Friday, February 25, 2011

Love Dogs - lyrics

Slow down. You’re going too fast.
I’m scared. I want this night to last.
Slow your pace. It’s not a race. I’m fine with being late.
This rain isn’t going to wait.

Hold here, this music pressed like gold.
With you, these love songs sound less old.
Sad refrains and ancient pains, seem muted shades of gray,
as Ben Folds slowly fades away.

Speed up. Skip straight to our song.
It builds as we go along.
With microphones, we’re on our own to make our bitter sweet.
Tonight, we’re love dogs in the streets.

Coffee & Pie - lyrics

I got coffee and pie.
Oh Lord, let these troubles pass me by.
Lost my job, but I can’t cry
because I got coffee and pie.
I got coffee and I got pie.
Oh Lord, let these troubles pass me by.
Lost my home, but I can’t cry,
not with coffee and pie.

I got coffee and I got pie.
Oh Lord, let these troubles pass me by.
My wife left, but I can’t cry,
not with coffee and pie.
I got coffee and I got pie.
Oh Lord, let these troubles pass me by.
She took the kids, but I can’t cry,
not with coffee and pie.

I got coffee. I got pie.
Oh Lord, let these troubles pass me by.
Got a tumor, but I can’t cry,
not with coffee and pie.
I got coffee and I got pie.
Oh Lord, let these troubles pass me by.
Might be dead, but I can’t cry,
not with coffee and pie.

Different Name - lyrics

I loved the bottle. She loved me.
While I watched NASCAR. She wanted to see
if mine was the heart she wanted to tame.
Now she’s fighting with a different name.

I had no job. She did all the work.
She was the angel. I was the jerk.
I knew one day she’d quit the game
and start fighting with a different name.

Should’ve changed my ways.
Maybe then she would’ve stayed.
Should have changed who I am
and tried to be a better man.

Should’ve changed my ways.
Maybe then she would’ve stayed.
Should have changed who I am
and tried to be a better man.

Now I just sit here alone
pretending she calls me on the phone.
I really have no one else to blame.
Now she’s fighting with a different name.

Variations On A Theme (Where Do We Go) - lyrics

Where do we go
when the rain falls hard and fast?
I think it’s flying.
I don’t think it’s crying.
Where do you go
on days, so dry and cold,
the sunlight glued to your pain,
the thought of distant rain?

What do we see
when the lights go out on the coast?
I think it’s oceans.
I don’t think it’s potions.
What do you see
when you don’t look at me?
Is it darkness or is it red,
the worlds inside your head?

How do we feel
when reality burns in a flash?
I think it’s mental.
I don’t think it’s gentle.
How do you feel
as the movement fades back to real,
when productions come to an end,
when rain drops start to bend?

Papa Longan - lyrics

My grandfather, on the back porch steps,
in his undershirt, wipes away the sweat,
and with his pocket knife, cuts a branch he found
As the bluebirds skip along the ground,
he churns ice cream.
He’s carving the American Dream.

Ten years pass with no regrets –
oxygen tubes swing around his neck.
With slower steps, he fills his tank,
and cleans the ashtrays at the uptown bank.
Still a member of the team,
he’s carving the American Dream.

Old age takes away his sight.
Every moment tastes like night.
And in a La-Z-Boy, with a dog on his lap,
the towers fell, then he took a nap,
no breath to belt a scream.
He’s carving the American Dream.

Mamo Longan - lyrics

This is my morning,
my rising sun.
This is my coffee,
the toast almost done.
And this is my paper
where people die,
and this my time
to sit and cry.

These are my hands
piped with veins.
This is my laughter
that cuts through the pain.
And these are my feet,
toes curved and bent,
carved by decades
the quest for rent.

This is my family
squared in this frame.
This is the man
I had a chance to tame.
And these are moments
I have to keep,
the sliding embers
that help me sleep.

This is my story -
no big deal.
This is my journey
to define what’s real.
And this is my religion
coming into view,
my fears, my questions,
before I’m through.

Goldfish Bowl - lyrics

I can smell your bread
cooling in the wind.
I hear your words and poetry.
You like to play pretend.
Wish I had a key,
but that might be too bold.
You really love your solitude
inside your goldfish bowl.

Dead men tell no tales,
or so I’ve been told.
Their words just reflect the light
off gems and foolish gold.
I should write a book,
and make it my life’s goal
to die and find my way to you
inside your goldfish bowl.

You’re not there
even though I know you are.
You come and go like chronic pain
but stay in my guitar.
I really want this part.
I’ve studied for the role.
Is there room for someone else
inside your goldfish bowl?

Leona Adams - lyrics

Leona Adams,
I thought about you today.
Leona Adams,
this is how I pray.
I wondered if you wanted
to play.

Leona Adams –
busty Miss Seventeen.
Cystic Fibrosis
kept you from being prom queen.
Sometimes I think you were
a dream.

Leona Adams,
you wished we were closer in age
so we could be lovers,
and you could keep turning the page,
but your life was only
a cage.

Untitled - lyrics

Couldn’t tell me about the war.
Didn’t know what it was for.
They raised the dead. They did a dance.
We never really stood a chance.

He left his home with his guitar,
thought that he was going far.
Hollywood was not a place
for a human in the race.

Couldn’t tell me what was right
then raised his flask to angel flight,
as trumpets sweetly smoothed the air,
ones I didn’t know were there.

They say the highway his home,
a perpetual kind of Rome.
He’s been to every single town.
He’s lived it up, and lived it down.

Couldn’t tell me about a God
on the shores of old Cape Cod,
the only word he spoke, a name,
a flicker of archaic flame.

And as the sun beat down the day,
he reeled his line and went away.
And though the road he faced was long,
he tramped a beat and hummed a song.

The Flash Of Light Was Me - lyrics

Last night, in my bed,
a dream crept in my head.
I saw when the world will end –
my loved ones, and my friends
pinned down in the park,
huddled in the dark,
they could hear
the hellhounds bark.

Hey little girl what’s the news?
Did you win that game of Clue?
The world’s falling down,
and I can’t find my shoes.

Then I was on a plane
and a thought shot through my brain.
I saw us going down
like an open hospital gown –
the people in first class,
shattering like glass
their screaming
turned to gas.

Hey little girl, did you see
those people on TV?
When that airplane became a flame
the flash of light was me.

But then, I saw your face,
and I tried to find your grace,
but when I saw your eyes
I could see through your disguise –
all the things you do,
how you make me blue,
the tragedy
that’s you.

Hey little girl, did you hear?
Or was daddy drinking beer?
The sun came out today
everywhere but here.

Vignette III (The Comedy Of Your Death) - lyrics

I dreamt you died, and it made me laugh.
I was there, the hobo with a staff.
Your final breath was a Vaudeville song,
and your timing was so strong.

…I killed your mind with steel…
…And the pain was good to feel…
…If you want a love song, babe…
…Go listen to “Yesterday”…

How soft the rain beneath your graveyard home!
We did a dance with a graveyard gnome.
Then we went home, and nestled to our beds,
and forgot that you were dead.

…You drew your lines with coal…
…Bu they couldn’t save your soul…
…Now you keep shut the way…
…And you’ll never see the day…

I woke up. These images regressed.
You’re still alive, and that’s good, I guess.
But in my mind, you still burn for miles,
and this picture makes me smile.

…I paint these things so well…
…I dreamt you into Hell…
…I scald you on the beach…
…I love my twisted reach…

Moksa - lyrics

Seems in tune with the plan
that my heart is cold as man,
and sightless men are the puppeteers
of love.
I'm going to find a place
beyond this crowded lump of space,
some divine land with blue skies

Gripping silence overwhelms
my voice inside.
My eyes should say
What I'm thinking of.
So I'm going to find some space
outside the human race
far away from the puppeteers
of love.

Gonna throw my inner child
out to the wild,
and turn my back
when the choir starts to sing.
I'll be like a bird,
or the essence of a word
when I find the time to cut these
heart shaped strings.

I'm swirling all around
on a thunderstorm.
When lightning strikes
it burns my wings.
My thoughts of peace would erase
without the notion of the place
I'm gonna go when I cut these
heart shaped strings.

The path is so long
in the moment of the song,
an ongoing trial with juries
made of doves.
Judge, jury, and prosecutor
yell "guilty" like a computer,
the sentence passed by the puppeteers
of love.

Crying acts of sorrow
grow and sprout around.
So this is when a push
becomes a shove.
Out of tears and goodbyes
my freedom will rise
upon the death of the puppeteers
of love.

Lullaby - lyrics

Hush, my love. Don’t make a sound.
You’ll miss the moon and stars trying to steal the ground,
that holds the ice and snow that falls to earth,
a hobo’s blanket he can’t make work.

His hands are red. His nose just runs.
He knows the nature of men with guns,
because the world is cold, I confess.
Sadness persecutes happiness.

I want to sing you a happy lullaby.
I want to tell you the ones you love won’t die.
But I have to lie to you so you will go to sleep
…don’t weep.

So hush, my love, and close your eyes.
Say your prayers and then say goodbye.
Yes, hush, my child. Close your eyes.
Say your little prayer then say goodbye.

Beatrice - lyrics

I ground the dirt of the harshest roads
and kissed the flames of fire.
I smelled the sulfur mixed with codes
that made my long desire
to see her face. This path I take
has marked my singed writing hands.
But words don’t suffice,
when I bring them to light,
singing soft eyes and paradise.

I climbed a mountain to some stars
and bathed in crystal rivers
to clean the frightened from my scars
that cause weak hearts to quiver.
I pled my case to see her face
and it marked my singed writing hands.
But words won’t suffice,
when I bring them to light,
singing soft tones and paradise.

My eyes went blind beneath the lights
that smell like gods and miles.
I could not see beyond the sight,
her eyes, and heart, and smile
that found a place upon her face
and marked my singed writing hands.
But words don’t suffice,
when I bring them to light,
singing soft love and paradise.

Passing Imagery - lyrics

Passing imagery gets the best of me
when I drive these miles past the gravel piles.
It's so easy to see the diamonds vexing me.
It's so hard to know which way this wind will blow.

She tells me about a man with better eyes and hands,
like a walking dream, the captain of his team.
I'd love nothing better than to talk about her weather,
her blue skies and sun. Here comes another one.

You solipsistic bitch! I'll never scratch your itch
because when you talk so tough nothing's good enough.
I was so blind. I couldn't see your kind.
But now, I clearly see passing imagery.

Vignette II (Take It Slow) - lyrics

“Take it slow. Take it slow tonight.
The traffic lights, they curve and arc,
and sometimes, they will miss the mark
like your words.”

Laughed it up. Laughed it up like sin
with your sewing pins. You were out of thread.
“Oh! the songs you make up in your head
will be your end.”

“Wash your hands. Wash before you eat.
This meatloaf can’t be beat. I will wear my gloves
while I serve your vegetables with love
and chocolate milk.”

A waitress said. A waitress said to me
after you set me free, like a rubber band.
“The statues you stand up with your hands
are here and now.”

“I like the rain. I like the rain in spring.
It makes the flowers sing. It makes the weather warm.
And, I even like a raging thunderstorm
to wake me up.”

A girl will say. A girl that I don’t know.
She is beyond what shows, but our paths will meet.
“But, I like the snow, the ice that bites our feet
tomorrow night.”

Night Snow - lyrics

Stay off the side streets tonight.
The snow cuts the depths of our sight,
and I'm so afraid of these waters we wade
because nothing about them is right.

The wind blows bitter and cold,
sculpting this Frigidaire mold.
The street lights are faint from the frost and the paint.
These sidewalks seem so withered and old.

I just hope that we get home.
We shouldn't be out here alone,
braving these climbs for cheap thrills and dimes,
these blizzards that turn us to bones.

We could've stayed in, you know,
and taught these embers to glow.
But we rolled the dice, and we lost more than twice
because we never know when to go.

Dark Outside - lyrics

It’s getting so I can’t believe
all of these thoughts that I receive.
Sun in the sky, I can’t conceive
that it’s dark outside.

I see you walk everyday,
down 2nd Street, up Westerbay,
tripping on stones along the way
because it’s dark outside.

Snow falls today, faster than light.
I look to my left, you stand to my right,
taking my arm you hold me tight
because it’s dark outside.

Love in the past like cynical sand
flakes with the salt upon my land,
but you buttoned my coat, so I’ll hold your hand
because it’s dark outside.

I Want To Live On Sesame Street - lyrics

If I lived near Big Bird’s house
I’d never have to kill the mouse
that runs the length
of my floor.
A-B-C’s and 1-2-3’s,
these would mean the world to me,
up, down,
near, and far.

My triangles and storybooks,
cooperate with silly looks.
Everything has
a voice.
Celebrities and cookie dreams,
everyday’d taste like ice cream,
sign language
helps hearing impaired.

I want to live on Sesame Street.
I want to sit and rest my feet.
I want to live on Sesame Street,
but the world is far too real.

I’d never starve. I’d never work.
That Oscar is a fucking jerk.
I’d like to punch
his eyes.
So if I lived near Big Bird’s house
I’d probably never kill that mouse.
We’d dance until
the dawn.

Samsara - lyrics

Samsara overtakes me -
bends, molds, shapes, and creates me
singing, dancing on the wind,
forgetting all about the end.

I destroy my soul at night,
but it starts reforming,
and I wake up
in the morning.

Mmm...the cycle starts again.
Mmm...much to my chagrin.
I want to be a dove,
fly away from love.

I destroy my soul at night,
but it starts reforming,
and I wake up
in the morning.

I'm building up a steam
forgetting how to dream.
I almost lost myself,
the greatest form of wealth.
To enlighten
I gotta quit fighting.
I have to give up

Mmm...the cycle starts again.
Mmm...much to my chagrin.
I want to be a dove,
fly away from love.

I destroy my soul at night,
but it starts reforming,
and I wake up
in the morning.

Samsara, I've done this all before.
Samsara, circle round some more.
I can see for miles ahead
from the corner of my bed.

I destroy my soul at night,
but it starts reforming,
and I wake up
in the morning.

Vignette I (Skip The Sea) - lyrics

“How should I skip the sea
if the water weathers me?”
You asked before some summer storm
on solid sheets of form.

I recall such silly things,
like the fragrance of your dreams,
the sounds, as showers washed, you made,
your clothing, far too hip to fade.

To the past, I will go,
this burning bit by snow.
To the past, I will sing,
my source of everything.

You should skip the sea with stone
after all your birds have flown,
ripples that wax and wane,
before future falls of rain.

Soar - lyrics

Watched a film
with cowboys and guns
when battles were won
in whiskey soaked dreams.
She’s shot down
in the orange of a sun,
died so young.
The pain’s his defeat.

Heard a song
about things in the wind
when happiness ends,
the bitter drenched flow.
Rock and roll
ain’t no answer at all,
just a rise to a fall
in cynical rhyme.

I will soar when I know what love is for.
I will soar when I know what love is for.
I will soar when I know what love is for.
I will soar when I know what love is for.

I will soar when I know what love is for.
I will soar when I know what love is for.
I will soar when I know what love is for.
I will soar when I know what love is for.

We touched hands
over milkshakes at night,
pursuing our light,
and presents from fate.
We never saw,
in our infinite spaces,
how an inch from our faces
our birthday cakes shine.

Christo - lyrics

Block the sunlight. I don’t want to see.
Today’s too much. I don’t know what to be.
I see curtains hanging in the park,
orange and flowing, pushing back the dark.
I write sculptures. I build music.
I write sculptures. I build music.

Some call me a genius. I sing beyond the sea.
Others laugh hate higher up than me.
But they don’t know all the things I do.
They walk blindly. They don’t have a clue.
I write sculptures. I build music.
I write sculptures. I build music.

Leonard Cohen. Maybe he was right.
We are ugly, but the music makes us light.
We see essence. We see what’s really there,
We write our rhythms in the heaving speech of air.
We write sculptures. We build music.
We write sculptures. We build music.

Beget the beauty. That’s the little game.
I hear voices from a picture frame.
Plato’s calling. I can hear his lines.
I climb his ladder to stop the rub of time.
I write sculptures. I build music.
I write sculptures. I build music.

Wrap it up, now. I can see what’s real
spiral sweetly like a lemon peel,
but it’s never ever changed a thing.
Lonely painters still sit alone to sing.
They write sculptures. They build music.
They write sculptures. They build music.

So take the sunlight. All I want is sleep.
These mental hiccups are neither in nor deep.
I’ll just dream now, of a different day
where I give my vision to hear some woman say –
“Write me sculptures. Build me music.”
“Write me sculptures. Build me music.”

Cancers That I've Had - lyrics

When he was just a baby, his mother sang him so,
“Don’t go to County Fallon to fight the English snow.
Your father was a martyr, for some greater good.
Don’t roll the dice or fight the gods of wood.”

Stories steeped in rusted time
are the bells about to chime.
People come and people pass
to better worlds of greener grass.

I’ve read your poems. They make me cry,
all the miseries and why.
Sadder still is what they save,
clever words tied to the grave.

His mother was a-sleeping when he grabbed his coat and gun,
and wrote for her a note to say the reasons why he’d gone.
The English killed his people. They raped and maimed his land.
For that they’d taste the musket in his hand.

All I ever do is sigh,
like a man about to die,
and drag these blues words to tone,
oh these soundtracks of alone.

All the songs I know are sad.
They are cancers that I’ve had.
Wrecks of trains and death abound
are inspiration for the sound.

It’s one shot for his father. And two shots for his Rose.
And three shots for the bullet that flies behind his nose.
And four shots for the blood, my friends.
And five shots for the cave his mother goes for flowers for his grave.

A Small Request - lyrics

Ladies, I don’t mean to amuse you
with my song.
Fact is I will abuse you
before long.
And I’ll probably confuse you
and beat the gong
of driving you away.

Eyes, mine, abstract footsteps
in my inner space
beat the subtract regrets
of your grace.
ill attract my language begets,
but just in case
please remember this.

Don’t fall in love with a poet
because it’s over before you know it.
The lines may sound like solid strips of gold,
but the scars, they get so old.

She says: “Your words are so beautiful
to me.
And, your thoughts on art are beautiful
to me.
But, the concepts have no meaning
to me.
So I...I will twirl away.”

And she says: “I’ve never been a muse
until tonight,
and the prospect is too much
for my light.
You may think you know my world,
but you’re not right.
So I...I will disappear.” Should’ve told them

Don’t fall in love with a poet
because it’s over before you know it.
The metaphors and broken bits of string,
oh these...these become the dream.

So ladies I stand before you
with these thoughts.
This message I implore you
like things I’ve fought.
This, my fiction, may restore you.
You might be bought,
or might be sold.

So to translate,
to bring things around,
do not concentrate too much
on my sound.
I only serve to illustrate
this taste of ground.
Move along. There’s nothing more to see. And just remember...

Don’t fall in love with a poet
because it’s over before you know it.
You may think we have the gift of sight,
but soon enough you become the fight.

Nowhere Bound - lyrics

Waiting for the train, snow is falling fast.
All the people shivering, somehow always last.
They feel the platform fade with the freezing ground.
Soon enough they’ll be there too on a line that’s nowhere bound.

In the gentle glide, the cars rock side to side.
All their eyes are somewhere else, lost within the ride.
They huddle in their coats to read the daily papered news.
Soon enough they’ll hum a song then they’ll stamp it with their shoes.

Gathered for the game, late night cold outside.
All the patrons pack their mugs to toast the city’s pride.
They see the pass go up, as the running ends.
Soon enough they’ll feel the speed of these tracks that curve and bend.

Home just through the door, to rooms so dark and still.
They throw their keys on table tops to make sure it’s still real.
Then they take the plunge in barely folded sheets.
Soon enough they’ll be there too on a journey that repeats.

The Resistance

We’re on the run. This isn’t fun.
We’re six years out the door.
We’re so alone
on midnight streets, and fractured beats,
slaying villain fiends
with stones.

They took our lives, our homes, our wives.
They tore our futures down.
Oh they burned!
But we strike back with clang and clack.
Those bastards will taste our wrath.
It’s their turn!

The fires glow. The wind, it blows.
We’ll greet their noise and drums
before they’re drawn.
We don’t fear death, the loss of breath,
and so we carry on
into the dawn.

I See You Like Bagels - lyrics

Hello or goodbye, whichever you choose.
I see you each morning, an hour to lose.
Eyes on your bagel, back to the sun,
the setting repeats itself, but it’s never overdone.

It’s today tonight. It’s something alright.
But the lights in the throng have got to be wrong.
The day sings a sadness like angry blood cells.
It’s some’s some’s some’s some kind.
It’s some kind of hell.

Just give me a signal. I’ll walk your way.
Maybe I’ll smile, or just pass away.
I need the Tabasco. It’s by your right hand.
I love these excuses for taking a stand.

Right now it’s ended. It’s all been pretended.
But the windows and floors are begging for more.
Everyone’s grounded with hungers to quell.
It’s some’s some’s some’s some kind.
It’s some kind of hell.

How ‘bout this weather? I think it might rain.
Can’t stand the small talk. Drives me insane.
I see you like bagels. Hey, so do I.
Could you say “I love you” for giving this try?

Frantic, ragged, it’s icicle jagged.
But the beat of the song has got to go on.
I feel like some fate wished to the well.
It’s some’s some’s some’s some kind.
It’s some kind of hell.

Guess I’ll be going. There’s no more to say.
I’m sorry I ever looked over this way.
My omelet and bacon are some kind of joke.
I feel like the bubbles that swim in my Coke.

Goodbye, good luck. It’s hey what the fuck.
But the time and the sound are about to come round.
We’re swinging our sadness like Byzantine bells.
It’s some’s some’s some’s some kind.
It’s some kind of hell.

Unheroic - lyrics

So songs of love never were my style.
Sang them once, but they taste like bile.
So why am I singing one
to you?
Romantic kings always sang to stars
in whisper tones, on hushed guitars,
but all I know is how to sing
the blues.

Not Don Quixote. Not Hanuman.
Can’t quell these fires that burn your lawn,
just use them to cook
your birds.
Don’t have a sword. Don’t own a cape.
My superpower’s my fast escape,
these pencil lines, this pagan faith,
these words.

She laughed at things I thought I knew,
philosophy I thought was true,
axioms that taught me how
to feel.
“Baby what if God’s not home?
Does it mean that we’re alone?
Or does it mean that you and I
are real?”

Dilettantes - lyrics

All alone,
but he sets the table anyway.
By the phone,
he tries to think of better words to say.
Lets it go,
like fading, fleeting hours of the night.
It’s as though
the avenues that lead to him aren’t right.

This is the blanket covering his feet,
the insecurity that feels complete,
The crumpled style never fit to stay,
this is the part that he was meant to play.

In a bar,
he holds a humble whiskey like a rose.
At the floor,
he washes all the wisdom to his toes.
He reflects
on tests and scans and inner bleeding stings.
Through the night,
he’ll drink to watch these baseball players swing.

This is the scene so quivering to tell,
the bitter taste of mediocre hell.
The vaunted veil that’s hampering his sight,
this is the poem that he was meant to write.

In a field,
no one’s there to hear him hit the ground.
At the sky,
he casts his eyes but all he knows is sound.
In a church,
a minister pays tribute to a life,
to a man
who leaves behind a family and a wife.

This is the final painting that we sell,
a congregation caught beneath a bell.
A passing throng of deacons soft as wings,
this is the song that we were meant to sing.

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Robots Doing People Things

Waking Up

Morning Joe

The Daily Grind

Taking Out The Trash

One More For The Road

Taking In A Flick

Bundle Of Joy

Day Is Done

Jordan 2.0

Given To Temptations

Unsolvable Proofs


Get Well Soon

Gone Fishing


The King Of Crash, Man

DRG 2.0

When Johnny Comes Marching Home

Hang Ten

Cupcake Time!

Though Your Lads Are Far Away They Dream Of Home

The Allies Have Landed

Cutting The Grass (DRG 2.0)


Hard Times Come Again No More

Nobody's Fault But Mine

High Plains Drifter

A La Peanut Butter Sandwiches!

We Are Miners, Hard Rock Miners

There's A Hole In Daddy's Arm Where All The Money Goes

Just A Little Off The Top

Imagination Rules The World

Uh Personally, I Thought Their First Album Was Way Better

Goodbye My Coney Island Baby

Arbeit Macht Frei

The Big Question

String Theory

As He Thinks In His Heart, So He Is


Two Silhouettes On The Shade

Well Done


Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio.


Stayin' Alive

Missing Link


38th Parallel

Drive On


Organ Grinder


All Right, Mr. De Mille. I'm Ready For My Close Up

Needs More Salt

Ladies and Gentlemen...I'm Just A Robot

Just Beep It