- What I've Wanted To Say
- Love, American Style
- In The Aisle, Yelling
- Girl
- Seasick
- Job's Eyes
- Punchdrunk
- Celebrate Her
- Boring Life
- Joining the Circus
- Cut-Out
- Sorrow's End
The best and the worst of me at the same time / Make a tin cans with
strings to you, let you know I really mean it all / And the more I say it
the more I just sound like a carnival barker yelling selling art / Just
don't worry about looking dumb, I do it all the time, it's actually pretty
fun / and whatever, it's overblown, as relative as hot and cold and
good and bad and young and old / Do anything, there's no wrong, it's
all right / This is what I've wanted to say this whole time / I wish for you
what I wish for me / the flashlight, the means, the reason, the medium
/ I will say this, will you listen? If you don't listen I don't mind / I'll still
say it if you don't listen / If you don't listen I don't mind / This is what
I've wanted to say this whole time
"I know you," she said, "you're that guy from my TV! You're that guy
that killed all those kids!" / We got off to a pretty good start / "Oh,
boy, look what we've won! OhBoyohboyohboy!" / Love, American
Style / "Oh, yea, um..., which one? Geraldo or Montel or Ricki or
good ol' Oprah? / All those shows are one. The eating of brains and
the bleeding of hearts, it all makes for some pretty cool art." /
Where's that smile? / We got off to a pretty good start / We got off
Blessed be messed up me. Should I feel different? Was I crying to
get my face wet? To discern what I did from what I've thought...It's
hard to discern what I gave from what I got. It's part of me... Blessed
be. Low-lit theater, quiet crowd. I'm on the screen, projected; I'm in
the aisle, yelling fire.
I am not to blame (I was just a little girl). I am still ashamed in a way.
But you never said you were just a little girl; you can always call my
name. All for love...so you said. Out of love... so I fell. Things you
never said (I was just a little girl). Were you scared or ashamed?
Then you took away my little place in the world, where I would play. All
this time... You will never say I was just a little girl ever again.
Believe this as you convalesce: I'm seasick. I'm bleeding from open
sores. Four days ago, you said soon we'd hit shore. And finally,
we've found this land. For all the gifts the people give, bloody
beaches and severed hands is what we return. I'm kind of nauseous.
Either I don't like this, or I'm still seasick. And I find it hard, it's so
hard, I'm finding out you're a liar again. (no, I never said enough) You
gave me what was never yours. You know what? I don't want it.
The birds would laugh at Job, their song would torture him. Always, a
steady rain fell, soaking and chilling him. He could always see a dry,
light place on the horizon. He would walk for miles, muttering, "I'm
sure this rain won't last. I'm sure it's time is up. Though it's pouring
down, I'm sure this rain won't last." As it fell on Job's eyes, this water
of doubt, he said, "I'm wading in lies, it's wearing me out. But if you
want it, all right. I'll buy it." The trees whispered to Job. The wind
screamed, "blood too dirty for mosquitoes, I hope that you die soon.
Pray to any god you believe in." One day, Job screamed back.
"Those people, they had families. Their families don't have them.
You're not any god I believe in. I hope the rain ruins the work you did."
At that moment, the clouds parted. Job found himself in the sun.
Job's god was left in the storm that he'd created. He moaned, "I'm
sure this rain won't last. I'm sure it's time is up. Though it's pouring
down, I'm sure this rain won't last."
It wore him down; his head was hanging sideways, his lids were slits.
This happened almost nightly now. He raised the gloves and waited
for another round. He waited for the bell to ring, he prayed the lord
would save his eyes. He heard church-folk swaying and sighing, "it's
all right". He liked his kids, he liked his sky-blue Valiant, he liked the
pay. "The boss' fine young talent" they all would say. And just a
pension later he'll be free, do what he wants. Bereave the dream,
now sleep, now slowly die. (Lie l-lie, lie l-lie lie lie l-lie)
There is a love / Doesn't flower, doesn't die, doesn't follow, doesn't
try, doesn't worry, doesn't cry / I know why / Bare in her innocence,
bare in her mystery / She knows me / I know this: I know nothing /
She's wearing a gown of roses / Celebrate her, celebrate her song
You're like kissing lipstick; you're pasty, warm and dry. You're boring,
you bore me. You're such a boring guy. At first I kinda liked it, the way
it oozed out of your mouth. Then there was more and more, and it got
got boring. Just another boring lie. So what if I just pick this knife up
and cut you all across your smile? Would that be boring? Would that
be boring, or just one less boring life? Boring life.
Never won a medal for bravery / Never won a medal for tact / Never
thought 'the truth' would enslave me / turn me into something too
close to a liar / I'm joining the circus, I'm going away / waving from the
boat, I don't cry / I will arrange / savor the lie / go blind on all these
words / divine myself this urge / I'm joining the circus, I'm running
away / the people I won't know, the places I won't stay / Now where is
the circus? I only see clowns, half-naked girls and mirrors / I leave
them in the sea to drown / I love her now.
You're one of a kind, smooth and sublime / a hella cool dude, a
wonderful guy / So what is it like to be liked, to be right, all of the
time? / And every time I wander by / the plastic of smiles, the corners
of eyes... / I wanna race them lemmings into the sea / look up through
the water / touch bottom. / To my Mother, to my friends, I'm all right. /
Am I all right? / It's mine, all mine. / Tu-ra lu-ra / Cut-out, you're a doll.
You're cut out to fit right in. / And you fit right in.
I used to think, "I've never been through it, the deaths and stuff that
make us old enough." Old enough to love a boy whose name I still
don't know. We traded voices, blurted accidents. Brutal Winter froze
through Spring's slow crawl. In the Summer's burn, the impending
Fall.
