Friday, February 8, 2008

the first wednesday of november

The first Wednesday of November
The streets are lined with confetti and hope
A closer race nobody can remember
A valiant effort I’ve been told

But it might as well be
50,000 votes
Separating me
From the new mayor of Monroe

The first Wednesday of November
And I’m nothing but a citizen again
I was shining bright as a dark horse
I nearly galloped my way in

But it might as well have been
50 years ago
when I almost took the stage
as the new mayor of Monroe

The good folks bring consolation
Wrapped in sugar and cellophane and notes
But I’d trade every fruit basket
For 17 more votes

Looking back at what could have been
while looking forward to another winter in Wisconsin

I might as well be
A drunkard or a ghost
For I’ll never take the stage
As the new mayor of Monroe

Tuesday, February 5, 2008

the last of the ninth

In the last of the ninth, he stumbles to the hill
Holding down the nerves; he’s choking back the thrill
He’s never been so admired
He’s never been so alone

He’s throwing out the last pitch on a summer to forget
He’s bringing back a season that hasn’t ended yet
He’s three outs from perfection
And one mistake from the expected

His accusers became his followers
After the seventh inning stretch
The world is bei ng introduced
To a man its never met
His friends have all abandoned him (he’s standing on the edge)
in the last of the ninth

He calmly takes his place where the meadow meets the sand
The leather feels like ice; its melting in his hand
And sixty feet
Feels more like a mile

He does his best to pretend that this frame
is just the third or the eighth again
But the multitude cheering his name
Makes it impossible to forget
That he stands on the edge
All alone on the edge
In the last of the ninth

It’s a chore to turn his eyes from the zeros
And more to keep his mind from the heroes of his youth
But there’s three outs to go
In the last of the ninth

Sunday, February 3, 2008

the last world war

I’ll do my best to stay awake tonight
But these are mediocre times
The best has come and faded
The rest could never save it
We’re weary of the imminent
But tired of the waiting

And its hard to be alone
With the ghost of the radio
Asking don’t you remember how it was

I’d send for a youthful song
You’d raise your cup and sing along
We’d laugh until the morning had come

Living what we believed we had never seen before
We found ourselves between the surface and the floor (ocean/shore)
Rejecting what we’d seen while holding out for more
On the threshold of the last world war


What a funny shade of quiet we’ve become
So little to say when the songs are sung
The spirit feels like fading
The shadows plan on staying
We’re fighting for a second change
But tired of the waiting

And its hard to be alone
With the ghost of the radio
Asking how we ever ended up like this

We’ve only to turn it on
Shake the dust, hum some barsIn no time we’d be dancing aga

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Vinny put your gun away

Vinny put your gun away
This is neither the time nor place
And you know what Roberto says about scaring the tenants

Vinny my last mistake
could be startling you awake
I come in peace; I bear no weapon

I know there’s an ocean between us and New Jersey
And I know there’s a long night between now and 6:30
But Vinny please, don’t take it out on me

You can say that again. Whatever it was you said
And I’ll just nod my head and pretend I understood
Vinny, violence won’t do us any good

Braving the quiet and cold, Manning your post all alone
Longing for something a bit more exciting
Vinny, don’t take it out on me

You know there’s a fine line between fearless and foolish
Vinny its high time; we gotta get through this
Vinny put that gun away; you know what Roberto says about scaring the tenants

Saturday, January 19, 2008

$21.08

Tip your pail just a little
What falls to the floor is an ocean to me
You probably wouldn’t know if it were missing
But I’m drowning in this unforgiving sea

A slight misunderstanding, confusion of the terms
I won’t pretend to be without my faults
But your oversight however slight
brings another anxious night

21 dollars, 21 dollars, 21 dollars and eight cents
21 dollars, 21 dollars, you owe me 21 dollars
I will have my revenge


I know its near impossible to prove
In a world of corruption and abuse
But I’d try to hear you out if you were me
and I was you

I’ve known my fair share of disappointments
Now I’ll take my fair share on the house
A few hours in your store ought to settle the score
I’ll be crafty; I’ll be cunning; I’ll be on my way out

Hair gel, A hacky sack, a handful of Doritos,
Could you point me to the dressing room to try on these new speedos,
Produce, popcorn, paintbrushes, plaid and polyesterFlashlights, fanta and fishing line that sits beside the register

Sunday, January 13, 2008

halleluiah

Another long-winded politician
Another long and winding road
Past the old church, past the mission
Another worn and weary sole

And the wind whispers halleluiah
As the footprints blow away
And the dust echoes halleluiah
As the evidence is erased

Another bulletproof king of something
Another bullet buzzing by
Another close call, another brush with the end of the line

And the street lights whisper halleluiah
As the crowd begins to thin
And the darkness echoes halleluiah
He’s coming down again

The path he’s chosen, be it straight or be it broken
Be it famous or unspoken in the end
The doubt and fear all the while was leading here
Halleluiah


Another lost love, full of questions
Another hole in the earth
Another farewell, wrapped in blessing
Another death adorned with birth

And the hills whisper halleluiah
As the night loosens her grip
And the sunrise echoes halleluiahAs the new/breaking day begins

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

time machine

No chance to post music yet - probably not until february - sing along with your own tune


I met a man on the street

He told me all about his time machine

Built of old receipts, postcards and magazines

Took another drink and pointed at me

Said son, the future’s never what it seems

There was a crack in the atmosphere

I had to make my move

I fought my way out of there

Now, I’m here with you

I’ll tell you my story, won’t tell you what to do

Son, its never what it seems


I’ve been there and back

I’ve seen it change

Seen the truth attacked

While the stories stay the same

You fight to live another day


My manifesto would read like a book

But for another 50 years not be understood

You can guess if you want, it won’t do you any good

Its never what it seems

Everyone I meet is known for his innocence

But here on the street you can only trust yourself

Show me your scars, don’t tell me what your future is

Its never what it seems

If I were a hammer, I’d break the mold