Time To Bring The Poet out of You

[MoseyWalker]

So. The dog next door barks. and cries. and seems to yell.

The windows and doors are always closed
but I sense
someone within those walls who
wants to tell
something
what is happening
the windows and doors are always closed.
I hear you
though you think the walls contain
your fear and your anger
I want to tell
someone
what is happening
speak to me
don't let me hear
your fear and the anger
of a dog that yells
for you?

Go for it...............

[CaliforniaPeggy]

1. Here's one of mine............

There is death here

They say you carry the seeds of your death

Inside you

I’ve just caught a glimpse of mine

A small piece of my heart

Just rolled over

And died.

And

Funny thing


I have no tears for it


Not yet anyway

[MoseyWalker]

2. Thanks for that

It's one of those that I will have to roll around a few times because I feel every line.

thanks again

[CaliforniaPeggy]

3. My dear MoseyWalker.......

Thank you so much......

These just come out of me; I really feel as though I have no control over the words!

And I am remiss.......yours is most wonderful too.......:hug:

[idgiehkt]

4. great poem

I don't have any that I feel comfortable posting here, but yours is great. Just enough to get the dogs point of view across without overwhelming the reader, and just enough rhyme to not seem trite about it.

:toast:

[MoseyWalker]

5. A big thank you

peace and

thanks for that.

[nuxvomica]

6. A poem I wrote about a dog I miss

Who woulda thought

Who woulda thought
That the bad breath,
The trembling in the presence of cooked chicken,
The loud barking at the most inappropriate times,
The tail that knocked over ashtrays and water bowls,
And the wet spot on the couch discovered too late
Would be among the things I miss.

And also the times I'd come home tired
Seeking repose on the couch,
Hoping it was dry.

I would lie there like a bag of rocks
Grateful for the hard-won rest
And fall halfway to sleep
When over she would trot,
Sit in front of me like a guard,
Insinuate her snout under my hand,
And demand I stroke her furry crown
Forever.

[Burma Jones]

7. these are old......

SANTA LUCIA, or the
Natural Result of Wishing

Santa Lucia was a right ecstatic dame.
When the Romans had her captured,
She would not tell them her name.
But she babbled like a loony,
While the Romans tied her tight.
And the Lions in the bullpen
knew that they would eat that night.

The coliseum crowd was restless on that day,
The announcers in the pressbox
didn't know just what to say.
The soldiers in the grandstands
stood shifting side to side,
while Lucy's doomed compatriots
looked for a place to hide.

Formulating strategy was never Lucy's game.
She figured suff'ring martyrdom
was her quickest way to fame.
And the newly formed religion
was getting lots of press
and she liked the thought of sacrifice,
although lions make a mess....

The night before, the ratings showed the Christians making gains
and the Pope visited Lucy while
disguised, (the Pope had Brains).
Il Papa told Saint Lucy, "babe,
you're gonna be a star."
"And between you and these ornaments,
this religion should go far."

As game time neared, contestants shook at thinking on their fate
The Pope, like any businessman,
Was negotiating Gate.
Now Caesar showed up early,
since he found a place to park
but his entourage was left behind
to stay at home 'till dark.

The time had come, the feature show, Saint Lucy took her stand.
And Caesar, like a gentleman,
said "Give the girl a hand."
The lions all were drooling
and the Pope now took his chair
While the councils of the churchmen
tried to figure out their share.

The ringside seats were all filled up, the referee stood firm
The lions roared in three-four time,
the Pope began to squirm
They led her out, our Sainted girl
To feed the crowd's blood lust,
and on the side of Caesar's helm
Were the words, "In God We Trust."

They tied her to a center pole and fastened her so tight
that Lucy wanted nothing more than
to be devoured that night.
They let them out, the Lions pounced
'twas over very soon.
And naught was left of Lucy
But the blood-reflected moon.

And now the Pope with Caesar sits, their power now is one.
And churchmen that had once known grace
Were more interested in fun.
The people, having given thanks,
Were leaving down the aisles,
and all that one could see upon
their faces were wild smiles.

In heaven, hell or purgat'ry it still remains the same
In letting Lions eat your guts,
you might ensure your fame.
But tell me, Lucy, was it worth
the hours of fear and dread?
Lucy tells me, "kiddo, I
Would rather stay in bed."

So sacrifice ain't all it's said to be, you know I'm right.
And churchmen, politicians too
Go scream in empty night.
'Cause when they come and ask you, "friend
just give a little more."
Remember Lucy, now in bed,
and listen to her snore.



I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED
January 1992

I take moments and explain to darkness why I sing a dull song
and, turning moments into years, hasten to my own funeral.

Oh King Lear, you old-old man, listen to my whispers
like you, I gave up substance, but cannot shake form
like you, I wander through a wind-torn landscape, vainly trying to be warm
like you, I spurned what I love most, thinking it to love me least
like you, I have to face and kill the self-deluding beast.

Afternoons spent in office-death, a fluorescent tomb holding
life from a flesh and blood womb, but
financing momentary escape from ennui is
reason enough to live in a fluorescent tomb.

Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi,
watch another game on sunday.

Oh my ancient ancestors, forgive my residence
on top of evolution's chain-link, barbed wire fence.
Sitting at the crest of creative man's ascent
I laugh at the supporting torment.

Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi,
I've given up on what you gave me.

I ache from underuse, a phantom-limb called satisfaction
itches where it don't exist. My desires are in traction,
put on hold for no good reason save survival
I hunt dangerous butterflies.

Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi
Make another call to Wendy

I call the omniscient her and she sweetly assenting
to a call for delidelideli and warmth and
unspoken nodding and knowing and we live in
the other's mind, but know it can't be more than
a month-to month lease.

Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi,
her tendency to nothing stunned me.

At five o'clock the bells ring, whistle blows and
free breathing masses unlock themselves from the cheshire boss
smiling with abandon and writhing with responsibility
clutching slips of paper that betray their humanity

Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi,
free breathing masses have outrun me

Six o'clock and sleep begs the questionable
can't sleep, can't stay alert, a shot of coffee
would.....hurt. When should I pay attention to the
daily grind as presented by my glass-plastic God.

Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi
quiet please, world eight has shunned me.

Seven o'clock, we're heeeeeere, a chirping dog heralds our arrival.
Cheese please, Ice Tea-water and poultry
all including crunch-creamy former frozen spudnuggets
A pile of rusty hair, breaching like Moby Dick, sits atop the she-dog eyes of
Beelzebub's favorite waitress and her eyebrows really do sneer.

Seven-thirty rings in trashtime, tubeist rantings on
abbynormal psychedout titilated tabloid toothsome lookers.
The next table samples this fare and wild eyed, the minions pant.
I salt my fries, add tabasco to the Hunts and eagerly
await the onset of eight o'clock.

Freaked-out minions gathering bounty
for the upcoming coming out party
to honor those that backed away
from stands that made their fortunes sway.

Sic rapid-transit gloria mundi,
the freaked-out minions have outgunned me

[Pretty Go Pale]

8. For the lovers

“SPECIAL”

“Do you know you’re special? You are.
In this world of darkness, you’re a shining star.
And when we’re apart it never seems that far --
away.
I say
you mean everything to me.
There’s no one else I want to see.
I hope you know you set me free.
I pray,
today
that you know how strongly I feel.
My love for you I can’t conceal.
There’s no one else with your appeal.
I may
convey
more than you’d like to hear.
But we should be together, dear.
You were meant to be here.
Obey,
I say
or I may lose control.
Without you I have no soul --
I’m incomplete -- I’m not whole.
Today,
I say
you can fight it, but my words are true.
You’re going to love me -- I’ll will you.
I’d really hate to have to kill you.
Because you’re special -- you are.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

9. For your better-half

“TINKER TOYS”

"Funny Stu is having Oedipal dreams.
Honey Sue thinks of edible crèmes.
They look so normal,
but nothing’s as it seems.

Double-back to the double helix.
It’s the human genome genesis.
Count your blessings under the super-magnification.
And wonder if knowing is worth the aggravation.

Handsome Thomas loves wildlife.
Stunning Susan is looking for a wife.
They couldn’t be happier
if they fell on a knife.

Double-back to the double helix
Try to find the nexus of crisis.
Count your blessings as they map the genetic blueprint.
And wonder where your individuality went.

Make you better.
Clean up the mess.
If at first you don’t succeed --
try, try again.
Get it right.
Tidy up the mess.
If at first you don’t succeed --
die, die again.

Tinker Toys for the biologically swift.
Pulitzer Prizes -- while God’s set adrift.
Clinging to the last tendril of humanity.
On the path to never-ending calamity.
His dirt.
His dirt.
His dirt."

[Pretty Go Pale]

10. For the gangstas

“SON OF ‘TOMMY GUN’”

“Shotgun Calzone -- they say
died in an alleyway
clutching his 12-gauge like a child.
He was a pawn -- they say
back in the mobster days
when things were lawless and wild.

He had a son.
They nicknamed him ‘Tommy Gun’.
He grew up hard and stone-cold.
One night on a moonshine run,
bullets flew -- he was done.
Dead at just 30 years old.

I am the son --
son of ‘Tommy Gun’.
Third generation.
Same destination.
I will die young --
the son of ‘Tommy Gun’.

Outside of the liquor store
I feel chilled to the core --
baby shoes hanging in the van.
But just as my dad’s blood poured,
and just like his dad before,
I’m no better of a man.

I am the son --
son of ‘Tommy Gun’.
Third generation.
Same destination.
I will die young --
the son of ‘Tommy Gun’.

Now, I lie on the reddening tile --
alarm ringing all the while.
And think of my boy home in bed.
I’ll miss his sweet, little smile --
my son -- my only child.
Soon his dad will be dead.

I am the son --
son of ‘Tommy Gun’.
Third generation.
Same destination.
I will die young—
the son of ‘Tommy Gun’.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

11. For the losers

“WOMEN TODAY”

She looks like one-in-a-million.
He’s as common as a dollar bill.
So the big question is:
‘Why are they together, still?’
Oh, I just don’t know.
Must be a case of each to his own caviar --
each to her own Alpo.

He’s got wingnut ears
and he’s dumber than he looks.
She’s smart and sexy, man,
and she even cooks.
Oh Lord.
Makes no sense at all.
If any of you figure it out,
won’t you please pick up the phone --
gimme a call.

Women today’ve
given up on finding Mr. Right.
They’re up penning letters
to spree killers late into the night.
Guy can’t make no headway
lest he’s got a prison tattoo.
And maybe an illegitimate
child or two.
It’s true.

She’s Ivy League material
with a Southern Belle’s charm.
He can’t even remember the words
to Old McDonald’s farm.
Oh, no.
I-E-I-E-O.
(He’s that slow.)
This whole damned world’s
turning into the Jerry Springer Show.

‘Cause women today’ve
given up on finding Mr. Right.
They’re up penning letters
to spree killers late into the night.
Guy can’t make no headway
lest he’s got a prison tattoo.
And maybe an illegitimate
child or two.
It’s true.

He sleeps ‘til noon everyday --
never worked a minute in his life.
What’s he wind up with?
A Wall Street corporate lawyer
for a wife.
Oh, it’s just not fair.
Won’t someone please
put me out of my misery --
strap me into an electric chair.

‘Cause women today’ve
given up on finding Mr. Right.
They’re up penning letters
to spree killers late into the night.
Guy can’t make no headway
lest he’s got a prison tattoo.
And maybe an illegitimate
child or two or three or four.
Oh, Lord.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

12. For the targeted

“THEY’LL KILL YOU”

“They’ll kill you over a piece of turf.
(Stay out of our ‘hood -- stay out of our ‘hood.)
They’ll kill you over tennis shoes.
(Those Air Jordans look good -- those Air Jordans look good.)
They’ll kill you over Mother Earth.
(Save the whales at all cost -- save the whales at all cost.)
They’ll kill you over who you pray to.
(Jesus died on the cross -- Jesus died on the cross.)

They’ll kill you over a Chrysler LeBaron.
(Bitch get out of the car -- bitch get out of the car.)
They’ll kill you over a poker game.
(You’ve been marking the cards -- you’ve been marking the cards.)
They’ll kill you over the bandana you’re wearing.
(You down with Blue or the Red? -- you down with Blue or the Red?)
They’ll kill you over your last name.
(Alan Berg is dead -- Alan Berg is dead.)

Good God they’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
And they won’t think twice.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
Put your ass on ice.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.

They’ll kill you in your living room.
(You should have locked the door -- should have locked the door.)
They’ll kill you in your study hall.
(Jocks get down on the floor -- jocks get down on the floor.)
They’ll kill you as you lie in the womb.
(Did you feel it move? -- Did you feel it move?)
They’ll kill you for no reason at all.
(Just something to do -- just something to do.)

Good God they’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
And they won’t think twice.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
Put you’re ass on ice.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.
They’ll kill you.

Now I lay me
down to sleep.
Pray the Lord
my soul to keep.
Line ‘em up
and plant ‘em deep.
Watch the grieving
families weep.

Sanctity -- nevermore.
Sanctity walked out the door.
Sanctity -- we failed the test.
Sanctity -- laid to rest.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

13. For the believers

“Mary Messiah-Maker”

“My friends,
go forth -- fan out
and spread The Word.
And if
my plan pans out
you’ll have more riches
than you’ve ever heard.
‘Cause I’m thinking
Mary’s a little Messiah-maker.
And so many people
need a reason to give.

My friends,
go forth and don’t forget --
to follow the plan.
Do not deviate from the template --
push the son
of the creator of man.
‘Cause I’m thinking
Mary’s a little Messiah-maker.
And so many people
are dying to give.

Mary had a little secret.
The fact she could not hide.
And everywhere that Mary went
the sin grew inside.

Necessity --
the mother of invention.
A necessity --
for self-preservation.
A marked necessity --
for divine intervention.
Answered her own prayers
with a holy explanation . . .

. . . for the one who stole away
like a thief in the night.
For the one who could ruin it all
with that spasm in the night.
With her back against the wall --
a scheme to set things right.
With her heart up in her throat,
she stepped into the light.

Mother Mary --
did what was --
necessary.

Mother Mary --
did what was --
necessary.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

14. For the pathetic masses

“JUVIE DINOSAURS”

“It was new
back in ‘92
when you
were breaking ground.
We were
thirsting for
something more
when you brought us
your sound.

But now you’re fighting the clock --
alternative pioneers
are now Classic Rock.
You’re not fresh anymore.
You’ve become Juvie Dinosaurs.
Oh yeah.

Things weren’t so great
back in ‘88
with the Big Hair.
MTV
was just spreading disease,
‘cause it didn’t care.
Then you came along
with your brand new songs --
showed us what was wrong
with the music back then.

But now you’re fighting the clock --
alternative pioneers
are now Classic Rock.
You’re not fresh anymore.
You’ve become Juvie Dinosaurs.
Oh yeah.

Who will step into the void?
Who will become tomorrow’s Pink Floyd?
And who will rebuild what MTV has destroyed?

I don’t know,
but I’ve got a message
and it goes like this:

YOU CAN’T GET HERE SOON ENOUGH!
YOU CAN’T GET HERE SOON ENOUGH!
‘CAUSE WE’RE SICK OF THIS STUFF!
AND WE’VE HAD ENOUGH!
WE’VE HAD ENOUGH!
ENOUGH!
ENOUGH!

Music fans today are shit-out-of-luck.
MTV is a clusterfuck.
They may say it’s good,
but if it walks and it talks
like a duck
then it’s a duck
And it SUCKS!!
AND IT SUCKS!!

MTV will make you a star.
You don’t have to sing good
or play guitar.
Just tear up a bible
and sport an upside down cross.
Have a half-exposed ass
and wear black lip gloss.
You’ll be a star.
You’ll be a star.
You’ll be a star.

Who will step into the void?
Who will become tomorrow’s Pink Floyd?
And who will rebuild what MTV has destroyed?

I don’t know,
but I’ve got a message
and it goes like this:

YOU CAN’T GET HERE SOON ENOUGH!
YOU CAN’T GET HERE SOON ENOUGH!
‘CAUSE WE’RE SICK OF THIS STUFF!
AND WE’VE HAD ENOUGH!
WE’VE HAD ENOUGH!
ENOUGH!
ENOUGH!

Music fans today are shit-out-of-luck.
MTV is a clusterfuck.
They may say it’s good,
but if it walks and it talks
like a duck
then it’s a duck
And it SUCKS!!
AND IT SUCKS!!”

[Pretty Go Pale]

15. For the ignorant

“IN THE KNOW (NO, NO)”

"I don’t know what is what.
I don’t know where is where.
I don’t know very much,
but I don’t even care.
No, no.

I don’t know when it’s when.
I don’t know why it’s why.
I couldn’t even guess,
so I don’t even try.
No, no.

These things don’t matter to me.
Very unimportant to me.
So, please believe me when I say,
I don’t want to be in the know (no, no).

I don’t know how it’s how.
I don’t know who is who.
So, please don’t ask me,
‘cause I ain’t got a clue.
No, no.

These things don’t matter to me.
Very unimportant to me.
So, please believe me when I say,
I don’t want to be in the know (no, no).

In this fishbowl society,
driven by rampant technology,
I don’t want to be --
connected.
Cancel the paper,
throw out the TV.
Spurn the radio.
Burn the PC.
These are things that I’ve --
rejected.

I don’t know what is what.
I don’t know which is which.
Ignorance is bliss,
But knowledge is a bitch.
No, no.

These things don’t matter to me.
Very unimportant to me.
So, please believe me when I say,
I don’t want to be in the know (no, no).”

[Pretty Go Pale]

16. Fot the victims

“SAFFRON”

“Saffron hides
behind venetian blinds,
a silhouette of fear.
The world outside
seems so unkind--
she wipes away the tears.
Happy once,
now it’s been six months
since her world came crashing down.
She still hears his grunts --
Saffron’s body jumps
at every little sound.

And I wish I could help you heal.
I wish I could help you feel
the way that you did before
he stole what wasn’t his to steal.
And I wish I could ease your pain --
erase the memory from your brain,
but I can’t do anything . . .
for you.

Saffron slides
between the sheets and tries
to sleep -- it’s three a.m.
But it’s no surprise
when she closes her eyes,
she’s still seeing him.
Happy once,
now it’s been ten months
since her world came crashing down.
She still hears his grunts --
Saffron’s body jumps
at every little sound.

And I wish I could help you heal.
I wish I could help you feel
the way that you did before
he stole what wasn’t his to steal.
And I wish I could ease your pain --
erase the memory form your brain,
but I can’t do anything . . .
for you.

Life’s mysteries
darken in the hour
of my search for answers
and there are no fucking answers.
Life’s history
shows that we don’t all have the power
to emerge
from the sorrow in the shadows.
Yeah.
Oh yeah.
Hey, hey.
Goodbye.

Saffron died
with her neck inside
a noose she made by hand.
And I still cry
when I think of her eyes --
some things I can’t understand.
Happy then,
two years it’s been
since we laid her down so pale.
Now, I just wait,
my body wracked with hate
for that man to get out of jail.

‘Cause I could not help you heal.
I could not help you feel
The way that you did before
he stole what wasn’t his to steal.
And I could not ease your pain,
but I’ll avenge you just the same
‘cause that’s the only thing . . .
I can do
for you.
It’s the only thing
left to do
for you.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

17. For the backstabbers

“STICKHEAD”

“Just dancing ‘round the fire.
Just leaping ‘round the fire.
Now, who will be the stickhead, tonight
while we’re dancing ‘round the funeral pyre.

Just dancing through the sparks.
Just leaping through the sparks.
Now, who will be the stickhead, tonight,
while we’re dancing in the dark.

And momma always said
‘be careful what you say
‘cause you don’t always know
who’s looking to betray.’
And momma always said
‘be careful how you live
‘cause you don’t always know
who you’re really with.’

Just dancing through the flames.
Just leaping through the flames.
Now, who will be the stickhead, tonight
while we play our cancer games.
Just dancing ‘round the blaze.
Just leaping ‘round the blaze.
Now, who will be the stickhead, tonight?
Who’ll catch our hot, red-eyed gaze.

And momma always told me
‘be careful who you trust
‘cause you don’t always know
who’ll leave you in the dust.’
And momma always told me
‘be careful what you share
‘cause you don’t always know
when you’re in the Devil’s lair.’

Come on,
let’s dance around the fire.
We can
dance around the fire.
Come on,
let’s dance around the fire.
We can
dance around the fire."

[Pretty Go Pale]

18. For the freaks

“PAUL IS STALKING PAULA”

“Paul is stalking Paula.
Paula’s stalking Ron.
Ron broke up with Paula,
‘cause he’s in love with John.
John’s ex -- Andy,
says he might go ballistic.
Says John’s his ‘universe’ --
he’s Mr. Fatalistic.

They’ve all got problems.
Yeah, that’s easy to see.
They’ve all got problems--
just like you and me.

Tina thinks Matt is cheating,
but those feelings -- she conceals ‘em.
She wants to strangle Heather,
‘cause she thinks she’s trying to steal him.
Matt is straying,
but he plays it oh, so coy.
See, he’s in love with Carlos,
the dark-skinned altar boy.

They’ve all got problems.
Yeah, that’s easy to see.
They’ve all got problems.
Just like you and me.

Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out
the shit really hits the fan.
Something or someone comes along -- throws a monkey-wrench
in your plans.
So, you get down on your knees -- pray to God,
say ‘please help me understand.’
But you’ve got a better chance of becoming the president,
than of finding out where your lover’s sanity went --
in the end.

Reggie swears he’s not a junkie --
he just likes that floating feeling.
Tries to call up Susie
while he blows smoke at the ceiling.
Susie’s line is busy --
she’s talking to hitman Dan.
See, she wants Reggie capped,
‘cause he shorted her a gram.

They’ve all got problems.
Yeah, that’s easy to see.
They’ve all got problems--
just like you and me.

Just when you think you’ve got it all figured out
the shit really hits the fan.
Something or someone comes along -- throws a monkey-wrench
in your plans.
So, you get down on your knees -- pray to God,
say ‘please help me understand.’
But you’ve got a better chance of becoming the president,
than of finding out where your lover’s sanity went --
in the end.

They’ve all got problems.
Yeah, that’s easy to see.
They’ve all got problems --
just like you and me.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

19. For the yellow

“LIAR’S MOON”

"The moon lights up the path of virtue.
Still, shadows hug the trail.
Who knows just what you might find
if you wander from that pale . . .
stale glow.

There are things out there that will hurt you.
Still, you’re not really frail.
Who knows what you might exorcise
if you blow off that pale . . .
stale show.

Throw it to the wind.
You can’t live life with abandon,
unless you’ve been abandoned.
Spit it in the wind.

Fear of the unknown is nothing new.
So break that dam, as well.
Who knows what you may cleanse,
if you stay clear of that pale . . .
stale flow.

Cast bread upon the water.
Watch the scalies thrash for a taste.
When you have nothing to lose,
you have nothing to waste.

Could be your red-letter day.
Could be your golden-gilded day.

Like trampling a parable
under heel
would be so terrible."

[Pretty Go Pale]

20. For the happy

“TICKET TO POTTER’S”

"Another winter night,
I’m on my favorite vent.
It’s really not that great,
but I can afford the rent.
Sit and wonder where
just all the years went.
Crying in my beard
‘cause my vodka is spent.

Yeah,
these aren’t the best of times.
Yeah,
hustling for nickels and dimes.
Eating whatever I can find.
These aren’t the best of times.

I didn’t always live this way --
the way I do now.
I used to hold my own --
now I can’t remember how.
Sometimes it’s all I can do
not to throw in the towel,
but if I cry loud enough
I can’t hear my stomach growl.

Yeah,
these aren’t the best of times.
Yeah,
hustling for nickels and dimes.
Eating whatever I can find.
These aren’t the best of times.

The monkey on my back
invited some of his friends.
They moved in for good --
now their party never ends.
And at nighttime I shake
as the darkness descends.
Maybe tomorrow will be better --
guess that all depends . . .

on me.
Me and my monkey friends.
Curled up against
the bitter winds.
These aren’t the best of times.

I keep a picture with me --
tucked in my shirt.
It brings back memories
when I wipe away the dirt.
But I can’t look too long
‘cause it stirs up the hurt.
Then I need more vodka
so I can revert . . .

back to me.
Me with my monkey friends.
Curled up against
the bitter winds.
These aren’t the best of times."

[Pretty Go Pale]

21. For the dozen-ers

“STEPS”

“Time sure passes slow
when you’re living day-to-day.
But for some of us,
well, that’s the only way.

Victories
are measured
by the sweep of a second hand.
No need
for a calendar –
you may not understand.

So, string me along.
Sing me a song.
I’m feeling fragile
like the chain this cross
is hanging on.

It’s never easy
standing naked –
coming clean.
Laying your soul bare –
confessing the obscene.

So, sing me a song.
String me along.
Tell me lies
or anything --
until I’m
feeling strong.

I don’t pretend
that this will happen soon.
I don’t pretend.
I don’t pretend.

Draw the curtain –
I don’t want to see
the sun today.
Too much, too much
light
and I might
fade away.

Too much, too much
overload –
I don’t handle
it well.
Comfort, too much
comfort
in my private shell.
(private hell).

So, string me along.
Sing me a song.
I’m feeling fragile
like the chain this cross
is hanging on.

It’s never easy
standing naked –
coming clean.
Laying your soul bare –
confessing the obscene.

So, sing me a song.
String me along.
Tell me lies
or anything --
until I’m
feeling strong.

I don’t pretend
that this will happen soon.
I don’t pretend.
I don’t pretend.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

22. For the chronics

“RAT TO THE CHEESE”

“I know I’m spiraling down --
into a bottomless pit.
I should try and help myself,
but I just can’t quit.

I know I’ve lost all control --
all sense of self-worth.
I can’t break my fall --
I’m too used to the hurt.

Rat to the cheese.
Another ‘lectric shock, please.
I deserve the pain.
I deserve everything I get.

Rat to the cheese.
Another ‘lectric shock, please.
I deserve the pain.
I deserve this life of regret.

Why should I turn back now?
Some souls are too far gone.
And even if I knew how,
I deserve to be alone.

Misery
loves company
but why should I drag down
someone else with me.
Empathy
is a mystery.
Why should anyone
give a damn about me . . .
when I don’t give a damn
about myself.

Rat to the cheese.
Another ‘lectric shock, please.
I deserve the pain.
I deserve everything I get.

Rat to the cheese.
Another ‘lectric shock, please.
I deserve the pain.
I deserve this life of regret.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

23. For the weary

CHAMBER ANOTHER ROUND

"I rode the pistol
out across this naked land.
I did my best to keep it down.
As I get older,
the more I understand --
sometimes peace just can’t be found.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.

I would never
draw down upon a man,
if I had time to leave the town.
As I get colder
the more I understand
the thread by which we’re all bound.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.

Lives
reduced
to notches.
Child,
he learns --
he watches.
Then he walks away.
(Smoke in the air.)
He just walks away.

I didn’t come here to hurt you.
I want nothing to do with you --
don’t wanna shoot you down.
(Don’t make me shoot you down.)
Can’t stand to hear that sound
(Don’t wanna shoot you down.)
Hammer coming down.
(Don’t make me shoot you down.)
Watch you hit the ground.
(Don’t want to shoot you down.)
Then I walk away.
(Smoke in the air.)
I just walk away.

I am aware that
there will come a day
when my time finally comes around.
As I get older
the more I understand
sometimes peace just can’t be found.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round.
Chamber another round."

[Pretty Go Pale]

24. For the dysfunctional

“DISTANCE”

“Distance --
can help you see clearer.
Distance --
can increase your fear.
And distance --
can help make you stronger.
And distance --
can make the pain last longer.

The shortest path
between our two points of view
has never been a straight line.
Communication
in a roundabout way --
it’s never as the crow flies.
Innuendo
you and I know
is no way --
for us
to say the things
that we need to say.
Shadow-talking,
eggshell-walking --
it has to stop today.

Distance --
can make the heart grow fonder.
Distance can make the mood grow somber.
And distance --
can call for something drastic.
And distance --
can rip apart the fabric.

The shortest path
between our two points of view
has never been a straight line.
Communication
in a roundabout way --
it’s never as the crow flies.
Innuendo
you and I know
is no way --
for us
to say the things
that we need to say.
Shadow-talking,
eggshell-walking --
it has to stop today.

Caught in the current --
we can’t stay current.
So, we drift away.
Thoughts in a riptide --
we have to decide
to stop this today.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

25. For the desperate

“SAVE THE BODIES (‘ROUND ME)”

“Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me --
oh, please.

Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me --
oh, please.

Once again
I have been
neither foe nor friend --
I fear.
Ambivalence,
I’m convinced
pulls me into the abyss.
It’s clear --
I hurt those who are near.
(I feel less every day.)
There’s no one I hold dear.
(Don’t know why I am this way.)
I just hope someone will hear --
will hear me when I pray . . .

Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me --
oh please.

Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me --
oh please.

Self-absorbed --
I’ve ignored
those I once adored --
I fear.
Left unchecked --
Lives, I’ve wrecked --
Without guilt or respect.
It’s clear --
I hurt those who are near.
(Nothing matters it seems.)
There’s no one I hold dear.
(I’ve destroyed so many dreams.)
I just hope someone will hear --
will hear me when I scream . . .

Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me --
oh please.

Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me.
Save the bodies ‘round me --
oh please.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

26. For the mystics

“GOD OF THE COOL SIDE OF YOUR PILLOW”

“The Devil’s in the details –
all the little things I do.
I bring little pleasures into your life,
though you haven’t got a clue.
I blend in so well –
when I’m around you can’t tell.
All your secrets – every one – I know.
‘Cause I’m the God of the Cool Side of Your Pillow.
In the morning, I’m in your muscles
when you stretch yourself awake.
I hold your wrist every time
you have a lucky wishbone break.
But I blend in so well –
when I’m around you can’t even tell.
But that little smile on your lips
has its own tale to tell.
All your pleasures – every one – I know.
‘Cause I’m the God of the Cool Side of Your Pillow.
I’m that good burn from the soda
spilling down your throat.
I’m that forgotten $20 bill
you find tucked inside your coat.
But I blend in so well –
when I’m around you can’t even tell
All your secrets – every one -- I know.
‘Cause I’m the God of the Cool Side of Your Pillow.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

27. For the rusted

“MERCUROCHROME HEIGHTS”

“The textile-town whistle
signals end of the shift.
Down to the dark bars
the tired workers drift.
Nobody makes plans.
There’s not much on tap,
‘cept beer and sorrow
in this dying trap.
Oh yeah -- it’s just that way.

Charlie sits slouching,
nursing a beer.
A dartboard behind him --
no one’s used it in years.
He’s waiting to die
‘cause there no chance to live
in a place like this
that has nothing to give.
Oh yeah -- it’s just that way.

Desperate days.
Hopeless nights.
Welcome to
Mercurochrome Heights.
Lonely lives.
Depressing sights.
You’ll find ‘em all in
Mercurochrome Heights.

It wasn’t always like this.
The town once had a pulse.
But the factories shut down
and moved somewhere else.
Now, the choices are few.
Leave or work in the mills.
And drink what’s left over
after paying the bills.
Oh yeah -- it’s just that way.

Desperate days.
Hopeless nights.
Welcome to
Mercurochrome Heights.
Lonely lives.
Depressing sights.
You’ll find ‘em all in
Mercurochrome Heights.

Today becomes tomorrow.
And tomorrow’s yesterday.
And next week is last month.
It’s the same everyday.
Being born in this place
was their only crime.
Convicted by fate,
they’re all doing time.
Oh yeah -- it’s just that way.

Say a prayer for the living dead
Say a prayer.

Desperate days.
Hopeless nights.
Welcome to
Mercurochrome Heights.
Lonely lives.
Depressing sights.
You’ll find ‘em all in
Mercurochrome Heights.”

[Pretty Go Pale]

28. For the pliable

“MESSIAH IN THE MOON”

“And the freaks all gather
arm-in-arm
and raise their voices
up in song
and hope it stretches
far across the rainbow.

And the young ones
even know the tune --
a song for the
Messiah in the Moon.
And hope it’ll lead
to a better tomorrow.

If I died inside,
would you come to the funeral --
and lay a rose
in memory . . .
of what I used to be?

If I died inside,
would you pay your respects –
and lay a rose
in memory?
Would you weep for me?

Every seven days,
the freaks gather ‘round --
offer up praise
and lay their money down.
And hope it stretches
far across the rainbow.

And the old ones
who may be leaving soon
find hope in the
Messiah in the Moon.
And pray he’ll be there
when it’s time to go.

When I died inside,
you didn’t see the change.
And when you rose,
your memory . . .
was of another me.

When I died inside,
you didn’t even blink.
And when you rose,
your memory . . .
was of the living me.

You watched me –
you watched me crater
on the dark side
of the Messiah on the Moon.

You watched me –
you watched me crater
on the dark side
of the Messiah on the Moon.

I begged
and
suffered
for your return.

You watched me –
you watched me crater
on the dark side
of the Messiah on the Moon.

You watched me –
you watched me crater
on the dark side
of the Messiah on the Moon.

I begged
and
suffered
for your return.”

[bridgit]

29. Rune Moon Luna

Rune Moon Luna
Luna Soon B'loon Pop

Rune Moon Luna
Luna Soon B'loon Pop

B'loon B'loon B'loon B'loon B'loon
B'loon B'loon B'loon B'loon B'loon
B'loon B'loon B'loon B'loon B'loon

Pop!