1. |
Slither in the Rain
02:59
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He’s the godhead
Of the two step
About as far as he’s concerned.
Yeah his boot prints
Stomp and skid
Strange patterns in the dirt.
Always tuned in
To a duet
He hears carried on the wind.
He sings alone
In a rough baritone.
Rain dripping off his chin.
He throws cans at landing planes
From his spot near the runway.
He knows he’ll see it someday.
He’ll see the sky open up.
But when his eyes close
She’s in nightclothes
And she hasn’t aged a day.
He lets the girl that he sees
Lead his feet
In a drunken figure eight.
And the pilots
With eagle eyes
Get a kick out of watching him.
Shake his ass
Like a snake in the grass
That never learned to shed its skin.
They’re up there watching him
Slither in the rain.
They’re always watching him
Slither in the rain.
Watch him
Slither in the rain.
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2. |
Mythic Love
03:20
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I showed up late and tired
To a party for a friend.
Parked my car on a street
Where trees grew along the fence.
Then I saw you in the brake lights,
Glowing in the limbs,
As you searched your purse for matches
Cigarette between your lips.
Inside, we sat entwined
And forgot everyone.
Our hands were fugitives in spotlights
When the dark bar lit up.
With the doors locked behind us
We scaled the fire escape
And fucked to a choir of
Screeching sunrise trains.
You said, “This feeling
It’s a dog in the mud.
It’s a blade on the tip up your tongue.
It’s a bottle smashed on the head of a TV stud.
Hearing my name when you cum,
It’s the Father ,the Holy Ghost, and The Son.
It’s a mythic kind of love.”
Mythic love
I know one day when I wake up,
There’ll be a hole in the sky.
And from that hole will come an angel
With bright, strobing eyes.
And in those eyes will flash the brake lights
You were bathed in that night
With the trees along street
And I’ll let loose the reigns of life.
I said, “This feeling,
It’s a web unspun.
It’s breaking the neck of a dove.
It’s a gun between your eyes when you’re talkin’ tough.
Hearing my name when you cum,
It’s the Father, the Holy Ghost, and The Son.
It’s a mythic kind of love.”
Mythic love
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3. |
Birds
03:36
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Spring,
The time of year when tourists shiver on the beach
And baby birds begin to fall out of the sidewalk trees.
Sometimes when it rained
We’d grab a fifth and find a place to watch the planes.
One night, we saw a Boeing trailing flames
And you said, “They make it or they don’t.”
You bought a point-and-shoot
To try to document your visions of the truth.
Cut your teeth on gritty portraits for the local zines.
Snapping everywhere we’d go.
We rode to Coney and you shot a couple rolls.
And the boney kid who broke my nose was glad to
Pose biting on a bodega rose.
Then we crashed on the train.
I woke up and saw the sun rising
With your head on my knees
And I closed my eyes.
I saw a flicker of your face
Above the candle with a sticker of a saint.
Lit a cig and then you pulled me into the smoke.
Then I was driving in the snow.
You and Nick were scared, yelling where to go.
But the Firebird was skidding all over the road.
I said, “Damn thing’s dancing on its own.
We make it or we don’t.”
Passed out on the train.
I woke up to find the sun blinding.
You were still sound asleep,
So I closed my eyes.
[Then I was walking in a hazy field near where I’m from.]
Passed out on the train.
[I’d just clipped my first dove with my father’s shotgun.]
I was bleeding in the sunlight
[I found her among the sunflowers, still flapping her wings.]
With your head on my knees
[I scooped her gently into my hands, and I set her free.]
And love on my mind.
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4. |
Point and Shoot
02:59
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Here’s the picture where you had Nick strutting
In your beetle wing dress. Junkie Lady Macbeth,
Sleepwalking through cops catcalling on the sidewalk.
Heart-shaped hickeys ‘round the scar on his neck.
Next. The fog is a wash of neon,
Blurring out the pretty faces of some rooftop girls.
Standing shoulder-to shoulder, naked figures with theirs hips
Cocked. Lined up on the railing like a string of fake pearls.
And here’s me sharing a bed with a trashcan.
Comatose. Sweat shining all TV green.
I can see what must be that old Steve McQueen chase scene
Reflected in your framed portrait of The King.
You got this shot when Knox drove from Florida
For a busted up jaw and couch full of burn holes.
He was cut from the belly of a gator, years later,
But here he’s still laughing with his mouth wired closed.
Well, it’s a shame this one’s mostly ruined,
Grainy figures fade to white as they approach the top left.
What’s left is a cowboy hat, a bad back tatt.
Stream of taxis pouring from the sunset.
Next. Smoke rings moan in a chrome coke mirror.
The flash is a comet on a path toward your head.
Your bloodshot eyes look like they’re trying to find some sign
Of what’s out there, just beyond the photo’s edge.
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5. |
Feelin’ Like a Funeral
04:07
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Got jumped as I stumbled home Sunday night.
He cut deep but the drugs killed the feeling.
You found me snoring on the sheets stained red.
Then you packed my wound full of ground cayenne
And dragged me out of bed.
The worn out doctor smelled like liquor sweat.
And when you saw that her stitch-hand was shaking,
You framed a shot with your thrift store lens.
I saw a flash and watched the needle dig.
(I’m feelin’ like a funeral)
I said,
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
“It ain’t the city air.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
It’s deep in my soul.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
It lives in there.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
And I can’t I can’t get
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
No kind of stiches there.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
So, the next time
Around, don’t go
Sounding the siren.”
We left the hospital.
On the street, we passed by the old folks home.
Another room had been moved to the trash pile.
And we watched a gown flutter like a ghost
On a dresser drawer full of taped game shows.
(I’m feelin’ like a funeral)
“I swear,
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
It ain’t the city air.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
It’s deep in my soul.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
It lives in there.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
And I can’t, I can’t get
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
No kinda stitches there.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
So, the next time
Around, don’t go
Sounding the siren.”
At home, you put on the nightgown
And I ran my finger over moth holes I found,
Tracing constellations in a warm cotton sky.
You touched my wrist in a patch of light, and said,
“When you’re asleep, sometimes I check your pulse.”
And I said, “There’s no need cause, baby, everyday I’m feeling like a funeral.”
I’m feelin’ like a funeral
I swear,
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
“It ain’t the city air.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
It’s deep in my soul, baby.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
It lives in there.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
And I can’t I can’t get
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
No kind of stiches there.
(Feelin’ like a funeral)
So, the next time
Around, don’t go
Sounding the siren.”
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6. |
Little Wars
05:15
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Two women stare into the camera
Trying not to smile
To one of them it came easily
For the other one it took a while.
You chose them for this reason,
And the spacing of their eyes.
Said, they looked like prey and predator
On a smoke break from an endless fight.
When I felt you changing
I stayed the same.
You said I was a caveman
Afraid of a flame.
Said, the best years of your life have been wasted.
Always blacked out, or crashing,
Working day shifts with the shakes.
In our apartment
All your photos on the bed
You walked around in your underwear
In a heat wave drunk and underfed.
I grabbed a picture
Of a beggar in the park
On his knees at the feet pedestrians
In a crown he’d made from MetroCards.
I said, “Guess times are hard for
The King of New York.”
You unhooked your bra, dropped it on the floor
and said, “This city’s full of little wars.”
When I felt you changing
I stayed the same.
You said I was a caveman
Afraid of a flame.
Said, the best years of our lives had been wasted
Stashing cash tips in the mattress,
Slinging well shots for the snakes.
(Wash this filthy city from your skin with me.)
(We’ll cut our hair and burn our things and leave by spring.)
I heard what you said
And chose to stay instead.
(Wash this filthy city from your skin with me.)
(We’ll cut our hair and burn our things and leave by spring.)
You got a husband, I saw
He treats you real nice.
He’s gentle and blonde
And smiles with his eyes.
You found a nice job
And make art when there’s time.
The garden you planted
Has started to bloom.
You’ll finish the plans
For the baby come June.
You put a new crib
In your old darkroom.
At my place there’s a box
Of photos you took.
Some nights, when it’s hot
I can’t help but look.
And I thought you should know
The King’s still on his knees
But, I wish he’d stand up,
Throw his arms around me
And say, “Don’t get confused,
just do what you do.
This city could use
a good caveman like you.”
“Yeah, this city could use
A good caveman like you”
I feel it. I see it. I feel it. It’s moving
I feel it. I see it .I feel it. Always moving
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