These songs wear my face. They are confessions of a mossy stone. I had a brother who had no face to be known by, No liver to form the bile of hatreds, No bridge to ice in cold weather, oh, Or burn from the tired madness of the river of blind ambitions. These songs have no ambitions. Maybe they are meant to be The face of a faceless brother With no times of his own to draw inside.

Don’t fret about the cost of that egg you’re frying Once upon a sad, red rooster the blues was dying. Just play me that one part To jump start a broken heart Where the A chord goes off like a teller mine, Like some rock throwing bully from the end times. All I know when that highway bends, Where true life starts and dreaming ends, It’s good to motor on with friends. All I know when the cliff meets the sea, Reality juts into fantasy, I need someone there besides just me. The tired old wind whistles down the streets, Snaking down the alley like a midnight cheat. Don’t try to tell me I wasn’t very kind. My heart only froze so it wouldn’t melt. If I swallowed every time I was fed a line, I’d be fat enough to wear an asteroid belt. When the last leaf falls from the dying tree, Remember me, Penniless and free.

I dated a girl in a hoop skirt so I wouldn’t get too close. I caught the clap from her anyway, Must’ve jumped straight through her clothes. Now you know why I’ve got the blues So don’t ask for no more clues. Put all my money on a philly in the 3rd heat, But not just to place or show. She led the way to the finish line Then she had to stop to blow her nose. Now you know why I’ve got the blues So don’t ask for no more clues. I quit drinking so I’d be able to drive straight. I drove straight into a laundry truck. The Chinese character that fell on my head Was the symbol for good luck. Now you know why I’ve got the blues So don’t ask for no more clues. I’ve got bugs infesting my apartment But I didn’t want to make a complaint. So I sprayed myself with repellant. It turned out to be car paint. Now you know why I’ve got the blues So don’t ask for no more clues. My girlfriend woke me up Said she’s moving to LA And the only reason she woke me up Is cause my car’s parked in her way. Now you know why I’ve got the blues So don’t ask for no more clues. Well, my boss has really been screwing me Till it really makes me ill. The thing that makes it worse, He’s been taking penis enlargement pills. Now you know why I’ve got the blues So don’t ask for no more clues.

My old lady wants me to treat her like her name is Brittney Spears. The onliest thing is the poor old gal ain’t got but two tin ears, Weighs about a half a ton and that ain’t counting what she put on today. My girlfriend thinks she’s a rock star but she’s built like a bale of hay. She polished up them toenails. Armani cosmetics are on her face. She bosses me around like she owns my whole damn place. When she makes a beeline for the fridge, well I’d better clear out of her way. My girlfriend thinks she’s a big ol’ star but she’s built like a bale of hay. She always likes to berate me ‘cause I ain’t as pretty as Johnny Depp. And I ain’t as handsome as Bradley Pitt, so I’d better watch my step. She tips the scales at about ten times what Angelina Jolie weighs. My girlfriend things she’s a movie star but she’s built like a bale of hay. If she really was a haystack, she could feed a Clydesdale horse. And, if you could fit that horse into a frying pan, she’d eat him for a second course. You’d be far more likely to see her with Mr. Ed than Doris Day. My girlfriend thinks she’s a TV star but she’s built like a bale of hay. She always wanted her presence to be felt both near and far. They feel tremors over in Uzbekistan when she dances the cha cha cha. She’s bummed out that she’s got to be stuck with me instead of Laurence Olivier. My girlfriend thinks she’s a movie star but she’s built like a bale of hay.

I saw your train pulling away and I heard the whistle And it’s too, too late to tell if one more kiss will make you stay. Now this blues won’t leave anymore than the black will leave the night, Though it may cloud over and rain all night they say. One thing you can say, we both played fair. Never went to sleep on a fight, never acted like we didn’t care anyway. And, if I see your train in some sad dream time miles, I’ll hope you’re sleeping sweet and safe, like some baby child of mine, Like some baby child of mine. Oohhhhhhh Now our insides are wound up like two balls of twine, But I’m not yours and you’re not mine anymore. And, if I see your train in some sad dream time miles, I’ll hope you’re sleeping sweet and safe, like some baby child of mine, Like some baby child of mine. Oohhhhhhh Saw your train pulling away and I heard the whistle And it’s too, too late to tell if one more kiss will make you stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.

Daddy, you know I always try to win, just like your dear true son. But, is it the fault of a stove pipe hat if it don’t fit the head it’s on? You know I’m always trying to make my way, working day and night. But, is it the fault of stoney brook some beavers dammed up all it’s might? And every turn is like the catacombs beneath the Roman streets. But, is it the fault of my tired feets if I can’t find my on way home, Can’t find my own way home. Ten thousand roads, ten thousand turns, taken one by one, Like each new day to disappear into the setting sun, Into the setting sun. Daddy, now you’ve reached the other side, like your father and his too. Every step I take on this hard earth, I’m on my way to you. I’m on my way to you. Ten thousand roads, ten thousand turns, taken one by one, Like each new day to disappear into the setting sun, Into the setting sun.

Let me hear the midnight cricket choir, Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire, Come to still, cool water soon, Under a pagan moon. Baby moths like fresh, green leaves. Grown up moths prefer sweater sleeves. Many struggle for a life of ease. I want something to believe. Let me hear the midnight cricket choir, Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire, Come to still, cool water soon, Under a pagan moon. Dark stream currents carry life itself. Fire feeds the music in your muscle and blood. Lost in his chant, a little elf collects faces in driftwood from the flood, And waits to be in our dreams. As the elf spins, magic drawings from his hat appear That draw you in like passionate voices from a play. Yet it’s only full of dream chasers on a flash lit stage, Tragic actors on a burning page. Hope, she would keep her wings in a black-swept sea And dry them in a breeze of laughing stones. T’was a still birth mother with her silence gone Had to wade through the forest of my clanging song, Though she smiled inside as she reached the sea And said, “So long to the boiling sun of my days. I’ve already gone on, Like the blind kiss of dawn, Left in orbit when the moon rolls over and Royal dreams walk like the escaping night, Or, sometimes, lie like some cold cop’s chalk drawing on the ground Around the failure of a love light or the victory of fright.” Eerie eyesores assault your vision down on River Road. You’ve heard of that road that’s paved with good intentions. This looks like the end of that road. My road has gypsy fiddles in a covered bridge. Rains stream through ditches then you top the ridge. A little Spanish girl loves my icicle coat, Reflecting scenes around me in its crystal, hologram awakening And cool dripping impermanence. I asked the professor for a consciousness probe, Where the dark star landed? Meet the new wrinkle on the face of time, The heart of gold dis-banded. I asked the cab driver with a pleading sob, “Turn off that Jesus station. Fifty thousand watts and the power of God are such a noxious combination.” Baby moths like fresh, green leaves. Grown up moths prefer sweater sleeves. Many struggle for a life of ease. I want something to believe. Let me hear the midnight cricket choir, Leave fear and spite in the Beltane fire, Come to still, cool water soon, Under a pagan moon.

Four ice block oceans from a big, red summertime, Three riders of the Arapaho, When the world was just barely mine, When the world was just barely mine, Two like Handsel with his crumbs now eaten, One dead like winter at the edge of the quiet night, When the world was broken by the bells of Christmas, And my hound would shiver at the Prince of moontime, Hollow out the night with his wolfen whine, Yes, he would hollow out the night with his wolfen whine. I was depressed enough to state, “Here he is!” With great sarcasm, whenever I saw myself anywhere, And mean enough to respond in kind. One night, when their stride was broken, Two mares of the Arapaho broke away Three miles from nowhere and, if their thoughts were spoken, “For what?” would be what they would say. Envy him, the saddest player of the broken fortune wheel, Grand beginner of endless stories. And they all started with the Big Bang cataclysm. Three anthropologists and a priest and a Rabbi Went into the bar where their horses were tied. All sat waiting for the punch line to be delivered, Till, one by one, they all died. And my hound would shiver at the Prince of Moontime, Hollow out the night with his wolfen whine, Yes, he would hollow out the night with his wolfen whine. I was depressed enough to state, “Here he is!” With great sarcasm, whenever I saw myself anywhere, And mean enough to respond in kind. One night, when their stride was broken, Two mares of the Arapaho broke away Three miles from nowhere and, if their thoughts were spoken, “For what?” would be what they would say, woah.

One day a wandering amazon met a piper with a light-fingered sway. On her back did she bear him to the child’s dream (child stream) where the night meets the day. With darkness come the owls who tell who I’ll visit in my seeking slumber, Stranded in the stairs (stares), I can’t get past the drunken avatar. Who can measure the pride of lions, Or the deeply buried streams? Between the fabric of truth and madness, Lies a world of magic dreams, A world of magic dreams. Bonded into slavery, the blond witch of the highlands took flight, Blinded by the gleam from the kimono-clad assassins knife. “Only speak my name,” she said, “when twilight covers the shadowy glen. In billows like from a burning pyre, I’ll return into your dreams again.” Vision comes in the land of darkness. Shed the garments of disguise. Remember your most secret cries. Lift the window on those inside, While Isis climbs the silent skies. Indigo heart waves that ripple and steam, When will I meet you in my magic dreams? Snakes that recoil when the sand dollar screams, When will I meet you in my magic dreams?

I’ve been working on a mystery pose So I can think things nobody knows, So I can live in my silent dream, Watch the world through a one-way screen, woah. All the clouds that crowd the sky above Rain down around me like a mystery love. Stolen glances on a carousel. It’s the things you didn’t say that tell it so well. Starlight falling on a Ferris wheel Made of laughter and cold steel, woah. I, a writer of sub-plots to the middle eight, Said, “I’ll pay when I’m ready, then you can sue my estate. When you dance in the candle light without a stitch, That’s the tune of the body’s resilient pitch.” Whoa.

Spent three nights on the mountain and I don’t ever wanna be cold again. Can I curl up next to you and your fire in your cozy den. Is living on the road better than dying at home? I may be lonely but I was born to roam. I’d lay into the wind and follow it’s wind Till the bending of the river was slowly mine. They said, “How could you ever think that you could ever be done?” Oh, I got here leaving I was born to run. Spent many a long summer in a furnace called Louisiane. Sometimes I got nowhere to spread out like a fire in a garbage can. Is living in a tomb better than dying in a street? There’s someone somewhere I’m dying to meet, Twinkling eyes, song unsung, Just the wind in collaboration with the setting sun. They said, “Son, we don’t even know where you’re coming from.” Oh I got here leaving. I was born to run.

I’ll meet you some cold and lifeless day When our wheels have gone astray. We’ll break into the lonely room Where our years have gone to stay, Shuttered in the darkness Where our dreams have gone to pray. I cried to find the stone hotel Where trance-sick loves and losts are reached Between stone echos of old church bells And sterile sheets, so chlorine bleached, Where stolen love feels canonized in whispers on a cold wind, Where blue eyed daughters of revolutions, Brown eyed sisters of simplistic sins, And black eyed mothers of death’s cool laughter Would carry me in, carry me in. I pulled the window open wide. The curtains billowed in, As if announcing escapades of where the wind had been, Caressing Venus on the square, like a weeping mandolin, mandolin. I’ll meet you some cold and lifeless day When our wheels have gone astray. We’ll break into the lonely room Where our years have gone to stay, Shuttered in the darkness Where our dreams have gone to play.