I saw the posters popping up around the city, Pale blue and washed-out red. I went down to the arena, pushing through, Hoping I?d run into you. Sweet
when we hid out behind the risers at he high school, working bitter calculations with a slide rule. the grim particulars of poisoning the swimming pool
there's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet no matter where you live. there'll always be a few things, maybe several things that you're going
the king of the jungle was asleep in his car. when your chances fall in your lap like that, you gotta recognize them for what they really are. nobody
on the day that dennis brown's lung collapsed, spring rain was misting down on kingston. and down at the harbor, local cops were intercepting an inbound
the reception's gotten fuzzy. the delicate balance has shifted. put on your gloves and your black pumps. let's pretend the fog has lifted. now you see
hey, mr. hughes and mr. vanderslice, uh this is a new song i'm really excited aboo, about, and uh and so since i wrote it on my old cort guitar instead
we stank of hair dye and ammonia. we sealed ourselves away from view. you were looking at the void and sat unblinking. the best that I could do was to
you are sleeping off your demons when I come home. spittle bubbling on your lips, fine white foam I am young and I am good. it's a hot southern california
I broke free on a saturday morning. I put the pedal to the floor. headed north on mills avenue, and listened to the engine roar. my broken house behind
I checked into a bargain priced room on la cienaga, gazed out through the curtains of the parking lot. walked down to the corner store just before nightfall
got up before dawn went down to the racetrack. riding with the windows down shortly after your first heart attack. you parked behind the paddock, cracking
king saul fell on his sword when it all went wrong, and joseph's brothers sold him down the river for a song, and sonny liston rubbed some tiger balm
alright I'm on johnson avenue in san luis obispo and I'm five years old or six maybe. and indications there's something wrong with our new house trip
Gentle hum of the old machines Here we come scrubbed and scoured Patches on our jeans When the drone sounds In the cool night wind We pick up the call
'36 hudson in the garage, all sorts of junk in the unattached spare room, dishes in the kitchen sink, new straw for the old broom, friends who dont have
The men were here to get your Belgian things They'll store them for you in an airplane hangar There's guys in biohazard suits Mud kicking on their rubber
Breaking the signal So it's totally unreadable Drinking the dregs Eating the utterly inedible We do what we do All for you All dressed up Black hat and