1.Bowl of Oranges
The rain, it started tapping on the window near my bed. There
was a loophole in my dreaming,
so I got out of it. And to my surprise my eyes were wide and
already open.
Just my nightstand and my dresser where those nightmares had
just been.
So I dressed myself and left then, out into the gray streets.
But everything seemed different and completely new to me.
The sky, the trees, houses, buildings, even my own body.
And each person I encountered, I couldn't wait to meet.
I came up a doctor who appeared in quite poor health.
I said '(I am terribly sorry but) there is nothing I can do for
you
(that) you can't do for yourself.'
He said 'Oh yes you can. Just hold my hand. I think that would
help.'
So I sat with him a while and then I asked him how he felt.
He said, 'I think I'm cured. No, in fact, I'm sure of it.
Thank you Stranger, for your therapeutic smile.'
So that is how I learned the lesson that everyone is alone.
And your eyes must do some raining if you are ever going to
grow.
But when crying don't help and you can't compose yourself.
It is best to compose a poem, an honest longing or simple song
of hope.
That is why I'm singing...
Baby don't worry cause now I got your back. And every time you
feel like crying,
I'm gonna try and make you laugh. And if I can't, if it just
hurts too bad,
then we will wait for it to pass and I will keep you company
through those days so long and black.
And we'll just keep working on the problem we know we'll never
solve of Love's uneven remainder.
But if the world could remain in a frame like a painting on a
wall.
Then I think we would see the beauty.
Then we would stand staring in awe at our still lives posed like
a bowl of oranges,
like a story told by the fault lines and the soil.
2.Don't Know When But A Day Is Gonna Come
Is it true what I heard about the Son of God？ Did he come to
save？ Did he come at all？
And if I dried his feet, with my dirty hair, would he make me
clean again？
They say they don't know when but a day is gonna come, when
there won't be a moon
and there won't be a sun. It will just go back to the way it was
before.
I knew a lovely girl, with such pretty pride, and every man
wanted her, and so did I.
So did I. But she up and died in a fit of vanity.
Now men with purple hearts, carry silver guns. And they will
kill a man
for what his father has done. But what my father did, you know
it don't mean shit.
I'm not him.
So you think I need some discipline, well, I had my share. I
have been sent to my room.
I've been sat in a chair. And I held my tongue. I didn't plug my
ears. No, I got a good talking to.
And now I don't know why, but I still try to smile when they
talk at me
like I'm just a child. Well, I'm not a child. No, I am much
younger than that.
And now I have read some books and have grown quite brave. If
only I could just speak up I think
I would say that there is no truth. There is only you and what
you make the truth.
So I will just sing my song and I'll pass a hat. Then I'll leave
your town and never look back.
No, I don't look back because the road is clear and laid out
ahead of me.
I'll get home and meet my friends at our favorite bar. We'll get
some lighter heads for our heavy hearts.
And we will share a drink. Yeah we will share our fears and they
will know how I love them.
They will know how I love. They will know how I love them.
I am nothing without their love.
I don't know when but a day is gonna come when there won't be a
moon and there won't be a sun.
It will all go black. It will all go back to the way it is
supposed to be.
Is it true what I heard about the Son of God？ Did he die for us？
Did he die at all？
And if I sold my soul for a bag of gold, which one of us would
be the foolish one？
Which one of us would be the fool？ Which one of us would be the
foolish one？
Which one of us would be the fool？
Could you please start explaining？ You know, I need some
understanding.
I could do good with some explaining. You know. I want to
understand.
3.False Advertising
On a string I was held. The way that I move, can you tell？
My actions are orchestrated from above. So I swing and I sway.
Wave my hand. Kick my leg. And it is always right with the
music.
'Until all that swinging starts to make you sick'
For a song I was bought. Now I lie when I talk with a careful
eye on the cue card.
Onto a stage, I was pushed with my sorrow well rehearsed.
So give me all your pity and your money. Now.
'We used to think that sound was something pure'
If I could act like this was my real life and not some cage
where I've been placed,
then, I could tell you the truth like I used to and not be
afraid of sounding fake.
Now all that anyone is listening for are the mistakes.
In a house, by myself, I hear the ice start to melt and watch
rooftops weep for the sunlight.
And I know what must change. Fuck my face. Fuck my name.
They are brief and false advertisements for a soul I don't have.
Something true I have lacked and spent my whole life trying to
make up for.
But I found in a song and in the people I love. They will lift
me up out of darkness.
Now my door stands open. I am inviting everyone in. We will
drink.
We will laugh until the morning comes. That is what we are going
to do.
4.From A Balance Beam
There is a man holding a megaphone, so he must have been the
voice of God.
The bystanders claimed they saw angels flying up and down the
block.
Well, they must have been attached to wires. I saw one laying in
the lawn with a broken arm,
so I called 911. So that is one less founded opinion. One more
cause for a dispute.
So the street filled, like a basin, up with cameras and their
crews
and they washed away the rumors leaving just the concrete truth.
It was a spectacle.
No, I mean a miracle. So then I fell like that girl from a
balance beam.
A gymnasium of eyes were all holding on to me. I lifted one foot
to cross the other
and I felt myself slipping. It was a small mistake. Sometimes
that is all it takes.
Now I'm staring at my wrist, hoping that the timing is right.
When the planes will align.
There will be no planets to align. Just the carcass of the sun
and those little painted marbles spinning endless through an
endless black sky.
(and so it never started and it will never stop just like I am
and you are)
It was in a foreign hotel's bathtub I baptized myself in change.
And one by one I drowned all of the people I had been.
I emerged to find the parallels were fewer. I was cleansed. I
looked in the mirror
and someone new was there. Still, I was as helpless as a chess
piece
when I was lifted up by someone's hand and delivered from the
corner my enemies had got me in.
But in all of my salvation I still felt imprisoned inside that
holding cell that is myself.
So I wait for the day when I'll hear the key as it turns in the
lock
and the guard will say to me, 'Oh my patient prisoner you have
waited for this day
and finally you are free! You are free! You are freezing.'
Now I'm staring at the sun, waiting for it to explode. Because a
day is gonna come,
don't know when but it will come and then we will finally know
the way out of here.
And I will throw away this wrinkled map and my chart of stars
and compass, cracked.
And I'll climb out that tree all wet with sap to avoid the
hungry beasts below.
I'll cut out my love's tongue and sing of a graveyard gray and a
garden green
and then we won't have to worry no more. No we won't ever worry
again about
how this song or story ends about how this song and story will
end.
5.Laura Laurent
Laura, are you still living there on your estate of sorrow？ You
used to leave it occasionally.
Now, you don't even bother to ride that commuter train west to
Chicago,
to stroll through the greenery, in the park, past the statues.
How their eyes seemed to follow you like a hated addiction.
Their beauty carved out of absolutes that you could never claim,
or even envision.
Laura you were the saddest song in the shape of a woman. I
thought you were beautiful,
but I wept with your movements. I hope you are laughing now from
that place of the carpet
where we shared a sleeping bag, in your sisters apartment. Oh
how she would worry so, you know,
I was just a stranger. But she asked me to care for you. That is
what she did
and I went and betrayed her. But do you know we are in high
demand,
Laura, us people who suffer？ Because we don't take to arguing
and we are quick to surrender.
Well, I think I would call tonight if I still had your number.
Your thoughts have always laid close to mine. We were both
skipping supper.
But you should never be embarrassed by your trouble with living.
Because it is the ones with the sorest throats, Laura, who have
done the most singing. Everybody!
La La La La La La La La La Lah...
6.Let's Not Shit Ourselves(To Love And To Be Loved)
The animals laugh from the dark of the wilderness. A baby cried
hard in an apartment complex,
as I pass a car buried under the influence. The city is driving
me out of my mind.
I have seen a child is caught in the sad trap of gravity.
He falls from the lowest branch of the apple tree and lands in
the grass and weeps for his dignity.
Next time he will not aim so high. Yeah, next time, neither will
I.
A mother takes loans out, sends her kids off to colleges.
Her family is reduced to names on a shopping list.
Meanwhile, a coroner kneels beneath a great, wooden crucifix.
He know that there are worse things than being alone.
I have learned to retreat at the first sign of danger.
I mean, why wait around, if it's just to surrender？ Ambition, I
have found, can only lead to failure.
I do not read the reviews. No, I am not singing for you.
I stood dropping a coin into the pit of a well. And I would
throw my whole billfold
if I thought it would help. With all these wishes I make,
I should by something great, at least a telephone call home.
My teachers, they built the retaining wall memory, all those
multiple choices I answered so quickly.
And I got my grades back and forgot just as easily, but as least
I got an A.
So I don't have them to blame. I should stop pointing fingers;
reserve my judgment of all those public action figures, the
cowboy president.
So loud behind the bullhorn so proud they can't admit when they
have made a mistake.
While poison ink spews from a speechwriter's pen, he knows that
he doesn't have to say it,
so it don't bother him. 'Honesty' 'Accuracy' are really just
'Popular Opinion.'
And the approval rating is high, so someone is going to die.
ABC, NBC, CBS： Bullshit.
They give us fact or fiction？ I guess an even split. And each
new act of war is tonight's entertainment.
We are still the pawns in their game. As they take an eye for an
eye until no one can see,
we must stumble blindly forward, repeating history. Well, I
guess that we all fit into your slogan
on the fast food marquee： Red blooded, White skinned oh and the
Blues.
I got the Blues! I got the Blues! That's me! That's me!
Well, I awoke in relief. My sheets and tubes were all tangled
weak from whiskey and pills,
in a Chicago hospital. My father was there, in a chair, by the
window, staring so far away.
I tried talking, just whispered, '...so sorry...so selfish...'
He stopped me and said,
'Child I love you regardless and there is nothing you could do
that would ever change this.
I'm not angry. It happens. You just can't do it again.'
So now I try to keep up, I have been exchanging my currency.
While a million objects pass through my periphery. So now I am
rubbing my eyes because
they are starting to bother me. I have been staring too long at
the screen.
But where was it when I first heard the sound of brutality？ It
came to my ears in the goddamn
loveliest melody. How grateful I was them to be part of the
mystery,
to love and be loved. Let's just hope that is enough.
7.Lover I Don't Have To Love
I picked you out Of a crowd to talk to you Said I liked your
shoes
You said thanks can I follow you？ So it's up the stairs And out
of view
No prying eyes I poured some wine I asked your name you asked
the time
Well it's two o'clock Yeah the club is closed we're up the block
Your hands on me Pressing hard against your jeans
Your tongue in my mouth Trying to keep the words from coming out
You didn't care to know Who else may have been here before
I want a lover I don't have to love I want a girl who's to sad
to give a fuck
Where's the kid with the chemicals？ I thought he said he'd meet
us here but I'm not sure
I got the money if you got the time He said it feels good I said
I'll give it a try
Then my mind went dark We both forgot where your car was parked
Let's just take the train
I'll meet up with the band in the morning
Bad actors with bad habits Some sad singers They just play
tragic
Now the phone's ringing And the band's leaving Let's just keep
touching
Let's just keep keep singing
I want a lover I don't have to love
I want a boy who's so drunk he doesn't talk
Where's the kid with the chemicals
I got a hunger and I can't seem to get full
I need some meaning I can memorize
The kind I have always seems to slip my mind
But you but you You write such pretty words
But life's no story book Love is an excuse to get hurt
And to hurt Do you like to hurt？ 'Cause I do I do I do This
didn't hurt me
Didn't hurt me Oh this hurt me
8.Make War
Our love is dead but without limit, like the surface of the moon
or the land between here and the mountains. It is not these
hiding places
that have keep us innocent but the way you taught me to just let
it all go by.
So we have learned to be as faithless, stand behind the
bulletproof glass,
exchanging our affections through a drawer. It was always
horribly convenient
and happening too fast. You should count your change before you
are even out the door.
Yes, you should but please...
Return, return to the person that you were. And I will do the
same because
it is too hard to belong to someone who is gone. My compass
spins.
The wilderness remains.
Once too often, I have retreated into the depths of my despair.
I built a barricade to block you on the road. But standing there
with all of my possessions,
piled higher than a house, I felt closer to you than you ever
could have known.
So let these tiny acts of charity become common ground of which
to build a monument
to commemorate our time. And though, you say,
you've found another who will surely speed you on your way,
don't let the forest grow over that you came there by. But you
will, so...
Hurry up and run to the one that you love. And blind him with
your kindness.
And he will make war, old war, on who you were before.
And he'll claim all that has spoiled your heart.
Well, now, I tell myself I've mended under these patches of blue
sky.
There are still a few holes that let in a little rain. So it is
crying on my shingles.
My floorboards moan under my feet. The refrigerator is whining,
so I've got reason to complain. But I am not gonna bless you
with such compliments,
some degrading psalm of praise, like the kind that converted you
to me so long ago.
Because the truth is that gossip is as good as gospel in this
town.
You can save face but you won't ever save your soul. And that's
a fact.
Hurry up and run to the one that you love. And tie him in you
likeness,
And he'll become, become the prisoner I was. And know all that
has spoiled your heart.
9.Method Acting
There is no beginning to the story. A bookshelf sinks into the
sand
and a language learned and forgot, in turn, is studied once
again.
It's a shocking bit of footage viewed from a shitty TV screen.
You can squint through snowy static to make out the meaning.
Just keep on stretching the antennae, hoping that it will come
clear.
We need some reception, a higher message, just tell us what to
fear.
Because I don't know what tomorrow brings. It is alive with such
possibilities.
All I know is I feel better when I sing. Burdens are lifted from
me, that is my voice rising!
So Michael, please keep the tape rolling. Boys keep strumming
those guitars.
We need a record of our failures. We must document out love.
I have sat too long in my silence. I have grown too old in my
pain.
To shed this skin, be born again, it starts with an ending.
So thank you friends for the time we shared. My love stays with
you like sunlight and air.
Oh how I truly wish I could keep hanging around here but my joy
is covering me.
Soon, I will disappear.
It's not a movie, no private screening. This method acting,
well, I call that living.
It's like a fountain, a door has been opened. We have a problem
with no solution
but to love and to be loved.
So, I've made peace with the falling leaves. I see their same
fate in my own body.
But I won't be afraid when I am awoken from this dream and
returned to that
which gave birth to me. And the story goes on and on and on and
on...
10.The Big Picture
The Big Picture
The picture is far too big to look at kid. Your eyes won't open
wide enough
and you are constantly surrounded by that swirling stream of
what is and what was.
Well, we've all made our predictions but the truth still isn't
out.
So if you want to see the future, go stare into a cloud.
And keep trying to find your way out of that maze of memories.
It all sort of looks familiar, but then you get up close and
it's different. clearly.
Each time you turn a corner, you are right back to where you
were
and your only hope is that forgetting might make a door appear.
Is it your fear of being buried that makes you so afraid to
speak？
An avalanche of opinions like the one that feel that I am now
underneath.
It was my voice that moved the first rock and I would do it all
again.
So, I mean, it's cool if you keep quiet, but I like singing.
So I'll be holding my note and stomping and strumming and
feeling so very lucky.
There is nothing I know except that this lifetime is just one
moment
and wishing will just leave me empty. So you can try and live in
darkness
but you will never shake the light. It will greet you every
morning
and make you more aware with its absence at night,
when you are wrapped up in your blanket baby, that comfortable
cocoon.
But I have seen the day of your awakening boy and it's coming
soon.
So go ahead and loose yourself in liquor and you can praise the
clouded mind
but it isn't what you are thinking it's the course of history,
your position in line.
You are just a piece of the puzzle so I think you had better
find your place.
And don't go blaming your knowledge on some fruit you ate.
Because there has been a great deal of discussion, yes, about
the properties of man.
Animal or angel？ You were carved from bone, but your heart it's
just sand.
And the wind is going to scatter it and cover everything with
love.
So if it makes you happy, keep kneeling Mama, but I am standing
up.
Because this veil, it has been lifted. My eyes are wet with
clarity.
I have been a witness of such wonders. Oh, I have searched for
them all across this country
but I think I'll be returning now to the town where I was born.
And I understand you must keep moving friend, but I am heading
home.
I'm gonna follow the road and let the scenery sweeping by easily
enter my body.
I'll send you all this message in code, under ground, over
mountains,
through forests, deserts and cities.
All across the electric wire, it's a baited line. The hook is in
deep boys,
there is no more time. So you can struggle in the water and be
too stubborn to die,
or you could just let go and be lifted to the sky.
11.Waste of Paint
I have a friend, he is made mostly of pain. He wakes up, drives
to work,
and then straight back home again. He once cut one of my
nightmares out of paper.
I thought it was beautiful, I put it on a record cover.
And I tried to tell him he had a sense of color and composition
so magnificent.
And he said 'Thank you, please but your flattery is truly not
becoming me.
Your eyes are poor. You are blind. You see, no beauty could have
come from me.
I am a waste of breath, of space, of time.'
I knew a woman, she was dignified and true. Her love for her man
was one of her many virtues.
Until one day, she found out that he had lied and decided the
rest of her life,
from that point on would be a lie. But she was grateful for
everything that had happened.
And she was anxious for all that would come next. But then she
wept.
What did you expect？ In that big, old house with all those cars
she kept.
'Oh!' and 'such is life,' she often said. With one day leading
her to the next,
you get a little closer to your death, which was fine with her.
She never got upset and with all the days she may have left,
she would never clean another mess or fold his shirts or look
her best.
She was free to waste away alone.
Last night, my brother he got drunk and drove. And this cop
pulled him off to the side of the road.
And he said, 'Officer! Officer! You have got the wrong man.
No, no, I'm a student of medicine, the son of a banker, you
don't understand!'
The cop said, 'No one got hurt, you should be thankful. And you
carelessness,
it is something awful. And no, I can't just let you go. And
though your father's name is known,
your decisions are yours alone. You are nothing but a stepping
stone
on a path to debt, to loss, to shame.'
The last few months I have been living with this couple.
Yeah, you know, the kind that buy everything in doubles. They
fit together, like a puzzle.
I love their love and I am thankful that someone actually
receives the prize that was promised by all those fairy tales
that drugged us.
And they still do me. I'm sick, lonely, no laurel tree, just
green envy.
Will my number come up eventually？ Like Love is some kind of
lottery,
where you can scratch and see what is underneath. It's 'Sorry',
just one cherry, 'Play Again.' Get lucky.
So I have been hanging out down by the train's depot. No, I
don't ride.
I just sit and watch the people there. They remind me of wind up
cars in motion.
The way they spin and turn and jockey for positions.
And I want to scream out that it is all nonsense.
And that their lives are one track, and can't they see how it is
all pointless？
But then, my knees give under me. My head feels weak and
suddenly it is clear to see that it is not them but me, who has
lost my self-identity.
As I hide behind these books I read, while scribbling my poetry,
like art could save a wretch like me, with some ideal ideology
that no one can hope to achieve.
And I am never real; it is just a sketch of me.
And everything I have is trite and cheap and a waste of paint,
of tape, of time.
Sometimes I park my car down my the cathedral, where floodlights
point up at the steeples.
Choir practice is filling up with people. I hear the sound
escaping as an echo.
Sloping off the ceiling at an angle. When voices blend they
sound like angels.
I hope there is still some room left in the middle.
But when I lift my voice up now to reach them. The range is too
high, way up in heaven.
So I hold my tongue, forget the song, tie my shoe and start
walking off.
And try to just keep moving on, with my broken heart and my
absent God
and I have no faith but it is all I want, to be loved ad believe
in my soul.
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