Writings and Lyrics

American Still Thrill

     American still thrill, back cover of a paper back book.  That might be freedom dancing out there on your windowsill, you'd better shoot it down and take a good look.  It took a while, but I think we finally built it, on a foundation that was tilted so now we watch it fall.  They call her Dawn, because she wakes up every morning and sees that everything is wrong but she doesn't change a thing.  And so you climb, while shaking up your snowglobe skyline, and herding flocks you couldn't confine with all the while in the world.  American still thrill, take a good look...The season of the event was winter but the splinter didn't heal until the fourth of June, I see you've grown but you've grown so bitter seems the glitter doesn't glimmer like it did when you died.  Johhny get your gun, its time to have some fun...in the middle of the thick let the blood drip drip through my head so thick I think I might be sick, call the doctor quick.

Big Screen

    White cat caught in a curtain as her gown hangs to the ground beside the gravel road she's running down cause he's the one who likes to be in charge of his own magazine.  She'd done it to him years before but paid the price and nevermore! Until today she caused quite a scene she's flipping through the pages as he screams..."I'll run away until I hit the big screen!"  Black dog in the doorway of the circus tent she calls her home away from home but when she's home she doesn't ever ever call it.  While she's there she hangs her hair down on her knees she aims to please sells fantasies to anyone who'll buy it.  "I'll run away unti I hit the big screen!"

    Papers print the pictures of the padlocks on the palace gates and dogs cry as the players wait to feed the news and sell the waste to scores of poor, sad, sentimental victims.  Stories stream the skies above, the city sinks through pools of ink, bleeds musings of a man who lost his hand in some mad automobile wreck that damn near killed him.  "I'll run away until I hit the big screen!" 

    Red sun sets her eyes upon the headlines hailing hangings held by woman turning tricks and telling tales and leaking lies so strange and horrible you never would believe her.  Blue haze haunts the hillside houses wailing, ailing apparition's spouse's blouse is blowing in the breeze you know I don't believe in ghosts but if I saw one, I'd probably fall over.  "I'll run away until I hit the big screen!"

Brushfire

Brushfire...I heard it on the livewire...they said that it was quite a quagmire...the work of the torches for hire...Amidst all of the laughter...I heard the bhikku of disaster...and now we've got to save the orchard...from the burning tires...The sun keeps shining but it lost the desire in competition with the torches for hire.  The girl loves living but she's stuck on the pyre in competition with the torches for hire.  Commotion...like waves were bringing down the ocean...and man the climax of that action...it couldn't have been much higher.

Staring at the Moon

     Quit staring at the moon. The sun is fading from lack of affection!  Genius is sleeping with the fool, glacier is melting from salty addiction.  But you play it all so cool, the wind will find you from some other direction.  And at the bottom of the pool, lies your cool blue insurrection. 

     Cause you've been waiting so long to catch her,you should know by now that she ain't never gonna fall.

     Start picking up the pace!  The runners already were issued their numbers.  Collector's grinning at the gates, waiting to tax you for all of your slumber.  And yet you grin with such delight.  How can you smile when their coming to beat you? Within a minute of your life...let the good Lord come and greet you.

     "You can run around as fast you can but you'll never get your hands on me!"

     I was walking down the street and a car drove by, I wondered who was driving it...

     You've been waiting so long to catch her, you should know by now that she ain't never gonna fall...

     You can run around as fast as you can but you'll never get your hands on me...

     I'm a whiskey bottle outlaw but I ain't no criminal...

     Wondering how things might work out but we don't know....

The Wicked Varhula

    The wicked Varhula, he tried to take over.  He tried to destroy all the villagers lives and dreams.  Evil Varhula, as I passed by him, I saw in his eyes three thousand screams. 

    So now I'm down from the canyon with those renegade elves, they just finished carving my mahogany shelves and now I'm stacking the porcelain, and grinding the meat, shining the leather for the shoes on my feet, because my soles have worn thin and I've spent all my wealth, just so I could ponder my mahogany shelves.  I'm feeding the meter, and crafting the rhyme, making the payments and toeing the line.

     The wicked Varhula he tried to take over.  He tried to destroy all the villagers lives and dreams.  Evil Varhula, as I passed by him, I saw in his eyes three thousand screams. 

     Outside on the porch I hear Varhula's elves, they just came to steal my mahogany shelves and so I'm out the back window, and making good time, I'd head for the mountain but its too steep to climb.  Oh that evil Varhula, he's shooting at me, I'm wading through the creek and he just won't let me be. 

     But oh you wicked Varhula! You sad evil fool!  Im counting down the days until this village destroys you!

     The wicked Varhula he tried to take over.  He tried to destroy all the villagers lives and dreams.  Evil Varhula, as I passed by him, I saw in his eyes three thousand screams.

     So now I'm up through the canyon with those triumphant elves who came to help me stock my mahogany shelves. I'm sipping the brandy and dying the meat, shining the tokens, getting dressed for the feast.  With Varhula defeated, the peasants rejoice, the drums commence their rolling and the choir finds a voice.  Goodbye Varhula, now that your gone, song shall flood the valley all the day long.

     The wicked Varhula he tried to take over.  He tried to destroy all the villagers lives and dreams.  Evil Varhula, as I passed by him, I saw in his eyes three thousand screams.

Stonewall Papermill

     Thirteen hanging on the side of the hill, I hope they catch that strangler and throw him in jail and lock the key away into a safe, and throw it in the ocean.  First eyewitness swears he don't want to die, so now we'll question the second one and see if their stories comply and if they don't, come tomorrow there'll be an execution.

     Fork-tongue slither politician come-a-walkin', we should cut off his head, maybe then he'd stop talkin' bout the enemy lurking on the other side of the aisle.  Or should we cut him some slack because he hasn't learned yet that there is no right and there is no left.  There's only money, and money lights up the town.

     Now the judge hasn't walked since he contracted the sliver on the birch-bark bridge burning over the river he should have listened, when the rebels said they'd burn it down. Or should we cut him some slack because he hasn't learned yet that there is no right and there is no left.  There's only money, and money lights up the town.  And money's gonna burn it down.

Upon Driving Through A Flock of Birds

     Thought one of them would move but I didn't know him all that well.  He thought the ice had melted, but instead he slipped and fell to wonder..."The sky was painted well today, I can see it in your face.  There's just one thing I've left to say, I'm so sorry for what did." He said "That's o.k., my fault."

     The song bird stood in silence, took up morning with the cow.  The willows all were weeping, and the dandelions bowed conceding..."The sky was painted well today, I can see it in your face.  There's just one thing I've left to say, I'm so sorry for what did." He said "That's o.k., I'm gone."

     The fox just stood there grinning, despite what he had heard.  The jury found a verdict, and the rats they all emerged and heard it..."The sky was painted well today, I can see it in your face.  There's just one thing I've left to say, I'm so sorry for what did." He said "That's o.k., you're dead."

The Ant (we march alone beneath the nyquil night)

     Withering weevils of whimsical woo shanked me and shuffled slowly off with my shoe.  What's a man to do with just one shoe?  I glanced at my gash, it was greener than grass but her eyes were blue.  She was wanting whiskey, I was wanting whiskey too.  The bartender begged me to bury the bitch, said I wasn't thinking too bright.  Apparently her bark wasn't louder than her bite.  But she aptly appeared to be able to ask if the ant was the apple that always ascended her fears, sent her spinning sideways, saw her slinging spears.

     Your thoughtless theories do not threaten me.  Though you seem to assume that they'd someday swipe me off to some solitary sea.  But my friend you forgot to fathom the frailties which set me free, so please don't pretend to be promising paradise for me.

     I don't deny that the deepest of depths of the dark and decrepit dreams which bring me at best, needles in the nest, make it hard to rest.  Your queries prove quite uninquisitive but your passion proves you won't petrify under the pot, boiling crimson hot, on the spot where you bought your slot.  So how will you reach us if we haven't stopped by or haven't been drinking the drunkest of rhymes, still sitting sober, reading in the lines?  No cosmic conceptions to cool the collections of soft spoken lectures on finding a life of your own, but that's what we're doing when we march alone.