"The Bagman's Gambit" is one of two attempted epics on the album. It's not bad, but it doesn't quite recapture the mood of "Eli The Barrowboy" and overstays its welcome. Its mention of telephones and cars merely kills any nostalgic imagery of olde England that it half suggests.

Mister Postman, do you have a letter for me?
Mister Postman, do you have a letter for me, a letter for me?
From my own true love, lost at sea... lost at sea.

Begins 'From My Own True Love (Lost at Sea)', in a manner that can't help but bring to mind The Beatles' own 'Please Mister Postman'. However simple, the ditty is a pleasure to listen to and probably as close as The Decemberists have come to writing a bubblegum pop song.

Next up is Picaresque's worst track. A weedy political satire(?) backed by conventional music and uncharacteristically weak lyrics, "Sixteen Military Wives" is thematically and musically awkward and glaringly out of place on a Decembrists album.

Cheer them on to their rivals,
'cause America can, and America can't say no.
And America does if America says it's so, it's so.
And the anchorperson on TV goes:
"La-di-da-di-da."

The only redeeming factor is what I take to be a bit of a bite at political correctness. But, the songs still sucks. Due to this, the subsequent "The Engine Driver" probably sounds better than it should. Maybe that was the idea, because the song's also fairly forgettable and monotonous, with only a handful of moments. "On the Bus Mall" is a significant improvement, thankfully. And I always chuckle at the lyric:

And we laughed off the quick tricks--
the old men with limp dicks--
on the colonnades of the waterfront park.

I also wonder if Malloy was thinking of the great British film Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, the most famous line of which is, "Don't let the bastards grind you down" when he penned:

We reigned at the pool hall,
with one iron cue ball,
and we never let the bastards get us down.