I was alone, but not too lonely.  
You were strong, but that was only
When your brothers were around.  

Brand new, seemed like something better.
Pretty scars, eyes like leather.
So much different than we’d seen.

We made love with a choking hand.
We stayed drunk on a million plans.
We were running out of time.  
                      
      Even the cruel get worse than they deserve.
      Even the cruel get worse than they deserve.
      Even the cruel get worse than they deserve,
      But baby, you deserve to have it all  

I was sweating through fiberglass.
I got a feeling in my hands
I’d be apologizing to my dreams.

Tripping slow, spit in the glass,
Blood on the pillows, falling fast,
Choking on a nickle in the dark.  

Laughing happy with manic moon,
Melted glass in a broken spoon.
We were the spirit of the times.

     Even the cruel get worse than they deserve ... etc.

I bent down on a blizzard day
To find out what was in my way.
It was you, you were praying to nothing at all  

I lit a candle to the ghost of magazines.
I burned down a ******* with kerosine.
I was wondering why I felt so bored.  

I woke up on the rooftop.
I was making sure there were no cops,
Alone, but not too lonley, staring down at the street.

So they say I am a man today,
Way past twenty-one.
I've seen my days of anguish,
Had my share of fun.

I've been a doggy on a ladder.
I've been a monkey on a string.
Seen big business go down,
Seen how a prince becomes king.

Now I know its a cliche',
But I don't know who I am.
It doesn't really matter none,
Any day I'll make my stand.

     I look you straight in the eye,
     Let you know I'm still alive.
     Pull back your chair girl
     And walk this way.
     I'm a man today hey hey.

They built Fort Green in Brooklyn
On a pile of prisoner's bones.
Stand still, listen closely, you can
Still hear those old bones moan.

I'm a man that likes these old stories
Likes to sing them from a stage.
On the side I do some honest work
For little to no wage.

I've been lonely on the train tracks,
And I've made a little love
And there even was a time
When I spoke to God above.

     I look you straight in the eye,
     Let you know I'm still alive.
     Pull back your chair girl
     And walk this way.
     I'm a man today hey hey.

I wish I was a headlight,
On a Northbound train.
I wish there were a warrior's blood
Running through my veins.

But Shame sits on my shoulder
And He whispers in my ear.
He says you never really knew her
She isn't worth your tears.

I wish there was a woman
Who only knew my name,
A child to tend the fire and burn
The whole world in one flame.

"Turn back the pages of history,
and see the men who have shaped the destiny of the world. Security was never theirs,
but they lived rather than existed,"
said Hunter S. Thompson
at age 17,

before he became The Duke,
and shaved off a leg in Doonsbury cartoons,
before he rapped the sharp corner of his shot glass,
so too many times,
on the inch thick enamel,
of the Woody Creek Tavern bar top,
and waited until closing time
to begin blowing lines,
out of the divets he'd made.

The people clapping,
the moon attacking,
the red bone blood of America pumping past his eyes.


After he died, everyone there had a Hunter story:

Hunter shot his hot girl assistant in the *** by mistake,
but he felt like **** about it.

Hunter had a dozen red cheeked lasses he skied with,
but he never messed with them.

Hunter showed up in a Cadillac convertible packed with
strippers dressed burlesque.

But it was hard to tell just exactly what he was up to with
the strippers, the peacocks,
or anything else.

Alot of the stories had ****** implications,
but what they mostly implied
was he was cool about it.
He didn't write any of those stories.

Despite all evidence to the contrary he liked his privacy,
and what peace he found in rare quiet.
And he made **** sure they'd shoot his ashes
out of a ******* canon when he died.

The canon is still there.
So are the peacocks.

I don't know how it started, I don't know what it means.
But somebody on the radio said the World is about to end, it seems
that they got Jesus locked up at Area 51.
All the sattelites fell to the ground, there is no Chosen One.

I don't know how it started, I don't know what it means.
But something that was inside is now bursting outside through the seams.
But I believe, tonight, we'll all be getting high.
Because I believe in you girl, you could dance until we all fly.

I don't know how it started, or if it will ever end.
But I know that whatever ends, just begins again.
My left hand's on the steering wheel, girl my right hand's in your jeans.
If we drove all night, we could make it to the sea.

We'll be laughing, ha ha ha ha, ha ha hey!
We'll be laughing at the sound as Heaven and Hell collide
Yes, we'll be laughing, ha ha ha ha, Ha Ha Hey!

We built this city, on a funky groove,
And we woke up the next morning in our birthday suits.
Took one look at each other and started to move,
The whole world was on fire girl but your body was so cool.

I don't know how it started, or if it will ever end.
But we all woke up this morning to a rising sun again.
And I believe, tonight, the stars will shine above.
Because I believe in you, girl, and a little thing we still call love.

Well Jesus, he broke out, of Area 51
With a full jug of pruno wine,  and an empty Tommy gun.
He said: "Boys, you could try and shoot me, or just join in the fun!"
"You wanna follow me  I'll be on the highway, heading west towards the sun ..."

Ill be laughing, ha ha ha ha, ha ha hey!
We'll be laughing at the sound as Heaven and Hell collide
Yes, we'll be laughing, ha ha ha ha, Ha Ha Hey!

Irritable.
A tree worked by weather.
Future growth a clown's myth,
like all recorded men.

The lie.
Pregnant present's daughter.
Boxes bark square questions at
round chemical bonds.

Reflection.
Blind from a glass table.
Solutions with assumptions itch
echoes of ticking time.

The hidden.
Frustration peers permanent.
Sightline from locked rooftop to
rain curled hair styles.

His Nickname Was Justice

He walked down from the mountain
After they had won the war.
His friends sang of machine guns
But his soul stretched out for more.

He dreamed of a dry season
While the blood came raining down.
So he gathered all the white men
And stood up above the crowd.

He said, "You could be the Judge of me,
I'll be your your fool.
Look down upon you softly,
while my people rule."

He said "you could be the judge of me, I'll be your fool." He stood sweating in the sunshine, his muscle was an outline, that could cast a shadow of vengeance across the land. But he said "I will was your feet now, and I will turn the other cheek until we are eye to eye.

His nickname was Justice
Because he walked the line,
And shared among his enemies
The finest South African wine.

His nickname was Justice
Because he rose and stood,
For the wisdom of children
And the gift of womanhood.

He saw his light come shining
From the West down to the East
He said, "Any day now
We all shall be released."

Once you have believed you are the Messiah
There is nowhere else to go but down.

I've been handcuffed to enough hospital
Bed rails, to know this much is likely true.

George Washington died taking his own pulse.
"Tis' well," he said, before shutting his own eyes.

Tolstoy left his life to follow Jesus, and died at
The train station, chased by and chasing ghosts.

Jesus died an artist, nailed to his canvas, hung
In the thirsty sun to cast a shadow on the world.

Imagine the lunatic pride to believe your own pain
Could pay every debt that ever was or would be.

Remember the genius of an artist with the talent
To see history, end it, and set the future ablaze.