craw/stomach'; a weathered narrator's confession. Render this beat of the night as the band's affectionate, funny, celebratory tribute — the idiom itself is the chorus hook.
Lyrics
[Intro] [Verse 1] Sunlight hitting the bedroom glass. The church bell ringing out a bit too loud. I've got a bird cage rattling inside my chest, Feathers and gravel in a heavy cloud. Back in 18th century Ireland, friend, They knew exactly how the night would end. [Chorus] I'm crawsick, boys, I'm sick in the craw. The most fragile morning that Dublin ever saw. Crawsick, honey, with a heavy beak, Takes an hour and a half just to try and think. Mr. Joyce wrote it down in Ulysses, you know, Just a mortal man wading through the undertow. [Verse 2] The belly is a pocket that you cannot trust, Full of last night's glory and the morning's rust. Every step to the kettle is a country mile, But there's a quiet mercy in your tired profile. We ain't the first to greet the daylight pale With a shivering crop and a hollow tale. [Chorus] Yeah, I'm crawsick, boys, I'm sick in the craw. The most fragile morning that Dublin ever saw. Crawsick, honey, with a heavy beak, Takes an hour and a half just to try and think. Mr. Joyce wrote it down in Ulysses, you know, Just a mortal man wading through the undertow. [Bridge] It's a delicate machinery, this human frame. We break it on the weekend, we take the blame. But looking at you pouring that coffee black, I wouldn't take a single drop of it back. [Outro] Sick in the craw. Just a little ruffled in the feathers today. Let the 18th century ghosts have their say. I'm crawsick, darling. But I think I'll survive till the afternoon. Or thereabouts.