lay me down

Lay me down in the field
Where the weeds grow tall
Lay me down beside you
Before I fall
Before I fall

Sing a song of love
Sing a song of hate
Sing a song of dreams
That always have to wait
Have to wait

Lay me down by still deep water
Where the flowers talk in rhyme
Lay me down for I’m weary
And I’ve been running for such a long time
All of my life

Sing a song of hope
Sing a song of loss
Sing a song of dreams
That are worth the cost
Worth the cost

Lay me down in the field
Where the weeds grow tall
Lay me down beside you
Before I fall

if i die

If I die don’t mourn me none
Just raise a glass to all the things I’ve done
If you must shed a tear
Just don’t let it water down your beer

If I die before my baby
Please tell him I was always true
And if he dies shortly after me
That’s just the chivalrous thing to do

And if I die before I have children
Find a little girl with cold green eyes
Give her my guitar, and a taste for whisky
And teach her my songs about wicked, loving lies

If I die don’t mourn me none
Just raise a glass to all the things I’ve done
Sing my songs and drink til you’ve forgotten
That I am gone, gone, gone…

welcome, welcome, welcome

I want to welcome Shannon and Dustin to our little lyrics collective.

Post away, gentlemen.

fondly,

Julie "Perdita" Jurgens

someone said something...

...on this blog once that reminded me of this quote: All art is a kind of confession, more or less oblique. All artists, if they are to survive, are forced, at last, to tell the whole story; to vomit the anguish up.

James Baldwin wrote that, and that just about sums up the creative process for me.

Sorry About That

So, the other night, I was bored and tossed off some kind of half-assed poem/lyric/thing that was supposed to go to another blogspot site. It wound up here, because I didn't pay attention to where I was signing in. Sorry.

...and one more

This is probably my biggest holiday "hit."

COMMUNIST BLOC
(tune of "Jingle Bell Rock")

Communist, communust, communist bloc!
spend all our time just waitin' in line
all o' the bourgeouise feared revolution
now the commie regime has begun!
Communist, communust, communist bloc!
seizin' the means to halt the machines
dancin' and prancin' around the red square
in the frosty air!
The prolateriate will this year get
to rock the night away
the manifesto, from the get-go
seems to work in theory, anyway
Hammer and sickle laid down at our feet
capitalists are stopped
reds and pinkos, Cubans and Chinese
That's the Communist,
That's the Communist,
That's the Communist Bloc!

Winter

Here's my other holiday-ish song. I always thought the chorus, tune and opening line of "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" were fantastic, though the rest keep it from getting on my list of
Christmas Songs I Can Sing Without Worrying About What My Rabbi Would Say. So I stole the chorus and used it to close out my last album.


WINTER


Mr Emery sings a bit on certain holidays
But he never really talks much anymore
He just sits there in the corner with his cider in his hand
While his wife says "well, he had a hard war."
He made it back from Europe with half of a tattoo
And a limp that never really went away
Took his GI deferment and he spent it all on her
And now all that she ever hears him say
Are tidings of comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy

April is a joker and September is a trap
October is like busting out of jail
She changed her name to Winter and she curled up her hair
And drove out to the last mile of the trail
And she smiled at all the strangers with a shiney crooked grin
And hung around when everything had closed
She went dancing on the sidewalks with the people who were left
And whispered to them when they held her close
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy

One day I'll be an old man, and I'll wear a coat like that
And a scarf about like that one, only brown
I'll grow my hair as wild as I can make it grow
When I go out walking through the town
I'll mutter curses on the steep hills, and when I make the top
I'll shake my cane and laugh up at the sky
I'll pretend that I spoke Russian when I was a little boy
And think of winter with a twinkle in my eye
Oh tidings of comfort and joy
Oh tidings of comfort and joy

nancy

What's that bad blood in your water song of yours?

and the one about fishing...yeah, fishing...

I humbly request those lyrics be posted.

happy holidays

I'll post a few of my holiday-themed songs over the next week - though their connection to holidays is generally vague at best. Here's one I wrote in the middle of Coach Smith's chemistry class, right around the holidays way back in my sophomore year of high school, when I should have been taking actual notes. I didn't do so well in the class, but I'm still able to post this song nearly a decade later, and I certainly haven't used a bunsen burner lately.

ALARM BELLS
TTTO: Jingle Bells

Oh, elements, elements, molecules and moles
wouldn’t Coach be mad about the test tubes that we stole?
elements, elements, present everywhere
if you mix ‘em up just right they’ll burn right through your hair

mixing up the flasks, trying to make stuff burn
“what’s that smell?” you ask, “It makes my stomach churn”
liquids start to boil, atoms start to split
before each lab we have to ask “how dangerous is it?”

elements, elements, solid liquid gas
just remember: duck and cover when you see the flash!
elements, elements, bout as safe as guns
but I must admit that those explosions can be fun

The bell rings loud and clear to let the fun begin
this solution here will burn right through your skin
Gases in the air, acids on the floor,
and these stupid safety goggles make my nose feel sore

elements elements, “hey watch out!” you say
what the hell, I didn’t need that eyeball anyway
elements, elements, I love chemistry
maybe if I’m lucky I can still pull off a C*


* - I've no idea whether I actually pulled off a C, but I think I at least passed that semester.

pinned

she sits in the back booth drinking her coffee
thinking about you & the life she's led
she comes from a small town that's slowly dying
the farmland is barren & so is her heart
she gets drunk and goes home with boys who don't like her
but still she's a body they can own for the night

and when she wakes up she only wants coffee
but she's pinned by the weight of her dreams
til finally she slips out into the morning
and nothing she looks at is quite what it seems

she drinks alone often drowning her sorrows
but somehow the damn things have learned how to swim
she's taking speed now she wants to be thinner
she thinks that you'd love her if she were small
she tries on her new dress looks in the mirror
she hates her body and the boys tear it down

and when she wakes up she only has coffee
but still she's pinned by the weight of her dreams
finally she slips out into the morning
and nothing she looks at is quite what it seems

she drinks until morning sleeps until nightfall
and doesn't remember the hours that passed
she wrote you a letter trying to tell you
all of the things that she thinks you should know
she once had a baby he died in the bathroom
she's running from all of the things she can't face

and when she wakes up she only wants coffee
but she's pinned by the weight of her dreams
finally she slips out into the morning
and nothing she looks at is quite what it seems

Women love this song, and it's not hard to understand why--it touches on a lot of major themes that almost all women go through at one point or another. The more personal a song is for me, the more I distance myself from it--here, I use "she" instead of "I" because, otherwise, it would just be too painful to sing and to listen to.

I've never taken speed, nor had an abortion/miscarriage, but I personally know girls/women who have, so I pulled their experiences in to add depth to the song. Everything else is completely true and has happened to yours truly. An older couple once mocked this song by saying "You young people and your problems---" as if this song catalogued things that were over-the-top and melodramatic rather than realistic and pertinent.

I can't write songs about big, grand things, although I do think that my songs do explore larger themes in a smaller way. If we can't love and be loved by one other person, how can we ever be expected to have compassion for the whole of humanity? And the subtle political commentary of the girl's small town rural home being barren, and decimated by soulless, efficient factory farming...I always like when I can slip in little things like that.

That's the thing about songwriting, when you're mostly heard live--there's no time for the listener to catch, ponder and assimilate those subtleties. In one listen, all you're going to come away with from this song is the sort of whiny coffeehouse girl singer thing...but, as with most girls, there's more churning here beneath the surface than anyone realizes. Was the baby the result of a drunken date rape? A mutual sexual experience? The numbness and isolation in this song is staggering, but because it is felt by a girl who is also concerned with how she appears to boys, a lot of listeners feel no qualms about dismissing it.

And all she wants is a cup of coffee and perhaps someone to share it with. How decimated can one person be when that small pleasure will be consolation enough for all that she's endured? Unable to conceive of all her wrongs being redressed, she settles on one small, achievable goal to strive for, a focus point that will help her get through the drunken nights, the uncomfortable encounters with strangers, the hours spent caught in reverie about all that's she's had and lost...

Anyway. Um. Yeah. That's what this song is about. As I see it anyway.

H - E - Double Hockey Stick

Hungry hungry hippos
hurry home -
having hardly heard
heaven's homeward heave
hush Halifax.
Hurry, Horatio.
Henry's home, having hard helpings.
Hungry hungry hippos
hurry home, Henrietta.
hurry home, Hugo.
highways have hard hitchhikers -
hungry hungry hippos
hurrying home.



Well, that's a bit of nonsense.

Here, to justify posting it at all, really, is the cover of my new album, due out in spring, which will not likely feature this song. (Well, maybe as a hidden track)

One Last Short Poem

Not done with an H song yet, but here's another song from the new album. Take some photos for the cover in the morning!
Wrote this the week Hunter S Thompson and Arthur Miller died.

ONE LAST SHORT POEM

Just before Hector
Died in the night
He took out a chewed ballpoint pen
For the first time
Since the whole thing in Stockholm
He started writing again

Chorus (2x)
One last short poem
One more for the road

Just eight short lines
About drinking beer
By the tracks where Neil Cassady died
And hoping the train
Would slow down enough
That he could jump on for a ride

Chorus

Hector then tore
The page from his notebook
Folded it over twice
Wrote on the back
“deconstruct this one, suckers!”
he was laughing
when he closed his eyes

Chorus

a small affair

My second album, A Small Affair, of which all hard copies are gone, is now available for purchase on iTunes.

and all the populous rejoiced.

Tell you friends. or enemies. depending on your perspective.

When Kevin Comes Marching Home

The songs for the upcoming album are divided into two sets: The "a team" (songs that'll definitely go on) and the "b team" (songs that may or may not). Out of the 10 or so b team songs that I'll give a shot at, only about 2-3 will make it. This is one of the b-team songs, written over a day or so in July and then played about once, expanding on another Cornersville character mentioned briefly in "New York Rain."

WHEN KEVIN COMES MARCHING HOME

When Kevin comes marching home again
I doubt that they'll have a parade
just some friends and relations down at the airport
meeting him by baggage claim
he'll smile politely and kiss all the cheeks
but he won't look at you in the face
as he hugs you briefly, then heads for his car
and peels his old stickers off right away.
You'll get in the front seat and put on a brave face
and drive off and leave me alone
I know that I won't see you much anymore
when Kevin comes marching home

When Kevin comes marching home again
hurrah, hurrah and all that
He won't grow his hair back, and he'll smoke like a fiend
and he won't ever show up to class
we'll wonder if he died and sent back a ghost
to fill in his place over here
and once it finds out that it's not fooling anyone
it'll fade til it just disappears
Well, I can't quite be certain, but he sure sounded different
when I last talked to him on the phone
We can safely assume that things won't be the same
when Kevin comes marching home

What if spends all his time in the basement
"exercising his arm?"
and thinking of moving to south Indiana
to work on his great uncle's farm?
Or handing out pamphlets down by the park
that ramble and don't make much sense?
Or selling those copies of his god-awful poems
for two bucks and ninety-nine cents?
taking the drugs that he swore off before
and constantly asking for loans?
I'm only saying that you know it might happen
when Kevin comes marching home

Don't get me wrong, when Kevin comes back
man, I hope to God he's okay
But he just looks like hell in those pictures he sent
though he already did, anyway
Have you seen that one where he's in his green jacket
standing by some sort of gate?
All I can say is that I've never seen him
with that kind of look on his face.
Of course I'm still hoping that it's all in my head
and I think maybe I should just go
Cause it'll only be harder (for me, anyway)
when Kevin comes marching home.

another try

The girl who would be queen
Walks along the shore
The boy who’d be her fool
Leans against her door
And listens to her breathe

The dreamer who was king
Lies in the hospital
The courtesan he loved
Walks down the narrow hall
And wills him to breathe

And I haven’t known you long enough
To count the time in years
But if we keep going as we are
I’ll drown in my own tears
But even Alice could dry her eyes
Take a deep breath and give it
Another try

The poet with the scheming heart
Is often at the bar
The whore who wrote his best work
Was named after a star
And she leaves him room to breathe

The child with the shining eyes
Is swiftly growing old
And the tongue-tied balladeer
Is wishing he was bold
But he can hardly breathe

This one's so new it's still wobbly like a little colt. I think it'll grow into a fine ride someday, though.

I don't know what, or who, it is really about, but just re-reading it and singing it in my head makes me want to put my head in my hands and cry.

I think I'll go to sleep instead.

alternate/additional verse for whisky

So far, Ciso loves it, Adam hates it, and I'm still on the fence.

I guess I just had to accept the challenge to come up with something "better." I don't know if it is better; it certainly is different, and fits the tone of the song well, I suppose.

"if you were walking, I'd be your footsteps
if you were dying, I'd be your last breath
if you would love me even though I'm not perfect
the world would seem new again"

Meh. I think the last line is a little weak.

Whatever.

Things

In this song, I was trying to capture that hazy and half-awake state you find yourself in after dreaming about a past girlfriend - a relationship that should have worked out but didn't, etc....
After the first version, I wanted to lighten it up a little and make it less "suicide-y", so I included the someday I'll see part to the chorus.

THINGS


i have the worst dreams
i dream the worst things
a wave of your hand
the turn of your head from a distance

i save the least things
the things-i-need-least-things
the song of your sigh
the dance of your breath in December

they wander and drift through the door
intruders i cannot ignore

then i hear the worst things
your voice in the morning
calling to me
invitations to sleep a little longer

the answers i never could get
the stain that has not lifted yet

but that’s just me
someday i’ll see
the world wakes up
and moves on

i lose the worst things
colors and shadings
the purpose and drive
to fill in a new frame come tomorrow

i want the worst things
bad worse and worst things
filling my head with the false-alarm red of a sunset

they wander and drift out the door
deserters i cannot ignore

but that’s just me
someday i’ll see
the world wakes up
and moves on. (c)2002 DAVE DONOVAN

one in progress

Still tinkering with this. One version is done; it was written for a novel an old professor of mine is writing, but had to be written for a thirteen year old character. I've redone the verses a lot, and I think I'm starting to get the hang of it now.

THE LONG WAY HOME (11/28/05 version)

In the room next to mine in this transient hotel
there's a girl who's called Emily
When I forget to light the candles, as I frequently do
she comes in and lights them for me
She says "you'd be lost if you didn't have me"
and tenderly touches my hand
as I stare out the window at the faces in the moon
and say my prayers as well as I can
I have never been lost
I have never been lost
I have never been lost
I've just taken the long way home

I feel like I grew old waiting
for the bus on water street
wandering around the telephone pole
under the late august heat
Emily says that's it's sort of profound
every time she sees me out there
wandering around in circles
but not getting anywhere
but I have never been lost
I have never been lost
I have never been lost
I've just taken the long way home


So I sat in a bar with the wood panelled walls
and looked at all the other people yesterday
While I was watching them, Emily was watching me
staring at my face, while the radio played
a song about traveling and coming home
I stepped to the floor and I danced my way across
everyone there was just passing through
but we have never been lost


Sometimes I feel like a hitchiking ghost
constantly fading away
but right now I feel how Abraham felt
when he first set out that day
I have never been lost
I have never been lost
I have never been lost
I've just taken the long way home

Big Blank Space

Why is there a huge empty space at the top of our blog page lately?
My right index finger is threatening to go on strike because he is tired of the extra scrolling required.

Sure - there is war in the Middle East, natural disasters ravaging the planet, a looming energy crisis, and so forth. But I am tired of the un-necessary scrolling.

Does anyone feel my pain ?

New York Rain

I'm an "editor" - and this song is a good example as to why. The chorus came first, over a year before the rest. I wrote a few verses for it and nearly recorded it for "Suburban Post-Modernist," but the verses I had for it just didn't work the way I wanted them to. It wasn't til I stuck on some lines from an old, long-abandoned song in the chorus that it started to take shape, and the verses finally came around a good year or so after the rest. And version 2.0 is about a million times better than the original, which had the same first line, then veered off into small-town "surruralism." It's still a bit surrural, but much more cohesive.

NEW YORK RAIN

How're you doing, Jane? I'm just watching the news
it says it's coming down where you are and it sounds like it's true
you always kinda liked it when things were coming down around you
Lately I've been thinking of asking you guys
to send back all my letters, they're all just lies
that I don't want published in some collection after my demise.
Every now and then when I go downtown
I throw money at the yuppies just to see them bow
like we always used to do, Jane, do you still remember how?
If I have an old soul, that's just because they're cheaper used
and my feet always hurt and I'm always tired - these old ones always break on you
 
       CHORUS
 There's nothing down this road but an old abandoned bar
 and a church that's been boarded up forever
 I've been sitting watching TV news in my underwear all night

 and I just called up to ask you one quick favor:
 Won't you hold the phone
 up to the window, Jane?
 So I can hear the sound
 Of the New York rain

I saw a naked girl who looked like you today
in the window of a brownstone on Juniper Lane
but she was only there for half a second before she turned away
Do you still have that jacket that hung down to the floor
that your grandmother sent you just before the war?
Speaking of that, Kevin's back, but he doesn't look much like he did before.
You know that empty lot by the pizza place
on Cedar Avene that used to be the arcade?
I wrote my name in the dust just to watch it blow away.
Dust is all that's left of the old downtown today
the new neighborhoods are built without any sidewalk and all I ever think about is getting away
 CHORUS
 
Just one more thing, did you ever know
that the night you first left three years ago
I was standing there watching as your footprints slowly filled with snow?
 CHORUS

the whisky song (expectations)

if you were some whisky I'd taste you
if you were lots of money I'd waste you
if you were an outline I'd trace you
and fill you in again

if you were lost, I would find you
if you were tired of looking I'd blind you
if you'd forgotten, I could remind you
that some girls are worth fighting for

and if you came to my door,
I'd let you in without hesitation
even though all my lovers before
have failed to meet my great expectations
I've been a fool for so many men
there's really no reason not to do it again with you
with you

if you were sleepy I'd be your pillow
if you were weeping I'd be your willow
if you needed a chariot I'd swing low
and take you home again

(chorus)

(repeat first & second verses)

and if you came to my door,
I'd let you in without hesitation
even though all my lovers before
have failed to meet my least expectations
I've been a fool for so many men
I'm really quite eager to do it again with you
with you

___

I still remember the day that I wrote this...it was on a rainy spring day, and I was walking down Hartrey in Evanston, on my way to work. The first line used to be "if you were a raindrop I'd taste you" which seemed sort of schmaltzy compared to the other lines that followed, so I changed "raindrop" to "whiskey" and thus made some sort of local history...

Something about this song--be it melody, or lyric, or my performance of it--seems to speak to people, and affect them deeply. All I really wanted to do was write a love song--a seduction song, really; this song was supposed to turn a boy's head and cause him to notice me--that was a bit, well, subversive. Some of the things the "I" would do are a little...um...well, "if you were tired of looking I'd blind you"? Take it as you will. I wanted to express that I'll pretty much do anything for love, as long as I get to do it in my own quirky, humor so black it's almost ultraviolet sort of way.

The "I" is so complex, and a little bit frightening--and perhaps infuriating--but there's an undercurrent of sweetness, and a desire to please, to love and be loved, and a willingness to take a risk, that I think a lot of people find appealing.

It's either this song or "Porn Zoo" that's going to be the song on which my legacy rests.

I hope it's this one, even though "Porn Zoo" is damn catchy.

The Singer But Not the Songs

Here's the current, with some footnotes for varied lines, as requested. When a line has changed, it's really just because I thought up a better one.

THE SINGER BUT NOT THE SONGS

I know which ring she wears on which finger each day of the week
And I know why she holds me as gently as a priceless antique
I know why she reminds me of poems built from leftover rhymes (1)
Why she puts on her socks and her shoes one foot at a time (2)
But I don’t know how she wears a floor length coat without dragging it along (3)
And I don’t know how she can love the singer
And I don’t know how she can love the singer
And I don’t know how she can love the singer but not the songs


I know exactly how long she likes her tea bag to steep
And just what she wants to hear most before she falls asleep
I know what it means when she adds one more name to her list (4) (6) *
And she doesn’t think I do, but I know just what’s clenched in her fist (5)
But I don’t know why she laughs at my jokes when the punchlines are wrong
And I don’t know how she can love the singer
And I don’t know how she can love the singer
And I don’t know how she can love the singer but not the songs

In my craft and sullen art I sit and labor all day (7)
The phony rubies in her necklace brush the table as she sways
And her eyes are like burned out wheatfields with smoke rising through the snow (8)
The music that she loves the best gets inside me and follows wherever I go

I know why she drives like she’s trying to get us both killed
What she does with the porcelain angels she buys at Goodwill (9)
I know why she throws away her days like old burned out lights (10) *
And I know why she sneaks out of bed and sits on the roof late at night
But I don’t know what she’ll remember about me after I’m gone *
And I don’t know how she can love the singer
And I don’t know how she can love the singer
And I don’t know how she can love the singer but not the songs


1 - formerly "I know why the roads rise to meet her when she goes outside"
2 - teehee. this is from an episode of All in the Family
3 - this jacket turns up in a lot of my songs, now that I think about it.
4 - couplet was originally "I know why she sits beneath the El tracks and watched the train / and how she always knows exactly the moment that it's going to rain"
6 - was later "I know why she reminds me of songs that may not exist." Changed for two reasons. 1. it clashed with the new line about "poems built from leftover lines," which I thought was much better, and 2. I sort of stole it. From Grandpa Simpson.
7 - from "in my craft or sullen art / exercised in the still night / when all the lovers lie abed / and only the moon rages" by Dylan Thomas.
8 - a leftover from an old song of mine called "Where the Sagebrush Grows." I think the lyrics are on adamselzer.com
9 - used to be "why she breaks the wings off...." Decided to go for something more vague.
10 - used to be "why she reads all the papers, then sets them alight."
* - denotes a line likely to change again

Me And My Cat

Per Julie's request....Damn - I never noticed how "slangy" this lyric is with all the "aints" and "comins" and whatever. Has anyone had this experience with their lyrics ? How certain characteristics stand out once you read them on paper ? Hmmm.............


ME AND MY CAT

my cat jumps on the windowsill
pokes his head around the blinds
keeps an eye out for the winter chill
gettin' closer all the time

he remembers how you went away
he remembers slamming doors
he remembers what you had to say
how you couldn't take no more

and it all fizzles out that way
withers
wilts
and dies away
and it aint comin back again

but that's not what he thinks

he wanders 'round this empty house
checking all his traps
he keeps an eye out for that certain mouse
the one that proved too fast

and i stand guard at windowsills
and laugh at his distress
its time now for that winter chill
but he don't know that yet

cause it all fizzles out that way
withers
wilts
and dies away
and it aint comin' back again

but that's not what he thinks.

Another November

Here ya go, Julie -

Another November
Copyright 2004 Narciso Lobo

A ways back I lost track of the sidewalk
Ain’t nobody’s fault but my own
The dogs are barking at me
It’s starting to get dark and I can’t see
How I’m getting home

I’d best just rest my legs for a minute
Wipe these tears from my eyes
Oh god, my heart is breaking
This part of the martyr’s taking
Too long to die

Oh Lord, get me through another November
Keep me strong, but keep me kind
Oh Lord, keep my heart and my leather together
Keep me warm ‘til wintertime

I’ll weave these leaves into a blanket
Sleep beneath this half naked tree
I’ll dream of Christmas time
And kiss my princess and watch her climb
Right onto my knee

My sweet little Sky, how I miss you
Every Summer sun and Autumn moon
God, tell my darling daughter
I’m not far, and I’ve not forgotten her
Daddy’s coming soon

Oh Lord, get me through another November
Keep me strong, but keep me kind
Oh Lord, keep my heart and my leather together
Keep me warm ‘til wintertime

lyrics requests

Dave: the song about the ketchup in the windowsill. Or that's how you mis-sing it sometimes. you know what I'm talking about? I hope so.

Ciso: The song that goes "oh lord get me through another November" -- I want those lyrics.

Adam: the singer not the song. with all the variant lyrics. and why they vary.

Susie: It's always July.

Al: the Wyoming wind one.

Nancy: the one about your brother.

Garrett: do you have any love songs?

Mike: anything, damnit!

I need a few more songs, especially from Susie, Al, Nancy, and Mike, before I can launch my project. And more lyricists would be great too--send me the email addresses of people you think would be interested!

I Declare a Nate Vasher Day in Chicago

An all-time NFL record was set today by Chicago Bear Nathan Vasher. He returned a missed FG for a 108 yard touchdown. So - c'mon everybody.....

LET'S SING !!!

"Bear Down, Chicago Bears" Lyrics
By Al Hoffman, 1941

Bear Down, Chicago Bears.
Make every play clear the way to victory!
Bear Down, Chicago Bears.
Put up a fight with a might so fearlessly!

We'll never forget the way you thrilled the nation,
With your T formation.

Bear Down, Chicago Bears.
And let them know why you're wearing the crown.

You're the pride and joy,
Of all Illinois.

Chicago Bears, Bear Down!

The Riot Smoke of Memory

This song features opening and closing motifs. The first time is just to set the scene. After the story is told throughout the verses, it returns to the motif - in the exact same wording - but this time to illuminate the man's current condition and state of mind.

Or at least that's what I'm going to tell Pitchfork, if they ever interview me.

Also, I submit this one as a late Veteran's Day/Armisitice Day tribute to veterans everywhere, but especially former Marine Cpl. Michael J. Donovan (Korea) who received his "final discharge papers" this past February. Best uncle I ever had - though this song is not about him.

THE RIOT SMOKE OF MEMORY

afternoons with walter
on his back porch drinkin’ beer
feet up on a wooden crate – yellow toenails cracked like antique mirrors
and ol’ bess the shephard collie with a tabby-cat asleep between her paws
they nuzzle one another now and then – born again outlaws

walter tells his story
we go sailin’ back through time
to a two-room dirt floor company shack of Virginia’s coal mines
where daddy swung his fist every time he got laid off and debts grew deep
momma grew so tired of that fist - she surprised him in his sleep

the memories fresh of bruises old
they circle ‘round to take their hold
but walter’s holdin’ on (C)
the stubborn will survive
and one by one they’ll fire their guns
to the last man left alive

too young for Iwo Jima
with their statues and parades
but just right for the Frozen Chosin – and a snowy unmarked grave
he says, “i beat those odds and made it back
and the schrapnel in my leg aint killed me yet
but a couple chinese faces and my ringin’ ears just won’t let me forget”

Repeat (C)

his temper and his nightmares kept him out of steady work
drivin’ trucks and packin’ crates – diggin’ lonely ditches in the dirt
the 50’s and the 60’s were a day-to-day tornado he survived
it only cost him his youth and a couple angry wives

but out here on the back porch
the demons disappear
the riot smoke of memory fades a little more and more each year
and ol’ bess the shephard collie has a tabby cat asleep between her paws
they nuzzle one another now and then – born again outlaws.

(C)2002 Dave Donovan

Half the Time

Here's my "motif" song:

Half the Time
Copyright 2003 Narciso Lobo

Half the time I’m drinking gin
The other half I’m drunk
Half the time I’m telling lies
The other half is bunk
Half the time I’m half awake remembering your skin
Half the time I lose the game
The other half I can’t win

Half the time you’re not around
The other half I’m alone
Half the time I’m smoking weed
The other half I’m stoned
Half the time I wish I hadn’t done half the things I do
Half the time I’m seeing red
The other half I’m blue

Half the time I need some cash
The other half I’m broke
Half the time I miss the the 8 ball
The other half I choke
Half the time I ain’t half the man that you wish I could be
Half the time I’m blind as a bat
The other half I can’t see

Half the time I’m so bummed out
The other half’s no fun
Half the time I walk away from love
The other half I run
Half a chance is all I need to show you I can change
Half a line’s all I got left
Won’t you please meet me halfway?

post, ye bastards!

So, you shy types---post some lyrics, would ya?

And please refer to me any songwriters you would like to add...Malcolm Palmer comes to mind as a person worthy of inviting.

Because I want a few more songs up before I unveil a great idea of mine...something to help us keep busy & creative during the long cold winter--

so, post some lyrics, and early next week I'll tell you my great idea.

tender is the night

I don’t know where you came from
I don’t know where you’re going to
I don’t know what love is made of
I don’t know a lie from truth

But tonight I know what I want
Tonight I know what I’d like

I don’t know what Tom waits for
I don’t know what you’re running from
I don’t know the girl you could adore
I don’t know how to follow the sun

I want you to see me as I am
I want you to be the one who understands
I want you to take this trouble off my hands
I want you to write a song for me that no one comprehends
Tonight I want you

I don’t know why it can’t be simple
I don’t know why it’s black and white
I don’t know why your kiss is so cruel
I don’t know why I put up a fight

*chorus*

Tonight, tonight, it all began tonight
I saw you and the world went away
tonight, there's only you tonight
and tonight I hope that you're gonna stay
tonight

I wrote this during the summer, on July 15th to be precise. All of a sudden there was a person in my life who came out of left field, and I had no idea what to do with him, or myself. I became extremely confused, in the nicest way--I never knew where to put my hands while talking, and I didn't know how I felt...the only thing I knew was that I liked the person that he saw in me.

I sort of enjoy songs that latch onto a motif (here being "I don't know") and sort of write themselves as they go along. With that opening, I just kept thinking of other things I didn't know.

I realized that I don't know a whole lot. When it comes to having romantic feelings for people, that is. I know quite a lot about other things, useful things, like 19th Century American literature and shit.

Tanget. Sorry.

And I've always wanted to have songs written about me.

Does anyone know what musical these lyrics are, um, borrowed from? : "Tonight, tonight, it all began tonight / I saw you and the world went away."

Goodbye Leaves

I wrote this one just to say goodbye to a lost love. There were some specific things I wanted to say goodbye to, so I thought I'd write a country song about it.

Goodbye Leaves
Copyright 2004 Narciso Lobo

I rearranged the bedroom
It was just getting to be a drag
The couch is in the big room
And the bed is in the back
I finally put up your poster
I knew you’d be shocked
But I put everything else you ever gave me
In a 4 x 6 inch cardboard box

Yes, I was crying
Yes, I shed tears
They fell on every note you ever wrote
To me for one week shy of a year

Goodbye angels, goodbye leaves
Goodbye Memphis and rooftop dreams
How much longer must I grieve?
Until I’m stronger than the ends of my jacket sleeves

I found that tape you made me
You know the one I’m talking about?
It’s you singing a cappella
Laughing and giggling throughout
I just let your voice destroy me
Took a breath and pressed rewind
Then I made sure that every word hurt
Because I knew that it would would be the last time

Yes, I was crying
Yes, I shed tears
One for every note you ever sung
To me that so much as blessed my ears

Goodbye angels, goodbye leaves
Goodbye Memphis and rooftop dreams
How much longer must I grieve?
Until I’m stronger than the ends of my jacket sleeves

Goodbye Privata, goodbye plans
Goodbye snowsuits and orange vans
Goodbye hiding and eyes that know it
Goodbye Pilsen and 3-year-old poets
Goodbye Landslide and noisy beds
Goodbye anger and heavy heads
Goodbye rooftops and IHOPS and beautiful dreads

Goodbye angels, goodbye leaves
Goodbye Memphis and rooftop dreams
How much longer must I grieve?
Until I’m stronger than the ends of my jacket sleeves
Goodbye Leaves

this one needs a great title...

...to set the scene.

* * *

He leapt from the gutter, his scarf all aflutter
From the force of the midday wind.
The girl in the velvet coat pulled it from his throat
With a force that nearly made him spin.

She spoke not a word, just took his hand in hers
And stroked his wrist as they walked down the street.
And they both had a sigh and a wink in their eye
For anyone they happened to meet

And she wore her heart on her sleeve
And in his he held an ace
She was tired of being deceived
And he was tired of being replaced

He stood tall and proud, and his coat swept the ground
as he bent to pull out her chair
And when the coffee was gone, and he had to move on
She made it so easy to linger there

Her hair was a briar patch, his hand was an easy catch
And like that they lay for six days.
His hands roamed her curvature, he fell in love with her
And hoped their lives would travel parallel ways

She wore her heart on her sleeve
And in his he held an ace
She had a fool’s will to believe
And he had a fool’s heartless grace

Her hair smelled of cardamom, her heart was a vagabond,
Aching to be caught and kept
Her soul sought discoveries, her touch felt like falling leaves
And whenever she left him he wept

And under the gaslight, in the cool tender night,
They made an exchange of vow
She gave him her emerald ring, he gave her a song to sing
And that is the way they live now

And he wears her heart on his sleeve
And in hers she holds his ace
She is all that he needs
And to her he cannot be replaced


This is my newest baby. I wrote it at work during my lunch break after eating a FABULOUS fluffer-nutter sandwich. It's going to have its debut tonight at Hoghead McDunna's at the Guilt by Association Radio Acoustic showcase.

It's about wanting to be loved. And wanting to pin a little black heart on a boy's sleeve.

yellow bucket

I have a yellow bucket
It doesn’t have a name
I use my yellow bucket
To play a certain game
A game of hearts
Played in fits and starts
The rules go like this:
Prolong the moment
Between first look and first kiss
Next make your presence felt
so your presence will be missed
and hope that no one asks you
what is clenched in your fist
that’s how you play the game
of the yellow bucket
with no name

I have a yellow bucket
I like to fill it up with rain
I use my yellow bucket
To brew tea all the way from Spain
If I threw a party
Would you still remain
When all the other guests
Have left?
Would you whisper a refrain:
Prolong the moment
Between first look and first kiss
make your presence felt
so your presence will be missed
hope that no one asks you
what’s clenched in your fist

that’s how you play the game
of the yellow bucket
with no name

This song is about several people, and I'm not really comfortable divulging all of the details, but I did know a boy who called himself Bucket, and there was a strange tension between us, and I gave a boy a yellow bucket once, and demanded it be filled with presents, and shortly thereafter his presence was missed.

Additionally, I've always loved the image of and the reality of brewing and drinking tea with the object of my affection, mostly because of Cohen's "Suzanne" and Leon Redbone's "I Want to Be Seduced", two of my favorite songs, both with lyrics about tea.

Barbara Allen's Grave

And here's one just for Halloween; more or less a song about the infamous Resurrection Mary, along with One-Armed Charlie (who was a well-known Bughouse Square speaker, contrasted here with the guy in Charlie on the MTA), and Barbara Allen of Childe Ballad fame (who died of grief after a guy [william or sir john green or any number of names from the dozens of versions] died of love for her, then had a rose grow from her grave to wrap around the briar that grew from the guy's grave). In some versions the plants are reversed, but having a rose from her grave, not his, works better for the song. A very good version of the ballad itself is on Bob Dylan at the Gaslight, which is now available at your local Starbucks (or in versions with twice as many tracks on bootleg), and my favorite twist on it is "The Briar and the Rose" on Tom Waits' "The Black Rider" album. Anyway, without further intro:

BARBARA ALLEN'S GRAVE

I picked the rose from Barbara Allen’s grave
And carefully wrapped it up tight
They told me you’d like it if I gave it to you
Under a moonless night
I cut a dashing figure
As I stepped from the train into town
Ignoring the voices in the back of my head
That said I should have been home by now
I picked the rose
I picked the rose
I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen’s grave

One Armed charlie just came from the Clark
And he stands on the benches to speak
To the assembled fanatics who stare politely
And the pidgeons who walk over his feet
As he talks about being stuck under Boston
Twelve years ago on the train
And glances my way, because I was there with him
He was the one who told me your name
I picked the rose I picked the rose
I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen’s grave

Mr. Sherringford is a very clean man
Except for his yellow teeth you know
If you ever saw them beneath his Clark Gable moustache
You might even say that they glowed
I know that he’ll give me the details I need
But I think that it’s going to be hard
No one leaves this diner at this time of night
Without beating Mr. Sherringford at cards
I picked the rose I picked the rose
I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen’s grave

I dream at night of violins And dance halls long since closed
You run out the back door wearing A brown jacket over your clothes
Turning to look at me just for a second Every night it’s the same
I wake up not knowing quite where I am Before I can call out your name

The last time I saw you there were two dead leaves
Stuck to the side of of your face
Hurrying down Archer Avenue
Towards the Resurrection gates
You looked as cold as Russian winter
As I watched you disappear
The gloves you were wearing fell to the ground
But I’ve got them for you here
I picked the rose I picked the rose
I picked the rose
From Barbara Allen’s grave

I Don't Believe in Summer

I think I'll be calling my new album "A Clark Street Carol" if I can work that line into a song..... or maybe I'll just go with "Wooden Fire Escape." Maybe "The View From a Wooden Fire Escape." Other possibilities are "Crooked," "Briars, Roses and Weeds," "Apartment Songs,".....maybe I'll just go with one of the leftovers from the possible book titles I had to come up with. It's a stumper. Then again, neither of the last two had a title when I started recording, so I guess it'll come to me.

Anyway, here's a song from the forthcoming album (to be recorded in January) that's already been covered.

I DON'T BELIEVE IN SUMMER
(2005 by Adam Selzer, ASCAP, etc.)

I wish that the sun would go behind the Hancock building
And cast a shadow over me and cover me this morning
Like the covers that she stole last night
But all I see is this blinding light
That I will not let play tricks on my eye
yesterday was one degree
From the hottest day in local history
And they had me out on the patio
All day long while the radio
played the same five summer staples
Over and over and over and over

Chorus:
I don’t believe in summer anymore
I don’t believe in sunlight shining through the window to the kitchen floor
I don’t believe in very much the way that I believed before
I don’t believe in summer anymore

I’m bitter about every hour that I’ve spent all through the years
Working nametag jobs in strip mall towns and tourist traps out at the pier
Remember that year back in Cornersville Trace
When you were working at the discount place
And sometimes when the restaurant let me out in time
I’d drive over there to talk to you
On the pretense of buying a tape or two
And we’d hide behind the counter in garden supplies
Eating a bag of stolen fries
If I’d kept all of my nametags I could cover a goddamn wall by now

chorus

Then there was that summer when I was home from school
And clerking afternoons at the video store while you watched kids at the city pool
And since they’d given you the master key
You’d sneak in after hours with me
Rest our feet in the shallow end and stare up at the sky
You’d say “are you sleeping? Are you close?
Are you dreaming? Just almost?”
And I’d see you looking down at me
As though you were in love with me
But it was just a trick of the summer weather, I’m old enough to know that now

chorus

At Arm's Length

you love me like you ride the train
passive and asleep
dreaming of other faces you'll see
dreaming of other places you will be
dreaming of the other company you'll keep
while you keep me at arm's length

you hold me like a treasure that's been too long underground
you kiss me like a princess with briars all around
you play me like a pedal steel that makes no sound
you look at me like someone lost who never wanted to be found

at first like the French I put up a resistance
then like the Berlin Wall I fell
for like F. Scott you were so persistent
and now like Zelda I'm burning in a beautiful hell

I would like to say "I love you",
plain and simple, but it's not
I would like to say I follow
the complexity of your plot
I would like to say I'm brave enough
to turn another page
I would like to say I'm mature enough
to act your age
I would like to say:

you love me like you ride the train
passive and asleep
dreaming of other faces you'll see
dreaming of other places you will be
dreaming of the other company you'll keep
while you keep me at arm's length



I could really write this in the first person, too... I don't know. I feel like I'm trying a little too hard to be witty here, mostly in the "like the French..." verse.

I dunno. It's very rhyme-y. I like the fingerpicking that's in the music. I like this one. I think it's a keeper.

Just Checking...

Earlier today I posted in my own blog and it also turned up here.
So - I just wanted to see if the reverse was true.

It is not.

Carry on.

Testing...One...two...

Hello

I just want to say thanks to Perdita and crew for inviting me to this forum. I'm a Chicago-based singer and songwriter and am looking forward to reading and sharing song lyrics with all of you.

Johnny Sunday

Here's a cheery little number about the clerical abuse scandal in the Catholic Church. Written from the point of view of a victim who has lost everything, sleeps in a park, and plots the murder of his assailant.
Good times, everybody!

JOHNNY SUNDAY

by the stars over my head
by the royal green of my bed
under arbor's summer crown
i declare once and for all
from the tip-top of the wall
johnny sunday is going down

and if you see him
don't believe a word he says
cause he'll just slip you
another lie from the book of the ages
with no answer why

by the dark swell of my heart
by the dear dreams that depart
from a diary full of tears
i repeat once to myself
to myself and nobody else
johnny sunday's end is near

and if you see him
don't believe a word he says
cause he'll just slip you
another lie from the book of the ages
with no answer why

i'll never play the fool
i'll never drop my guard again
i'll be the secret scribe
of gutter lullabyes

by the stars over my head
by the royal green of my bed
under arbor's summer crown
i declare once and for all
from the tip-top of the wall
johnny sunday is going down

(c)2005DaveDonovan

Coffee Jingle

In honor of Susie's coffee song, I shall offer my coffee jingle to you all.

I wrote it in 1995 for a song writing class.

The Coffee Jingle
Copyright 1995 Narciso Lobo

You make a good cup o' joe
And I am one who should know
For I have had some bad joe
In my life
Time

Yes I have been all around
All the cafes in town
But your java beans are so brown
Yes you grind
So Fine

It's such a subtle art
Makes me wonder why we've been apart
'Cause you boil the coffee of my heart

Hello

Here's my little intro...

I'm Narciso Lobo, I've been playing guitar since I was 16 (I'm 34 now), so I should be much better than I am now. I never played the guitar to become a great guitar player, I juat wanted to write songs. Okay, that's a lie. I picked up the guitar to meet chicks.

The first song I learned was "The Times They Are A'Changin'". My dad had a teach yourself guitar book and it had that song in it. It had little arrows for the strums. Down, down up, down up, down, that sort of thing.

I seriously started writing songs soon after, and I feel like I'm just now starting to get any good at it. Song-writing is tough for me. I can spend months on a song. I'm not a prodigy like Julie, dammit.

But I like doing it. There's nothing quite like writing a satisfying song.

object

I am an object to be acted upon
I learned this the night we passed out on the lawn
You told me that you loved me in the cold light of dawn
Because I am an object to be acted upon

I lost my soul in Georgia on a midnight train
To a boy who told riddles and would never speak plain
He tried to make his mark, but left only a stain
I lost my soul in Georgia on a midnight train

All I have left is a handle of jack and some cigarettes
All I need is a jagged edge and someplace to bleed
A death that’s quiet, peaceful and discreet
That’s all that’s left for a girl like me

I lost my heart in Portland to Lili Marlene
She refused my offer, but accepted the blame
Ever since that night, I’ve felt nothing but shame
I lost my heart in Portland to Lili Marlene

I lost my will to live in the back of a car
I guess that dress wasn’t meant for that bar
He got what he wanted because I couldn’t get far
I lost my will to live in the back of a car

All I have left is a handle of jack and some cigarettes
All I need is a jagged edge and someplace to bleed
A death that’s quiet, peaceful and discreet
That’s all that’s left for a girl like me

I am an object to be acted upon
I learned this the night we passed out on the lawn
you said you loved me in the cold light of dawn
but I am not a person
just an object
to be acted upon

I wrote this song after a shitty night when I just felt terrible about myself. I was feeling used, unwanted, unloved, unappreciated--like a dancing bear with a chain around my neck. Really, quite a melodramatic evening. It's completely true emotionally, but not autobiographically.

Here y'go, Ciso.

CROOKED HOUSES (of Armitage Avenue)
(c) 2005 by Adam Selzer. ASCAP.

The old crooked houses of Armitage Avenue
tumble their way to the sky
between the cafes where we’ve had our black coffee
every morning since early July
They stumble along between riverfront factories
With smokestacks rising behind
That look just like chimneys that send the grey smoke
Up into the red flannel sky
And you can get me so twisted me up
You can just make me feel so blue
Until I feel just as crooked
As the old crooked houses
Of Armitage Avenue

I have some change in my pocket
Enough for one more cup of tea
After that’s gone, I’ll just have these songs
To convince you to stay here with me

The old crooked houses of Armitage Avenue
Have normally seen better days
With their old Queen Anne turrets and wood spindle porches
That have fallen into disarray
You can see all the cracks in the paint jobs
From the bus stop across the street
In the windows you can see the remodeling jobs
That they’ll probably never complete
And I may be broken and cracked myself
I’ve been coughing forever, it’s true
But I camouflage nicely
With the old crooked houses
On Armitage Avenue

The doors barely hang on the hinges
And the bedrock was never that good
And lately I’ve felt about as much use
As a fire escape made out of wood

The old crooked houses of Armitage Avenue
Come from Victorian times
They’re full of old people and old thrift store cookware
And ancient garage sale finds
In the morning the old women come to the porches
To sweep up the overnight leaves
While the old men stay in, stumble down to the sofa
To turn on the morning tv
And I’ll wait here at this bus stop
As long as I’m waiting with you
Til I’m one more old person in the old crooked houses
of Armitage Avenue

Crooked Houses

Adam -

Can I make a request for the lyrics to Crooked Houses?

Ciso.

the fox's secret (and the lion's share)

The Fox’s Secret (& the Lion’s Share)

You knelt before me like a soul to be knighted
With a look so adoring I could scarcely be frightened
I gave you my hand so you could stand beside me

You were so pretty and so deceiving
I didn’t realize you were holding a knife
You should have been at home with your wife

My eyes were not at fault for you were beautiful
But I should have remembered
That one can only see rightly with the heart

I should have known it was doomed from the start
You didn’t even use your real name
I’ll take all (or at least most) of the blame

After all, I wanted to be tamed

*I knelt before you like a soul to be knighted
with a look so adoring that you must have been frightened
you gave me your hand so I could stand behind you

you were so pretty and so untrue
I didn’t realize that you were holding a knife
You should have been at home with your wife

* This reversal of the first verse wasn't added until perhaps April of this year. I'm not sure why I did that.

The first time I really impressed Narciso at the Sub-t, this song was one of the ones I played.

I wrote this song about a 27 year old boy I knew who was smitten with me but would leave his 17 year old girlfriend for me because I was a Leo like his ex-wife. (That's a bit of a simplification, but not by much). Hence, "The Lion's Share" (Leo, lions, get it?) and "the fox's secret" is from The Little Prince, which was a book that factored greatly into our emotional affair. The idea of "being tamed" was an important facet of the Little Prince's relationship with the fox, and an important facet of the relationship I had with this boy.

Oh, I am so stupid.

"My eyes were not at fault for you were beautiful" is taken from Shakespeare's Cymbeline, a play I was acting in at the time. I act, occasionally, and not very well (in my opinion).

And you are?

A little bit of business that I should have mentioned up front...while most of us know each other, it might be nice for everyone to post a little bio as this thing gets rolling, because it's likely that eventually there will be some complete strangers on here.

I'll start.

My name is Julie Jurgens, and I've been writing songs since the summer of my sophomore year in college. I began learning how to play the guitar that spring, nearly flunking my class because of it (somehow chords and frets were more interesting to me than Into the Wild that spring.)

I was always a singer. As children, my sister and I would stage talent shows out in the drive-way next to our summer melon stand, and I would always sing and do a little dance-routine.

I didn't really become serious about being a performing songwriter until after I graduated and moved to Rock Island, IL. I began playing at a coffee house called Theo's Java Club pretty regularly, garnering nice compliments for my voice, mostly, and occasionally for my songs.

I went as far as I could go in old Rock Island, and in October of 2004 I moved to Chicago for the music and hookers. Mostly the hookers. But when I'm not soliciting prostitutes, I'm practicing my guitar and writing songs, and I like to think I've gotten better at it.

That's a bare bones beginning. I'd like to think more biography will leak out in conjunction with song lyrics.

And that goes for you guys, too. :)

Thank You For Leaving Me (When I Was Down)

Thank You For Leaving Me (When I Was Down)
Copyright 2004 Narciso Lobo

I know it wasn't easy for you babe
Loving somebody so blue
I know I wasn't ready for you babe
But what was I supposed to do?
I thought I'd be taming these demons with you right by my side
I thought I'd escape this self-hatred if you'd just be my guide
Lord knows I tried

Thank you for leaving me when I was down
Now I can pick myself up off the ground
Now I can cry without you around
Thank you for leaving me when I was down

I wish I could've known you better
I wish we'd written that song
I wish we could've grown old together
My list of regrets go on and on
You say it was what it was and I nod and scratch my chin
I can't shake these collisions of visions of what might have been
And it makes my head spin

Thank you for leaving me when I was down
Now I can pick myself up off the ground
Now I can cry without you around
Thank you for leaving me when I was down

Baby can you hear me?
'Cause I'm singing at the top of my lungs
Baby listen clearly
I know you still love me and I know you're the one
Baby though I love you dearly
And it's been so long since I seen the sun
Baby don't you come near me
'Cause I might not have the strength
I'm not gonna have the strength to run

Thank you for leaving me when I was down
Now I can pick myself up off the ground
Now I can cry without you around
Thank you for leaving me when I was down

Thank you for leaving me when I was down
Now I know what your love was all about
Now you can fly without me around
Thank you for leaving me when I was down
Thank you for leaving me when I was down
Thank you for leaving me when I was down

THE POET'S PAYDAY

I'll get the ball rolling by posting the lyrics to my newest song, THE POET'S PAYDAY.

He said to she, “I’m a poet on payday”
She said to he, “I’m a hooker on shore leave.”
As night turned to day, their words weren’t all spent yet
So they spent another night and a day.

And at dawn he found the courage to say,
“No other hooker’s made me feel quite this way,
I’m enamored of your diction and the way your legs splay
I’m enraptured with your syntax and the way your hips sway,”

She said, “I’m in love with the fact that soon you’ll go away,”
She said, “I’m in love with the fact that soon you’ll go away,”

He said, “you’re my muse, from you I never could go.”
He said, “you’re my muse, from you I never could go.”

She said, “Other men have tried to love me, body and mind,
four went crazy and two went blind,
eight pillaged convents, one carved carousel horses,
three made shoes for birds, four committed murder and were remorseless,
and all of them recanted at the foolishness
of loving a hooker for the wit in her kiss.”

He said to she, “I am sick at the heart,”
She said to he, “At noon we shall part,”
As the sun rose higher, their desire wasn’t spent yet,
So they spent one more night and a day.

And at dawn she found the courage to say,
“No other poet’s made me feel quite this way,
I’m entranced by your assonance and your ballads risque,
I’m ensnared by your knowledge of Neruda and Dante,”

He said, “I promise that I will never go away,”
He said, “I promise that I will never go away,”

She said, “I’m afraid that I’ll destroy you if you don’t go,”
She said, “I’m afraid that I’ll destroy you if you don’t go”

She said, “Other men have tried to love me, body and mind,
four went crazy and two went blind,
eight pillaged convents, one carved carousel horses,
three made shoes for birds, four committed murder and were remorseless,
and all of them recanted at the foolishness
of loving a hooker for the wit in her kiss.”

He said to she, “I’m a fool and I’m staying,”
She said to he, “dear heart, I believe you.”
As days turned to weeks, their love wasn’t spent yet
So they spent one more night and a day.
Over and over again.

___

This song was pretty much directly inspired by listening to The Decemberists, and born out of my longing to expand my writing scope--I do write an awful lot of first person autobiography songs, and while this song is lifted from my life emotionally, it is expressed in a much more stylized, story-like way.

Plus I enjoy the word-play, especially the sort of dirty sound that "assonance" has.

Welcome

Welcome to the Lyrics Project. Nancy Connelly, a Chicago-based songwriter, proposed this idea to me: a forum where songwriters could post the lyrics to their songs for explication and discussion.