another shot of Gin

i know where the easy cliff ends and the hard stairs begin
it wasn't so long ago i took a stand
and took it on the chin
i wasn't afraid to lose
but i didn't expect to win
i sat down and poured myself another shot of London Gin
when i saw you come in
and then there rose a sun; it burned inside my heart
made a complete circle before it flew apart
one season came and soon became four
i heard all the stories of what came before
a Jack and a Jill and the Kingdoms of yore
the crown with thorns and the sharp thorns of a red flower
i saw a man consumed with thoughts of pure power
trying to kill the passing of an hour
he wrote a book with words he went to the central bank to borrow
a five year plan was to publish it today or sometime tomorrow
but i tried to play the game without having to slide
every time they gave an explanation i knew they lied
four thousand children on the streets bowed down and cried
the wailing of a father and the tears of a mother
a wheelchair once carried the weight of my brother
its' tires traveled a hundred miles before a quick U-turn
all is quiet on the western front but what did any of us learn?
i know where the easy cliff ends and the hard stairs begin
it wasn't so long ago i took a stand
and took it on the chin
i wasn't afraid to lose
but i didn't expect to win
i sat down and poured myself another shot of London Gin
when i saw you come in.

i questioned myself and i questioned you

the moon was an exploding bomb

deep in the distance a puzzling light
i looked left and i looked right
there was nothing special i wanted to do
i questioned myself and i questioned you

i hid behind a cellar door

asked a whispering ghost why he was so quiet
heard a news story about the Attica riot
saw a young boy he was crying in bed
read the latest warning but ignored what it said

the black swords flew out of the east

the swans flew out to the nearest river
a scarecrow stood naked and started to shiver
an angry young girl walked up to a tall ladder
she hit it with hatred until it started to shatter

the porch swing was like a white rope

on the way south it hung from a church steeple
black souls on ice kept looking for people
a shout in the throat kept getting swallowed
it wasn't history but everything that followed

and the good book on the sidewalk

each page and every chapter in fine print
hands waving to provide every eye a helpful hint
my own way home with a compass and a smile
and the park bench where i wanted to sit for a little while

the moon was an exploding bomb

deep in the distance a puzzling light
i looked left and i looked right
there was nothing special i wanted to do
i questioned myself and i questioned you.

Guinness isn't just a beer

there was a time in California
when i thought i had an extended reach
so i went walking with a musical woman
to the crazy Pacific beach
and we built a fire
and read Russian poetry
while watching the fiery sun
lower itself into the still-glowing sea
i asked her to sing
the Beach Boys who came first to mind
but she sang Dead Man's Curve
and I didn't want to seem unkind
so i had another drink
while she played her B Flat clarinet
like a famous French little bird
who escaped her net
and she started to dance
wet sand between her toes
i considered heading to San Francisco
to see the variety shows
but the wild surf made a steady roar
Big Sur darkness held me to the floor
and she asked for a foot massage
said both her feet were damp
so i lit a Coleman lantern
and settled into camp
i found another Guinness
but it wasn't just a beer;
she handed me oil and spices
and said "Any time now, dear."

Red Mountain

i saw her on Red Mountain
but no one knew her name
how far she had wandered
or from where she came
no one would ever say
but i'll never forget that day
i know she treated me like a stranger
and at first i didn't walk so fine
there was a strong wind blowing
which knocked me off my line
and i started out fawning
and she might have been yawning
but we watched the stars overhead
they kept spinning in their night sky bed
and heard a wolf pack prowling
and a dark bear somewhere growling
and she put her hand on my chest
she felt my heart and i guessed
but i believed everything i felt
kept playing all the cards i was dealt
well, i awoke on a stone cold mesa
and down in the valley far below
the wagon trains kept moving
i didn't know which way they'd go
looked around to see Red Mountain
and it seemed mighty proud and brave
there was one lonely feature
a small tombstone on a freshly dug grave
i saw her on Red Mountain
but no one knew her name
how far she had wandered
or from where she came
no one will ever say
but i'll never forget that day.

you are a God

and tonight
you are a God
or a Roman Catholic priest
with a small dog on your lap

instead of an innocent child waiting for a father-figure.
you dream of riding a white horse in
the woodlands of upstate New York,
having fled the midtown scene
because you were down on your cultural luck.
you are NOT a naked Allen Ginsberg
descending an ornate stairway with Peter
to greet an irate Gordon Liddy,
who would soon leave empty-handed,
laughing all the way to the bank.
in the morning, you are noticed:
wearing a new psychedelic beret
with slender, sparkling strings of golden beads
dangling from your neck,

smiling like a Cherokee with wise eyes and an insomniac heart,

resembling the most dangerous man in America
surfing chaos
marveling at grains of sand on a fantastic beach,

running for governor of California,
singing autographs for the unclothed members of a lost Berkeley tribe
and praying with your alter ego friend, Jim,
who said his real name is Timothy Leary.
he would soon donate his brain to medical science,
which he did.

you moved quietly to the Taos Pueblo,

married Juanita, a native Indian woman

and tonight

you are a God.

i can't walk no more

i lost both legs in a war
now i can't walk no more
and i want to know what for
all the sweating and the blood
the rain forest jungle and the mud
earthquakes and the rising flood
how could i ever know
which way the wind would blow
before the new day began
first i walked and then i ran
through crowds of people pointing everywhere
some of them cheating (and) some playing fair
hard strangers in uniform marching down my street
they're searching but still can't find my feet
no welcoming hand for me to greet
only an eerie noise erupting from fancy toys
and lonely women with their blue-collar boys
and a loud call from the dark city tower
i hear it most every passing hour
a silent lovely flower
hoping for a drink
it almost has no more time left to think
i lost both legs in a war
now i can't walk no more
and i want to know what for
all the sweating and the blood
the rain forest jungle and the mud
earthquakes and the rising flood
how could i ever know
which way the wind would blow
before the new day began
first i walked and then i ran.

a final caress

and a young girl removed her wedding dress
she folded the memory
gave it a final caress
the lamp light growing dim
she wasn't thinking of him
inside the room and by the four poster bed
she read a book instead
tossed her head and gave a laugh
smiling as she slowly slipped
into a warm bath
and the soap bubbles blew
like noses with a head cold
what would she do
when the water turned cold
well, her skin softened
her story got told
and she slept like a beauty
she felt it was her duty
to have her own life
it didn't matter much if she was a wife
she had a direction on her own road
so i was later told
down on one strong knee
she buried the anticipation key.

Lord Byron

i wore black
(and) that's a Johnny Cash fact
but he's not coming back
even though he once read the Farmer's Almanac
on a cold summer night
when the entire world felt warm
and he heard thunder
and soon a terrible storm
carried him to the highest point
millions of people saw him coming and passed a joint
i saw his smile fading to the bone
watched him in the far corner all alone
fooling with a six string guitar
gas in his waiting car
a road map on the seat
while he listened to the radio playing
the Folsom Prison Blues
he grabbed a pair of running shoes
and went looking for some heat
a setting sun and a crescent moon
i kept humming his latest tune
and The Price Was Right
was keeping me up all night
Captain Kangaroo wouldn't tell me what to do
before the show came to a shocking end
when Mayor Phineas T. Bluster called me his best friend
he brought a lot of love to my afternoon parlor room tea
and a hot cup of coffee
under the spreading Chestnut tree
he played the matador and i the crazy bull
we'd both keep eating until we were full
the evening news said we had no choice but to choose
between Lord Byron and Disney dog Pluto
and so
everything seemed designed to clarify or confuse
and we didn't know what else to use
to open our bottle of fine California wine
we bought in a store down in old San Antonio
which is where we were told to go
to hear the man in black
who was hiding in a Lone Star sack
no longer on his feet
he sang flat on his back
the Folsom Prison Blues
he grabbed a pair of running shoes
and went looking for some heat
i saw him disappearing down Alamo Street
but i heard him singing yesterday
and that's something that i'm proud to say.

Earth Man

Earth Man
walked across an Indian desert with his guitar in hand
took a swim in a fresh water pond where he stole their drink
tossed his empty glass into a stainless steel kitchen sink
sat in a easy chair where he hoped to think
when a girl from Des Moines
asked if he had any spare coins
but he had none
he stood up to go looking for some fun
but everything had already been done
so he walked onto bright Town Avenue where brilliant flowers once grew
and saw an electric car parked by the side of a busy road
with a lithium battery about to explode
the driver side door painted Pacific blue
he kicked it with his Amazon Prime jungle shoe
and a security camera watched him light up a smoke
he laughed at his own imagined joke
but tossed it away with a long note of fresh disdain
before the thunderstorm of lightning and imminent rain
lit up the sky and made his walking tough
he said all the edges felt rough
but with a cheap suitcase and a east coast bookstore map
he pulled on his favorite Minnesota Twins baseball cap
and walked aimlessly for several hours
to reach a corner of the famous twin towers
of New York City where he looked for a dog but found a lost kitty
and the passing woman gave him a big apple kiss
he was suspicious but nothing seemed terribly amiss
because he was the kind of man who liked to get from here to there
and she hadn't asked for money so he didn't really care
he got his dander up and she got her hair pins down
they decided to grab a brush and paint the town
but they found none
they went looking for some fun
into the countryside where they found a giant oak
he laughed at his own imagined joke
and with a picnic basket of cheap dreams
he told the lady he wasn't exactly as he seems
but it was okay to eat a fine meal and have an even bigger drink
i saw him sit in an easy chair where he hoped to think
and he put her on his lap
with a cheap suitcase and an east coast bookstore map
she said she wasn't exactly as she appeared
and he looked at her and their faces neared
there was a moment of quiet reflection but it came and went
a voice was heard which they believed was Heaven sent
and nervously crawled into their survivalist tent
the lights went low and everything grew quiet
and near the end there was no whispering and no laughing riot
so i packed my bags and put on my traveling shoes
with my guitar in hand i wanted to learn to play the blues
motivated by the headlines of yesterdays' news:
the World might have been a poet but couldn't find a muse.

mama it's hot inside the oven

mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my sign is melting
it says BEWARE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my pie is baking
steam EVERYWHERE!
gonna get me a cook book
wanna take a quick look
gonna stir the pot
give it everything i got
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my sign is melting
it says BEWARE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
my pie is baking
steam EVERYWHERE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot in there
i can't get no air
it doesn't seem fair
my pie is baking
steam EVERYWHERE!
mama it's hot inside the oven
so hot
help me stir the pot.

i had no clue

there was a floor above the basement blues

which could be walked on with a pair of new shoes

and a communication gap in the evening news

which aired our dirty laundry on national tv

where there always remained the possibility

of someone being honest with the latest story;

the drums of August sounded fine

when i swallowed my last drop of red wine

sitting at the white house table to dine

wearing a pair of old sneakers and a fancy French hat;

i heard the quarrel between the cat and the rat

but i kept trying to ignore that;

i hit my head on a stone wall until it bled

waiting to be with you and be fed;

i guess it wasn't only what i said,

it was what i didn't do

when i was without you

and the waiter delivered his tray of Super Glue

which sealed my lips

so my hips 

shook like a down dog

and i sank like a heavy log

so low i fell to the cellar floor

my clean jeans tore

i couldn't see my hands in front of my face

i rested my case

there didn't seem to be a way out of there

i took off my underwear

and played with myself

maybe there was a Dostoevsky book on a nearby shelf

i had no clue.

painting in a corner

i've been painting in a corner
colors are falling like spring rain
first they fill up my bucket
then they head down my drain
and i've been idly watching
there are people rushing by
everyone is acting busy
and i can't figure out why
first there was a Sunday
when i heard voices from the choir
they started out softly and low
but kept getting higher
and the singers smiled so brightly
the rafters began to shake
i saw their lips moving
but couldn't decide if it was real or fake
they looked at me like an old friend
i was offered a front row seat
it felt like the good times were rolling
but there was no one special to meet
and then came a busy Friday
when the working class grew tired
a damsel in distress said she knew me
but i didn't want to be hired
i was asked to carry her luggage
and i've been asked to tie her shoe
sometimes i knew the easy answer
sometimes i didn't know what to do
i wore my hat on a cold day
saw the sidewalks covered with snow
the traffic lights flashed their warning
i couldn't decide which way to go
i felt healthy at midnight
i felt sick as hell at noon
i imagine a garden full of ripe fruit
and i'll have to go there soon
every time i stopped to read a new book
a yellow bus came to offer a ride
an old man yelled that he could save me
but i always suspected that he lied.

something i said

the radio played
a Johnny Cash song
and i wanted to sing along
but found myself in heavy traffic
on a Sunday afternoon
i wanted to be home soon
when i saw the suits and ties and dresses
walking to the neighborhood church where only guesses
would ever be made
their lovely flowers bundled and laid
at my feet
it was more than i could hope to eat
and the story flashed across my windshield
like a wiper in a storm
i turned on my heater to stay warm
when a next song from Fleetwood Mac
reminded me to never turn back
so dutifully straight ahead i sped
down to the nearest tidal shore
past the formal front door
and on my way
i saw the spires and heard the spinning tires
of one hundred years about to unfold
i saw hungry hours inside a box being readied to be sold
they tried to grab me by the nose
when Kurt Vonnegut whispered
"and so it goes"
out from the sea
into the woods and across the field
where i fell on my sword and was carried on my shield
a song kept repeating in my head
was it something i said?
the radio played
it seemed familiar but wasn't something that i made
i wanted to be home soon
overhead i saw the shimmering moon
and heard a Johnny Cash song
and i wanted to sing along.

Bobby Sands

Bobby Sands
didn't use his hands
inside that prison wall
Kevin Lynch
in an I.R.A. pinch
took his final fall
Francis Hughes
wore Republican shoes
all the way to his end
these H Block men would never bend!!
their fork and spoon
beneath the Irish moon
would eat no food inside their cell
they gave a battle yell
but they would not cry
no one wondered why
they would rather die
and let all hell break loose
while the Golden Goose
served a mighty fine beer
the local boys held no fear
looking down the barrel of a British gun
the Belfast boys refused to run
and the girls played dead
because of what their mommies said
about black-laced boots on a Londonderry street
kicking everyone they'd meet
the television news
and faces of reds and blues
shouting men and rifles fired
bombed-out cars and killers hired
shooting red-hot lead
dark skies and the newly dead
ballads sung with heavy heart
beginning from when The Troubles start
with no let-up no pause
fighting for the rightful cause
tame to wild
every Belfast child
knew
Bobby Sands
didn't use his hands
inside that prison wall
Kevin Lynch
in an I.R.A. pinch
took a final fall
Francis Hughes
wore Republican shoes
all the way to the end
these H Block men would never bend!!
their fork and spoon
beneath the Irish moon
would eat no food inside their cell
they gave a battle yell
but they would not cry
no one wondered why
they would rather die
and let all hell break loose
while the Golden Goose
served a mighty fine beer
the local boys held no fear
looking down the barrel of a British gun
the Belfast boys refused to run
and the girls played dead
because of what their mommies said
about black-laced boots on a Londonderry street
kicking everyone they'd meet
the television news
and faces of reds and blues
shouting men and rifles fired
bombed-out cars and killers hired
shooting red-hot lead
dark skies and the newly dead
ballads sung with heavy heart
beginning from when The Troubles start
with no let-up no pause
fighting for the rightful cause
tame to wild
every Belfast child
knew
Bobby Sands
didn't use his hands

on a sea of blue ink

and on a sea of blue ink
i saw more than your simple words
i saw more about how you felt
and how you stopped to think
about the hands in life you've been dealt
there were brave stories about your youthful glories
and salty tears about your younger woman fears
to the right i saw you running out of sight
from early in the morning until late at night
while in front of me i saw where you might want to be
my companion standing independent and free
reaching out with a strong hand
i held on but everything felt like grains of sand
escaping to the ground
i remained silent and kept listening for a hopeful sound
and when you really wanted me
i knelt on one knee
without hesitation or momentary reservation
like a baby to a lover
a spy out of the cold and out from undercover
two trees bending to the wind together
summer and winter regardless of the weather
what a day and the sun is still rising
i promise to be more enterprising
you tell me you're no longer in a hurry
and even if times are hard we shouldn't worry
and on a sea of blue ink
i saw more than your simple words
i saw more about how you felt
and how you stopped to think
about the hands in life you've been dealt.

the damn wheel

driving on the street
will we ever someday meet?
the windshield of my car
needs a thorough cleaning
does it signify any special meaning?
the radio static of a local channel
playing a Friday night football game
but it's always the same
droning commentator
or daytime moderator
a talking head looking to be stroked and fed
whether in bright sun or torrential rain
grabbing at every advantage for minimal gain
behind the closet doors or coming out
leaving home wandering about
down the quiet streets of a small town
a silly grin or a puzzled frown
under bright lights in center city
dull-witted or clever and witty
driving on the street
will we ever someday meet?
well, i got me a new Porsche
hot as a Mexican chili pepper
smoking wind blowdrying my hair
shifting thru the gears without a damn care
one hundred and twenty two
gaining speed but always looking out for you
at every tight corner i'm Little Jack Horner
eating my one minute oatmeal
hearing those terrible tires squeal
keeping my hands on the damn wheel
driving on the street
will we ever someday meet?

to silence the Sun

and in the end
there was no morning
no rush hour
no alarm clock
keeping time with a purpose
no life on Mars
there was only a passing silhouette dressed in virginal white
walking around a lonely apartment block
smart phone in hand
high speed data downloading
a compass needle spinning wildly
melting ice
but there was nothing of intrinsic value
to be found
on the front or backyard porch.
the sound was silent
colors were cold
language a barrier
a limp man swung past a mounted rider's torch
fell into a gigantic black hole
began to dance on the celestial stage.
but he seemed trapped in a broadway cage
when the play was held
an anxious audience sat in chairs
either alone or in nervous pairs
and wondered how this might come to a fitting end.
a brother and a sister and a close friend
walked on hard steps
tried to make sense
of a windowless fence
they saw
erected along the vast southern border
broken glass and sharp barbed wire
cemented on the top
where the sky was pierced
red blood seeped down onto the desert dirt
dried in clumps but provided no moisture
where the sun was hottest.
a watching man put down his book
he looked again at the rider and the horse
standing around
saw the man swinging still
a fresh grave included no name
major papers of the day ran the story
but mostly they distorted the truth
in order to silence the Sun.

a regional poet

you are the new regional poet?
fine.
i'm underwhelmed, of course.
regional poets are as common as
Labor Day farts after eating sausage grillers.
besides,
i found no manifesto in your syllabus
so there's no reason to be polite and
there's nothing to be gained by fawning over
little things, like YOU little twit.
so how'd you get here?
a friend in high places got you this
position, perhaps?
i doubt it was psychic power!
do you get the obligatory tan in the winter?
hey!  you don't need to pretend by squinting
one eye while scribbling on a table napkin
that you're a hot shit.
you're no hot shit.
can you even spell potato?
and i'll bet you're a drunk.
i'll bet you have a constant supply of unsalable
manuscripts, too.
what would any student get from your class, assuming
you have one.
a good idea?  nope.
you don't even dress the part.
i heard you once swallowed enough phenobarbital
to put you in a coma for a week.
sometimes rumors are the truth, you know.
your shoes are old.
you'll never fit in with the better members of
this faculty, which is most of us,
nor should you.
hah!  a pretender and a thief, i see.
or more like a guest come to the campus much like a swimmer to
the beach, to swim and sunbathe before being served a
lunch by a sculpture of a plastic fish.
and you're the plastic fish.
out of water.  lost.  not even interesting as you flop
and fail to impress.
you must realize that you don't speak our language!
you'll always be the stranger,
a not-very-polished outsider.
in this respect (and many more i can think of),
you are merely (hmmm...what's the term?)
a regional poet, if that.
and not published?  Hah.
you'll always be bourgeoisie!
and, MON DIEU, you actually hunt and fish?

sex on the beach

with a hat wreathed in flowers
and sex on the beach
besides the high water line
under a sun shaped like a vagina
the woman felt relaxed
holding a large cigarette in her mouth
reading Dionysos
while wet sand pushed between her toes
the lady felt the heat of July
little by little
draw salty beads of perspiration
in wavy lines
on her skin
in a loose-fitting dress
and barefoot
in a quiet way
she later looked at herself in a mirror

and saw a bird fly from a wire cage.

tie my shoe

cutting for stone
with one blind eye
and a sharp chisel
there's dust on the showroom floor
the radio host is talking about the next terrible world war
and my first chapter is still inching along
although some of the characters apparently don't belong
but when the whistle blower
and the cleaning lady appear
the picture window is finally thrown wide open
a fresh breeze comes near
and i listen closely to what i can now hear:
there are strangers in the hallway
friendly ghosts painting in the studio
they ask me where are you from
and i tell them i don't know
but it was jungle humid and very hot
summer heat hard like lead shot to the forehead
a nearby city crying in mourning
police officers in uniform dropping dead
the Sunday News folded on the front porch
bold black text in 20 point font screams it's the end
but i've heard it before and now it's coming back again
before this Friday nights' opening
before the chilled wine and finger snacks
up again the nearest wall we lean with our thin backs
ramrod straight until we're ordered to stand down
i pick up and put on the vandal's crown
as the first guest arrives to see my finished work
and i show her a native tree
she asks me who was the artist
and i tell her it was me
but that seems like such a long time ago
when i worked in a much larger studio
and the lake water was pure so i could drink
and everyone seemed to matter so i could relax and think
the wild asparagus was a plant to eat
with cheese and oysters and nearby a sharp knife
my old television set is turned to a show called 'This Is Your Life!'
and the washing machine is making a lovely noise
down the hallway near the locked door behind which all my childhood toys
remind me that i've been lazy
what am i to do when i can no longer tie my shoe?

a hard-fought rodeo

Did you know
which way it would go
was everything all a virtual reality TV show
wrapped from the top of your big head to the bottom of your small toe
but what did i really know
maybe i'd rather be watching a hard-fought rodeo
when you called me on the telephone
did you think you were tossing me another friendly bone
well,  i didn't want to chase it all alone
so don't come on by just to say "Hi"
anymore
it simply won't be like it was once before
anymore
i'm not looking and i'm not answering the door
i'm a man at peace not interested in fighting another war
and you're the girl with needles in her hair
the holes in a heart that no one can repair
so don't come on by just to say "Hi"
anymore
it simply won't be like it was once before
anymore
got my guitar and i'm playing inside my car
i used to wonder but now i really don't care anymore where you are
and you're the girl with needles in her hair
the holes in a heart that no one can repair
did you know
which way it would go
was everything a virtual reality TV show
wrapped from the top of your big head to the bottom of your small toe
but what did i really know
maybe i'd rather be watching a hard-fought rodeo
when you called me on the telephone
did you think you were tossing me another friendly bone
well, i didn't want to chase it all alone
so don't come on by just to say "Hi"
anymore
it simply won't be like it was once before
anymore.

but what did i really know

something came over me
i started walking out to the sea
but a mighty mountain rose in the distance
it started to sing and did a native Indian dance
i wanted to hike to it but took a quick nap
put on my New York Yankees baseball cap
and began to play the game
it was eventually cancelled because of an afternoon rain
so i went to the parking lot
pulled out an American Army cot
and put it near the local water fountain
i kept looking at the mighty mountain
it seemed so sure of itself
i pulled a classical book from the library shelf
and read about the Golden Rule
and an old man on the open prairie known as Sitting Bull
but what did i really know
i wasn't dressed for it when it began to snow
and then suddenly thunder
so i began to wonder:
when i'm sitting in the shadow of a cloud
should i always feel proud
of the way the history classes go?
but what did i really know
about the way yesterday was presented to me?
i started walking out to the sea
with a piece of confusion inside my head
i wanted to hike but went straight to my bed
a passing critic said i was all white but i felt red
and eventually i fell dead
like all the song birds and honey bees
and fresh fruit and sweet gum trees
so i pulled out a paper to read the daily news
whichever article i choose
i took my time because that was what i had
i didn't have to be happy or sad
i saw a large crowd
i asked everyone if it was okay to be proud
of the way the history classes go?
but what did i really know
about the way yesterday was presented to me?
something came over me
i started walking out to the sea.

Shakespeare, the famous bard

all the way
to the far shore
two bearded men playing in the fine sand
i gave them both a hand
they both gave me the finger
but i couldn't linger
it was already past noon
and the sun shining gave me a heated bite
i'd have to come swimming later at night
out to sea
so i laid my blanket underneath an oasis tree
inside a picnic basket the yellow pears
each promised to take away all my cares
and the party lasted until dawn
when all the sweet fruit was gone
and the men gave me the slip
as i gave them both the lip
when they questioned me about George Orwell
i knew they were believers in Heaven and Hell
they shouted from an amplified stone stage
the lions and tigers were pacing inside their steel-walled cage
all the way
to the far shore
the food was consumed before the high tide
before all the white rabbits died
and the Queen played her last card:
a Shakespeare, the famous bard,
pictured sitting on a platform holding a notebook
with two bearded men giving him a curious look
he gave them both a hand
they both gave him the finger
but he couldn't linger.

riding around in my summer car

i'm holding my guitar
riding around in my summer car
wondering once in awhile
where in hell you are
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt
shifting gears up the hill
stepping on the gas for another cheap thrill
wondering once in a while
where's my happy pill
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt
i'm walking into town
turning my smile into a frown
wondering once in awhile
where's the underground?
i'm belly to the bar
riding around in my summer car
wondering once in awhile
where in hell you are
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt
i'm crazy for a bed
looking for a place where i'll get fed
wondering once in awhile
what more can be said
i'm holding my guitar
riding around in my summer car
wondering once in awhile
where in hell you are
and the stop signs don't mean a thing
i'll be passing go when i sing
wiping dust and road dirt
off my suit and pretty shirt.