[Intro] “Don’t ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.” Phony. The ducks in Central Park. Where do they go when it freezes over, anyway? [Verse 1] I keep drifting in that stupid in-between, between Pencey and the rest of it, with my red hunting hat cocked off to one side like I’m daring the whole place to look at me. The halls got that slick, gold-plated look that makes you feel sick before you even know why. Everybody’s slicking their hair back, talking like they mean it, and it comes out phony as hell. I stand there with my hands in my pockets, trying not to go over the edge of the thing, trying not to care, and caring anyway. [Pre-Chorus] People keep saying, “You have to do something.” Like it’s that simple. Like you can’t just sit there and watch the whole damn movie and hate every second of it. I keep thinking of Allie, his left-handed glove, all that writing in green ink, and my mind goes blank in the same old place. It never adds up. It just keeps coming. [Chorus] If a body catch a body coming through the rye! That’s the thing I keep hearing when the night gets high! If a body catch a body coming through the rye, don’t let it vanish, don’t let it pass by! I’m sick of the phony, sick of the lie, I’m just trying to hold the edge of the rye! If a body catch a body coming through the rye, keep them from the fall till the sky goes by! [Verse 2] I walked the streets with my collar up, feeling like the whole city was in on a gag. A kid with skates on, a girl on a stoop, a couple of nuns with cheap suitcases — they looked more real to me than the bastards in their offices. I thought about the Museum of Natural History, how everything stays where it is if you keep looking at it right. You can’t touch the glass without messing it up. That’s the kind of thing that gets me. The ducks, the ice, the bridge, the dark — I keep asking where they go, like maybe somebody ought to know. [Bridge] I’m not built for the fancy rooms, the ladies and gentlemen, the whole bright rotten parade. I’d rather stand in the rain with my cap pulled low, listening for somebody not to crash. I keep seeing little kids running without looking down, and I think maybe that’s the only decent thing left — to stand there, on the cliff, and catch them before they get scattered all over the place. “People never notice anything.” That’s the truth of it. That’s the trouble. [Final Chorus] If a body catch a body coming through the rye! That’s the thing I keep hearing when the night gets high! If a body catch a body coming through the rye, don’t let it vanish, don’t let it pass by! I’m sick of the phony, sick of the lie, I’m just trying to hold the edge of the rye! If a body catch a body coming through the rye, keep them from the fall till the sky goes by! [Outro] Allie. Phoebe. Don’t ever tell anybody anything. Maybe that’s the trouble. Maybe that’s the only thing I know. I’d just be the catcher in the rye.
