Souverian; Andrew Bird

In an album with 12 songs, 5 have whistlings and this one is the last (but not the least). I discovered that “Souverian” is a word in old French for “sovereign” that means “exceptional in quality”; someone wrote in Songmeanings.net that “a google search turned up a farmer named Souverian P. Frigon who was born in 1850 in Canada and immigrated to Iriquois County, Illinois (Andrew Bird’s home state). Might just be a coincidence, but this Souverian being a farmer fits in with the pastoral images of parsnips, thistles, thrushes, and grasses. Perhaps Andrew Bird is spinning a story around a real but mostly unknown figure?”

You must being thinking why I am speculating that much. Because not even Andrew Bird himself knows why he composed it:

This one remains mysterious to me. So let’s just leave it there.

^^
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I’ like to know more about music, so I could speak about Bird’s influences, evolution of sound... these things. Because I don’t, all I can give are informations about the songs. Well, this blog never meant to be about musical trends; it’s more like an encyclopedia... We’re fine this way, don’t we?

Though bells will ring
Church steeples were catchin fire
If you promise spring
Then I’ll know you are a liar

Cause in the spring
Tender grasses won’t burn easily
Tough thrushes sing
Still my lover won’t return to me
Wild parsnips they still scald my lungs
While thistles will burn my feet

And if you join our chorus
You will never fear anymore
So here it comes the chorus
We will meet on a fatal shore

Souverian Souverian the elder
Souverian Souverian was free
Souverian Souverian we feld her
So very young so very young were we

Birds will sing
Still my lover won’t return to me
You promise spring
Still my lover won’t return to me
Wild parsnips scald my lungs
And thistles are burning my feet

So here it comes the chorus
You’ll never fear anymore
If you join a chorus
We will meet on a fatal shore

Under the elders
The older get younger
The younger get over
Over their elders
Under the elders
Pretend that you’re older now

Under the elders
The older get younger
The younger get over
Over the elders
Under the elders
Bending your branches down

We who are so very young
Still my lover won’t return to me
Thrushes sing
Still my lover won’t return to me
Wild parsnips they still scald my lungs
While thistles still burn my feet