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1. |
Lucky
03:06
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Snake of thieves
Won’t change direction
Stop dead in the night
Like a lucky man
Who’s lived a good life, but
Life has been taken
America knows
It’s the end of the line
But keeps on rolling on
Caught in a wheel
Fat man on a burning couch
Harboring despair
To him, it’s only fair, and he truly
Questions the means
By which we spread The Word
As TV entertainment
A herd that turns against itself is still a herd
Going on and on and on
Doggy’s got herself a new collar
Doggy’s got herself a new leash
Taking herself for a walk in the park
Ignoring every pastor or priest
Doggy’s got herself a new collar
Doggy’s got herself a new leash
Taking herself for a walk in the park
Ignoring every word that’s preached
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2. |
Ashes
02:35
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I’ll nail my theses to the church
Front doors and sell my pants
Sitting down to make
Isn’t a way to be un-fake
And awake and aware
Children stare
Always wearing the vacuum
On their sleeves
It’s nice to be important
But it’s even more important to be nice
And ten degrees below will always
Numb despite the melting of the ice
I’ll crash my car into a bridge
Destroy the evidence at hand
Feeling out the risk
Is always riskier than this
Clenching fist, over there
Bourgeois stare
Always wearing their colors
On their sleeves
It’s nice to be important
But it’s even more important to be nice
And ten degrees below will always
Numb despite the melting of the ice
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3. |
Summer
06:37
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Hearing The Fall. Back to the patio. Summer days spent chasing the wind and the rain. Oysters and candy down at the docks. Look over and see the men at the pub crouched over their beers and glasses of small amounts of whisky so as not to offend. Giving their children the best they can, they stumble out and down to shipyard. Looking up at the sky, way down below at the ground. Digging up dirt, burying their heads below the earth. Clashing with their wives’ friends over small matters of lifestyle, class, expectations, duty, obligation, etiquette, protocol. Being genuine by not thinking for even a moment in an entire lifetime. Not blaming it on their absent fathers. Chasing down the alcohol with chilled beer and coming home to chug a glass of good city tap water.
They took the normal amount of time to write the daily material. It was only at the sound of a car radio on the street outside that they stopped thinking. That was when the real work flowed. They’d stopped and detached. Forgotten identity and ego, mission statements and even all ideas. Out the brain, drained completely. Only the real stuff now. Bringing down the houses and turning ash to dust. Brushing aside the sediment. Making room for advanced society and letting their hairs down and bellies out.
Give me the voice of a thousand soldiers
Oh, darling, what I’d do just to hold ya
Burning books isn’t beneath me
Now that I know how sweet defeat could be
Give me the voice of a thousand soldiers
Oh, darling, what I’d do just to hold ya
Burning books isn’t beneath me
Now that I know how sweet defeat could be
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4. |
Illusions
02:58
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Wonder why I pass
These slippy streets at night
Cobblestone
Shaking my weak bones
Broken from pension
But saving goodbyes
To the hope that you and I
Could stay home, get by
Poetry written
On the dew of the lawn
The morning dawn
Meets me at last
Illusions of sameness between the divide
When the only ones who feel at all grounded and alive
Are counting their pennies and just scraping by
With nothing but the water at their feet
And all around me and all through the town
Defeated malaise and meetings abound
But adjourned,
The truth is never found
Illusions of sameness between the divide
When the only ones who feel at all grounded and alive
Are counting their pennies and just scraping by
With nothing but the water at their feet
And all around me and all through the town
Defeated malaise and meetings abound
But adjourned,
The truth is never found
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