The Making of a Soul

[Part two of the Residents' 1978 operetta 'Not Available']

[Chorus]
Edweena went to calumet and left from there to college;
She took along a porcupine whose name was known as knowledge;
Now their relationship was fraught with pangs of loving hunger
The Porcupine could question all, but all she knew was slumber

[Porcupine]
A huge easy cozy wants our kiss, our kiss to triumph
But unbelievable admits --
Some questions, some questions
Receive a guarantee to shake you up
To shake you up, to shake you up
Yes, I've got some questions that are guaranteed
To shake you up
How much marriage urges a windmill to pinch infinity?
Is a magic hid-a-bed the final home of Spanish fire?
Is firm corn merrier under gifts of less important love?
We wonder
But fantasy moves ahead;
For the iceman just took a turn for the better
And a small object flies from his mouth;
A daring, jewel scales down the belted ear system
And you have the modular optimistic silver original
Welcome to the offshoots of Jupiter

[Chorus]
Edweena never knowing why her friend would ramble so
She shut him out and left a pout to bleed upon the snow!

[Porcupine]
Mourning glories open only after noon begins;
The open and the broken have begun to blend again
They freeze a shape about the nape of nectar and of knee;
They leave a sleeve, they weave a grieve for mourning's never free
Mourning glories open only after noon begins;
The open and the broken have begun to blend again
They freeze a shape about the nape of nectar and of knee;
They leave a sleeve, they weave a grieve for mourning's never free
Mourning's never free, mourning's never free, uuugh
Mourning's never free, mourning's never free

[Uncle Remus]
The aching and the breaking are the making of a soul
The aching and the breaking are the making of a soul
The aching and the breaking are the making of a soul
The empties that have been returned relieve us of a goal

[Hidden Monologue]
Once upon a time in a faraway land south of the steaming jungles, north of the mighty rivers, and east and west of the wastelands there lived a human person. He named himself by making up a sound he liked. His name was only a grunt, but he liked it, and liking something was a perfect awareness that he'd had that was not directly associated with his survival. In fact, he made this almost every facet of his life. He preferred to make up things he liked, but you'd hardly expect less from a human person. The man met a human person and they liked each other, and that's what they liked about liking each other. But then, they hung up about what they liked, and suddenly one day they needed to remember what they liked, or why they liked, and wonder if they even really liked each other; and this was the second awareness not directly associated with their survival. The choice seemed to be that you stop wondering how you're starting to like what the other person didn’t like. The third awareness was the most important, and made things sheerly out of nostalgia to the same degree

[Chorus]
Now who is gone and who is right, and who is left to see
For who is left is just a few, can two be more than three?