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CLEAN HOUSE
I want to live in clean house
Where the air is pure
And the light of day shines in (2x)
And when it rains I will go walking
When it rains I'll shine within
When it rains I'll have all the shelter I
need
When it pours, I'll learn to swim
I want to live in the forest
I want to make my music by the fire at
night
I’m gonna live my vision
Of the singing world that's whole and round and
right
And when it snows I will go walking
When it snows I'll burn within
When it snows I'll have all the treasure I
need
When it blows … I'll go within
And I'll have friends around me
And I and my friends will be true
And we’ll have real communion
And we’ll have some mighty fine times too
And when it rains I will go walking
When it rains I'll shine within
When it rains I'll have all the shelter I
need
When it pours … I'll learn to swim
I want to live in clean house
Where the air is pure
And the light of day shines in (2x)
I REMEMBER
I remember sounds of summer
Long slow passing of high clouds rolling
by,
Fields of green and dreams of
glory
The deep blue splendor above
me
I remember salt and sugar
Loose and limber of afternoon
Warm and gauzy, dust and
dirty,
A hand to hold on the long walk
home
I remember all the good things
There were so many I'd forgotten, I don't
know if I could count them,
But I'd like to take the chance again to
thank you one more time
I remember Kiss-guy and
Jennifer,
Big piles of sycamore leaves, and all
those silly songs
Say goodnight, "I love you", squeeze
three times just like
You and grandma used to do
It's been a long time since I thought
fondly of you
I know so much more now than I did
then
I didn't worry about how you made it
easy
That it could hurt me never crossed my
mind
I remember the tree you planted the year
that I was born
Out in the back corner, at first I was
taller
But I never caught up after
that
Golf and badminton, frisbee,
whiffle-ball
Grilled-cheese, malted milk
Open the refrigerator, take out
whatever's in there,
Throw it all together, and make something
new and strange
I remember all the good things
There were so many I'd forgotten, I don't
know if I could count them,
But I'd like to take the chance again to
thank you one more time
THE ROSES AND THE TEARS
I sing for you, my love, the legend of
the roses and the tears
Once every hundred years, at Christmas
time
A man deeply in love with a beautiful
girl from a pueblo
Undertakes a long and arduous
journey,
Bearing 24 perfect,
long-stemmed,
Deep red expressions of his
love
He arrives at her town to discover she is
not there
It breaks his heart. He falls to his knees and collapses in the dust,
Crying
great and many tears, begging God to heal his pain
An angel appears…
Saying, "God has heard your prayer; cry
no more
Stand, take up your roses, and brush off
the dust
And go, give away each of your
roses
To the daughters and mothers, the sisters
and lovers of God"
So the man went through the town, and to
each woman
And to each young girl he
encountered,
He handed a single red rose
And for every rose that was given a
miracle occurred:
The goats learned to read…
And the smoke that curled up from the
chimneys
And wafted across the village from each
house
In which a rose was received . . .
smelled like roses
And from each teardrop that had fallen in
the dust
Up sprang a rose brush—and the bushes
bloomed
And the goats came . . . and ate the
blooms
And they grew great, long tails with
which to hold their books,
And their Hallmark greeting cards, and
their teen fan magazines,
And their technical manuals, which were
written in Spanish,
French, Portuguese, and
Italiano—all the romance languages
And although many wanted to, and tried as
though they might
Not one soul in that entire town
blinked—
For one whole day
I sing for you, my love, of the roses and
the tears
Once every hundred years, near
Christmastime
There is a young man deeply in love,
travelling long and hard,
Looking for his love, and one day he will
find her there
But until then…the roses and the
tears
THE PART THAT DRAWS BODIES TOGETHER
How can I condemn what I don’t
understand?
Since you were a child, you say you’ve
loved other men
I’m not inside your skin, so I don’t know
how it drives you
The part that draws bodies
together
People will lash out as they stumble in
their own darkness
They are very much afraid of what they’ll
find
‘Cause there inside themselves is what
they hate so much
The blinded little creature that they
learned to judge, and lock away
And it takes time, for each of
us
And it takes time . . .
How can I explain the way I felt
inside?
Since I was a child, I thought I had to
run and hide
For all those lonely years I couldn’t
face the fears
Around the part that draws bodies
together
For so long I starved you, and kept you
bound in darkness
And you became the monster that I
made
Forgive me, forgive me, forgive
me
I never meant to punish you that
way
And it takes time . . .
And it takes time, for each of
us
THE FENG SHUI SONG
I didn’t know why life was painful
I’d tried hard, but had not found success
Then one day she stopped by, looked me in the eye,
and said:
Know what your problem is?
I said hold on there a minute, Ms. Unrequested
Advice—
Can’t you see I’m writing a new song?
She said, Oh—well good luck with that
‘Cause all your feng shui is wrong
I said feng-shui—how do you spell
that?
She said "you don’t want to know".
But you’ve got way too much clutter,
And it’s blocking your chi, brother
We’ve got to get you some flow
Look, you’ve got all this junk by the
entrance,
You’ve got all that crap on the floor
You’ve got all that stuff in the hallway,
and—
What is that hanging from the door?
I quickly retrieved my gray underwear
and tossed them in the usual pile.
I poked my head back ‘round the corner, and
smiled
She said it’s so dark in here, you need more
light,
You need a fountain too.
I said there’s one in the sink, it’s upside
down,
But there’s two in the bathroom—
She said let’s get down to a few more specifics,
alright?
Yeah, I said, okay. She
said, well your trash can's
In the money corner, so guess what you’re
throwing away!
I said, uh, eggsells—hey if I put it under the
sink,
I gotta open the damn cabinet every time I . . . you
know,
And I’m not doing that.
Let’s just deal with your space, okay? she
said,
No need to get defensive or pout
Well, I narrowed my eyes at that point, and almost
threw her out
We found my creativity corner; there was a dead
plant sitting there
She just pointed—didn’t say nothing—for a
change
We found my relationship corner, and my toilet was
sitting there in it!
I thought: no wonder I’ve been dealing with so much
. . . relationshit
And this is the new song I wrote, yeah this is the
feng shui song
I guess I couldn’t really right it
Back when all my feng shui was
'wrong'
And it was a bit of a battle—but sometimes that’s
how it goes
I just hope this song at least squares with
those
Ancient Oriental principles
GOLUM’S SONG
There once was a man named Smeagle who lived in a hobbit hole
He was happy as a little beagle ‘til a thing from down below
caught his eye and he knew—he alone must have it!
His friend and he they struggled, they fought with gasping
breath
And for that thing Mr. Smeagle paid—with his friend’s death.
Woe, o woe, to the friend and to the foe
Who loves the precious ring—the power—the thing
Woe, o woe, to the one who loves the thing,
For then my friend a thing he shall become
There once was a man named Smeagle who turned himself in two
And if you weren’t careful, you’ve done it—to you!
One is good, one is bad; one controls, one’s been had
One is faithful, one is true; one is very tricky . . . when one
is two!
For there’s one to serve, and one to steal
One’s not sure if one is real
One to stand, one to fall
One to rule—one to rule them all!
There once was a man named Smeagle who lived in a hobbit hole
He was happy as a little beagle ‘til a thing from down below
caught his eye and he knew—he alone must have it!
Like Cain, like Abel, brothers met at the table
Like Abel, like Cain, pleasure gave way to pain
And never, never, never—never again—will it be the same!
Woe, o woe, to the friend and to the foe
Who loves the precious ring—the power—the thing
Woe, o woe, to the one who loves the thing,
For then my friend, a thing he shall become: The
Golum!
RAINING
Here I sit again alone in the dark,
Looking out my western window
Watching clouds come by, uncovering the
moon
Playing hide and seek, like everything
And it’s been raining
It’s been raining
It’s been raining
Now the season comes again
To let go and let the wind move
And the night falls early
And the night falls early
And it’s been raining
It’s been raining
It’s been raining
And now the dark remains
And the edges of the memories blur
And the colors run together
The colors run together
And it’s been raining
It’s been raining
It’s been raining
I PRACTICE DYING
As the air cools
As the leaves prepare to turn
I watch, I wait, I practice dying
I watch, I wait, I practice dying
No one is home where I live, at the ending of the
day
When the sun dips down toward the western
mountains
I am alone where I live, the best time of
day
When it backlights each leaf, and peeks behind the
shed
And fills each speck of everything between here and
there
And suddenly, it’s gone
As the stars reveal themselves
As the crazy tantric moon climbs
I watch, I wait, I practice dying
I watch, I wait, I practice…
AS WE DESTROY THE PLANET
As we destroy the planet, I sing a happy
song
As rage runs red in the inner city, you all sing
along
We keep busy applying band-aids to feel good about
ourselves,
And all it takes is a little lip service to pay off
everybody else
Why don’t we believe we could work
together?
Are we really just a bunch of control
freaks?
I know we could make some major changes
If we’re not just comfort junkies
Who’ve strapped themselves the engine
Of the speeding competition train
That’s headed straight out toward the broken
tracks
Above a chasm of cosmic pain
As we destroy the planet, I sing a happy
song
As our policy discussions drag out
forever
You can tell me if I’m wrong
We’re stuck in our deeply ingrained
positions
On the partisan edges of our beliefs
We continue to polarize ourselves for
profit
We could be building community
Have you heard that a house divided against itself
cannot stand?
How can we claim that we’re Number One
When we’re so damn bifurcated?
As we destroy the planet, I sing a happy
song
(repeat)
SHE WANTS IT
I got magic in my drawers, and she wants
it
I got good seed in my storehouse; she keeps trying
to get in
She wants to get ahold of some of that fine design
DNA
She wants to plant it, and fertilize her
field
She knows it’s time to grow some crops, and she
wants it
Knows it’s time to sow some seed, and the clock it
keeps on ticking
And the moon it keeps on rising, and the earth it
keeps on turning
In the belly of the body there is always something
burning
And she wants it
So now I’m dealing with the prospect of being
daddy
Now I’m dealing with the prospect of having my own
mini-me
My independence could be hanging in the
balance
And she wants it
She deals in fruit, she gets down to the
root
She deals in fruit; she gets down to it: to the
root
And she wants it
I got magic in my drawers and she wants
it
I got good seed in my storehouse; she keeps trying
to get in
She wants to access some of that high tech,
re-creative data,
Wants to download it straight into her
machine
She deals in fruit; gets down to the root
She deals in fruit; she gets down to it: to the
root
And she wants it
I got magic in my drawers, and she wants
it
I got magic in my drawers, and she wants
it
She wants it (repeat)
TELL US ANOTHER STORY
By the ancient fire the old grandfather
sits
And the children say, ‘tell us another
story’
As I sit and stare at the night sky, I wonder, I
wonder . . .
What is it I see from the little pinpoint of
me?
And questions begin to form in my mind,
Like—who was the first to play ‘connect the
dots’?
And who decided which dots to connect to the other
dots?
And what about all the other dots between the
dots?
Are they just ‘extras’—just faces in the
crowd?
Sometimes I get a little crabby, and I
think:
Who crammed these ideas up our collective sphinc
ter?
It seems a little bit fishy to me—so tell
me:
Which constellations do they see from
The Pleiades?
Maybe someone’s lion—maybe it’s a bunch of bull,
Maybe there’s something to it, but I
wonder—
On the other side of the galaxy,
Which signs do they think they’re under?
By the ancient fire the old grandfather sits
And the children say, ‘what has he been
smoking?’
Is that really a belt or an arrow—maybe it’s a
gun!
You thought it was a scorpion—maybe you’ve been
stung!
You like to draw pictures, right? C’mon, let’s have
some fun:
That triangle over there is the stealth fighter
constellation—
And those little specks in the middle are . . .
camoflage!
That other triangle over there is Rebecca Romaine
Stamos’
Bikini bottom, and look—she has
no top!
GEMINI is legs without a body
URSA MAJOR is Burning Man—and he lost his
head!
CEPHEUS is a pup-tent and CYGNUS is a
mike-stand
And URSA MINOR is a high-flying kite
And DRACO is another kite,
HYDRA is an upside-down kite,
And CETUS is one kite—attached to another
kite!
CASSIEOPIA is a string without a kite
ORION is a boxkite, on the string of
ERIDANUS
PERSEUS is the string of a kite caught up in a tree,
And CANIS MAJOR really is a dog!
And THE PLEIADES is another, smaller dog!
And CANIS MINOR is a bird’s eye view of a kite
And SAGGITARIUS is another kite!
ANDROMEDA/PEGASUS is an unequal . . .
Parallelogram—spider—falling…look out!
By the ancient fire the old grandfather
sits
And the children say, ‘tell us another
story’
And the children say, ‘tell us another
story’
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