Good Morning, Bubblegum
Good morning! Briefly sweet, you make my mouth pink, my tongue leaps out to kiss you. Sugar dust glitters in the sun, sun, sunny day. The world is dust and it's okay, okay, okay. And the radio only pours out sugar. Good morning! Briefly sweet like a heartbeat, tears are salty underneath. Sugar plum stains my tongue; it wakes my mouth and makes me young. And I will always be in love...and the radio only pours out sugar. Good morning! Briefly sweet, you make my mouth pink, my tongue leaps out to kiss you. Sugar dust glitters in the sun, sun, sunny day. The world is dust and it's okay, okay, okay.
The Monk and the Bug
If all our lives are spent heading for sea then what should we build to defend our flaws? (A giving glance, a trumpet's sound.) Your friends forgot to call and tell the tale of angels flying drunk, now, and old leaving dances, with roses in their smiles. There's a consequence for a lack of intimacy; we're all alike in insignificance (a blue eye, a soft ear). You remember this morning on the steps and the plaster Mary beside the house with her arms at her side, her hands open to all (don't let it bother you).
All Your Water's Turned to Rope
"There's a dog on the roof!" she exclaimed. "And he's barking at us," I thought. 'Cause she bought the New York Dolls when she was twelve she's hated junkies ever since. Human nature = change like Foucault = a single God and, oh yeah, she doesn't care for him. That's why I love her. "Don't get caught up in the art of the mirror."
Green Light (in your heavy metal mind)
Look at you, there's a million miles of scars living in a song you practiced all the time; a mockingbird in flight. City lights, a binding noise from within. Without your eyes, city girl, the bleeps and clicks aren't wonderous, they're just lonely. "All is greenlight in your heavy metal mind."
Good Night, Moon
is an instrumental.
Quiet, Lion, we're trying to sleep. We can play in the morning over coffee because it's hard enough to sleep around here, what with all the monsters and I can't tell if they're smiling or they want to bite a piece out of me. Quiet, Lion, we're trying to sleep. We can play in the morning in the sunshine when all the shadows are true (and what we thought were UFOs were only cars rushing with headlights looking for their way home).
The Mother's Heartbeat Dream
is an instrumental.
For Sheila Behman
Oh, the winter geese are flying and the sun's a closed eye and the mud is alive. Oh, there's a girl below singing in the overlit gym, pain in each window. Outside it's so cold, a perfect white cube; a silent piano. And the men in the blind, who leave little girls behind. We knew when we were young we'd be gone by 21. We shared our sweat and blood waiting for the white-hot sun to sweep us all away (who'd have guessed?) and it was all we'd earned (after all those years) playing in the blue lights while the rivers boiled and burned (that this is where we belong). But here we are, here we are, we've gone on. (With eyes toward the stars, no waiting in vain for tears that don't come, afraid's no way to live.)