I lost all my ambition
when I moved here with you.
Now I'm in no condition
to do what I have to do.

My mind's mixed up with worries
on track to coming true.
And now I'm in no hurry
to spend all my life with you.

I used to dream of writing
for some big magazine.
Now I dream of hiding
with a bottle of amphetamines.

Some days you say you love me
and want me in your bed.
Other times you loom above me
and drop your judgment on my head.

If you'll just come out and tell me
what it is you want from me,
then I'll lose the pills I'm taking
and put you in that magazine

And everyone can read about you,
with your name beside "forever."
Otherwise, just say adieu,
and I'll write it, "darling, never."

We are what our parents' parents
taught them to fear.
The atom of liberated thought,
the shallow, the queer, the lazy.
We are what our fathers were not,
or what they never had the ***** to be.
We are united by the hypothesis
of instant pleasure.
We are measured by dollar signs,
nickels, dimes, roaring down
Penny Lane blaring hip-hop,
dropping the surnames and
blaming the slave trade for
the stains on our rap sheets.
We are what comes after the comma
in the history book sentence,
sentenced to life in mind-drug prison.
Listen!
We are going nowhere but forward.
We are the generation of disorder,
hoarders of unrealized potentials
who cross borders
just to say we did so.
We are the flame of ******* science
turning your bibles into embers.
We are the generation that
remembers to forget.
Let us take an inch and we will
turn it into a mile so you can
watch us march down it single-file
while you pray to god we don't
make it to Capitol Hill.
You know we will.
Listen!
We are the generation.

A glass of wine at sunset
and a cigarette.
He's drinking for two,
though it's only he who's there.
Through the window glare
he's looking at the loveseat
where his love would sit unhappily
as devotion drove her quickly mad.
He had her - all of her - once.
Her eyes of emerald, chestnut hair,
fair skin paired with dark garments,
and the smell of sweet lavender,
like a smoke, clinging to a broken memory, a stale picture tucked into a drawer that doesn't open anymore.
Yes, he has his wine, his cigarettes,
his sunset to help him forget.
But tomorrow he will feel it all again. When the sun rises, the bottle is empty, the cigarette burns out, the heart relives its pains
and reaches for what is lost.

My bones proclaim the work
of a hand unseen.
I am formed and fitted with
the means to spread joy or ruin.
I am humbled by the presence
of those who came before,
for they are wise
in the ways of this life.
I am certain that
neither demons nor death
may separate me from my faith
in learning or loving.
I am, for the first time, seeing
my reflection in the shape
of this earth and beginning to love myself.

It is in the nature of all things
to be formful and good.
All that moves is miraculous.
All that does not is deathless.
Regardless, these roles are fulfilled.

Machines are only as beautiful
as the nature of their function.
Consider a grandfather clock --
a handsome combination
of practicality and playfulness,
symmetry and simplicity
(though quite complex within) --
wood and steel joined perfectly
to inform, entertain, and intrigue.
     Conversely, a television lacks
such subtlety, making it
almost malicious in its capacity.
In its nature is the intention
to render nature, itself, obsolete.
Where a television aims to
make us forget,
a clock, for instance, serves to
remind us that it is time to
start living -- and what could be
more noble or more beautiful
     than that?

Well now your tears
they don't bother me.
I said your tears
they don't bother me at all.
You know your tears
they don't bother me.
Your tears, now,
they dont bother me at all.
But I'd hate to see you leaving.
Leave me with my back
against the wall.

I saw your train pull in the station.
I heard the whistle start to blow.
Yeah, as your train got to the station
I could hear that lonesome whistle start to blow.
Well, I could meet you down the line,
but where you're headed
I just dont know.

As those wheels got to turning,
so did my heart, girl, ya know it did.
When them wheels started turning,
so did my heart, girl, yes it did.
And I could see you in the window
laughin' like some little kid.

I guess my tears didnt bother you
and you know that's such a shame.
I guess my tears didn't bother you
and ain't it such a shame.
'Cause the reason they were falling
is 'cause you're gone and I'm to blame.