There I was, drunk behind the wheel
Seeing where I was and wishing I was further
Blabbering thoughts and ideas I steal
That whisper in the ear of some forgotten parents daughter

Well, I'm the devil in disguise.
Say, "We all are at times" and
As long as it rhymes
Then it all sounds good.

I can see the worlds demise
In that same daughters eyes who
Watches TV and cries
I can't be like I should.

Like life etched down in screenwriters heads
Who think perfect perfection and leave naught lost.
Who lead all of Verona to houses and beds
And untangle ley lines of lovers star-crossed

Instead there's no order
No place to fall in
It's just drunken, splendid squalor
Without and within

Fresh night air breezes past me,
Funneled down though parking garages,
Running over brick roadways past the backside of restaurants
And through the smoke of every kitchen employee
Burning on the back street.

The smell of fresh brewed trash hangs faintly in every moment,
But goes mostly unacknowledged by all.

Thus the wheel turns

Cook, clean, run, serve, smile
Toff tiny tippers are tools, trickling
Down scented cash while mine smells like sweat.
Tip for tiny tippers. Tip better.

I never doubted what my mother said
Well, maybe then, but not now.
She called you the hardest working man we know
I'll be like you somehow,
So I've been eating sand for about two years waiting for water in this stream
But all the water turns to steam and clouds my vision so I can't see.
Show me the way
And I'll drain these vultures from every pore.
Show you the piece of you in me with every drop of sweat upon the floor.
When the winds of change start blowing, I'll use your sails to guide my ship
and when the blooming moon stops glowing, I'll use your eyes when I go blind
So I don't miss a step.
Aware so I don't sleep.
Well, enough, but not too much.
Have moderation in hibernation
Think enough, but not too much.
Do more.
Do well.
Do often.
Don't stop.
The end is far
The start is here, so move.

From time to time I see you when I sleep.
This morning was the worst
And I haven't yet forgotten.

Just as vivid as the last time we touched,
Crying together in my parents garage

"I want you to be happy"
Even if it means leaving
And I'll try to forget that I loved you so much

I wasn't the best, but six years have past
And all my regrets are all I forgot

To say, to do, to feel, to be
To stay, to do, to feel, to be
To be, to be, to be

You're the siren in my sleep.
You're the echoes I hear sing.

Your Bright Eyes lead me back
And I'll await another dream

I had a dream of a machine.
Reading thoughts.
Making sense.
Creating images, songs, words, dances
exactly as imagined and real to every sense,
but it wouldn't work for me.
My songs were out of tune.
My words, out of order.
My thoughts were incomplete
and nothing came out proper,
but I awoke in delight
and in elegant imperfection.
I could think of nothing perfect, but I dwelled on revolution.
There's something better here than all these incomplete thoughts.
There's something better here for those that listen while they talk.
Think harder, oh great ones, before facing the machine.
Perfection never was, and only is within our dreams.
It's there, I've seen it's face, but alas, I was asleep.
You seem asleep.
Are you asleep?
If you're asleep, wake up! Wake up!
Stand upon your words, face the crowd and show your heart.
Black and green.
The man is dead, but the machine endures.