Martin Luther had a dream
Geronimo had visions
People use all sorts of ways
To come to their decisions

Tea leaf readers in a cup
A Psychic with some cards
Looking at a twirling disc
And dancing in the yard

Decision making's easy
If you have the correct tool
You may get the right answer
Or you may end up a fool

Shaman in a sweat lodge
Chew peyote just to see
What the others can not visualize
But what comes easy to folks like me

Some roll dice, and others bones
To get the answer that they need
Others ask the dead to help
To get their answer freed

I myself use none of these
None of these at all
I sit down with a bourbon
And my old Magic Black 8-ball

I switched the little answer ball
It has answers....only two
One is just the one word "dude"
And "what would Keith Richards do?"

"Dude" is universal
It has helped me win not lose
Because it's meaning changes
Depending on the "u"'s

Say it with one U...dude
it means don't even think it
But add eight more and make it duuuuuuuuude
And there's no question you should drink it

The other answer's simple
What would good old Keefy do?
If it didn't **** old Keefy
It won't **** me and you

So, use your magic mushrooms
Dance with spirits in the hall
But I'll make my decisions
With my plastic, black eight ball

My feeling are all jumbled up inside
And it feels like my brain is fried
My heart is aching
because people think my heart is theirs for the taking
But...
There was a guy I met
And he made me feel no regret
of me ever meeting him!!!

I thought we could have really had a connection
I mean he really got my attention
He was the one I thought of as I lay there in my bed
And he was constantly in my head
He still is
and I still want to be wrapped in his arms of his

I still have all those "feelings"
And I would do anything to be back in his arms
For I still miss him and that will never change
and if he never understands the feelings I have for him
Then my heart will just be broken...
Because my feelings will be out of control
so I hope he comes to his senses
and comes back to me
So I can tell him....
I love you!!!!!

You play love as if it were a game,
How many girls with your words can you woo?
No offense, but your lines are pretty lame,
Any self-respecting girl would take leave on that cue.

Your attempts at flattery are ridden with deception,
The true intention of your attraction you keep in shade,
True love is not in conception,
I know you just want to get laid.

To be honest you're not even cute.
Oh, now has the cat got your tongue?
You might as well just stay mute,
I'm really not sorry if you feel stung.

And anyways, don't you think we're a little young?
Only seniors in high school,
No need to shove a tongue down my lung.
And anyways, you're kind of a tool.

Speaking of which, you're not as big as your ego
(If you know what I mean.)
You've got nothing good to show,
And obviously of you I'm not very keen.

So thus is my way to reject.
I've tried push, now push comes to shove
And with your small point you've made so *****
A person like you I just couldn't love.

Hurt.
It hurts that you could leave me.
Over and over, again and again.
The same old scratched record,
being wound to play in a
room long forgotten

Pain.
I imagine that when my
heart broke for the first time,
fragile and innocent and young,
it dropped pieces into my hollow body.
So that every time it skipped a beat,
every time it ached in pain,
every time it swelled to burst,
I would feel it in between my toes,
wedged behind my knee caps,
stuck against my groin,
and resting in my fingertips.

Love.
It's supposed to be the glue.
Meant to stitch us together,
different patches of the same quilt.
But when left for us to define,
love has become acid.
Burning holes through our skin,
leaving us marked, marred, and scared to trust.
It is the venom coursing through the veins
of those bitter and dead to the world.
The air that fills the lungs of people
too afflicted by life's tragedies to carry on.

Thought.
You tried to hide behind it. You tried
to build walls out of your impressive vocabulary.
You fed yourself textbooks
and decided to learn the meaning of life.
Inside you pushed away your pain
and you replaced it with logic, but instead of feeling full,
you simply found yourself a new kind of emptiness.

Alone.
So tonight we lay in separate beds,
staring up at the stars and wondering
how they could possibly stay the same,
when everything else in our worlds
has become so very different.

It must have been thirty five years ago now,
I remember the kid as clear as day
His name was Eddie, or Timmy or something
Remember him clear as day, I think it was Eddie
Well, this kid was sure something
A true believer in his ability to play the game
He really loved it, ****** at it, but the desire
You could see it in them brown eyes of his
Or were they blue?, no matter...they might have been brown
Anyways, kid had desire, no talent, but desire
Played third base for me, thought he was a pitcher
But, he played third...that I'm sure of
He didn't have speed enough to move anywhere else
And I think he was blind in his right eye,
So, he could only move left
Good kid, Timmy or Eddie
Had an arm like a rocket
the ball would just explode out of his hand
I never knew where it was going
And truthfully, I don't think he did either
But, wow....it went fast, wherever it ended up
Kid actually made it rain one day
Just because he threw the **** ball so high into the clouds
He was trying to throw to first, but hell, it went high
Always smiling this kid, always...
don't know if he was just happy
Or if his jaw hadn't grown right for his teeth,
But, he was always smiling
couldn't hit worth a ****, had a nice swing
But, that blind eye....couldn't see a pitch until it hit him
Cooled us down on the bench though
Made a hell of a breeze when he swung
He was good for that,
lots of wind from Eddie, or Timmy
He did get a hit once or twice, I remember that
Scared us, scared him too I imagine
But, he did hit it, and it did go a long way
Problem was it happened so infrequently
He always forgot to run
And when he did, he ran like a duck
*** wobbled all over, arms flailing, head still
Quack, Quack...run Eddie, I'd yell
He'd smile, and take off,
couldn't see where he was going
But he'd run....and he'd stop only when he felt like it
I remember he was Mexican looking, or Spanish
There, brown eyes...knew I'd remember
anyways, he got called out for swearing once
Knocked the **** cover off the ball
then he stood there and watched it go
By the time he started to run,
He'd Holy ******* at least three times
And got tossed by the umpire
I argued, but, the ump would draw the line at two
Three holy *****...that's a little much
But, he knocked that ball into the next county
He'd probably throw it there too if he tried
The kid had desire, no talent,
but a smile and desire
Got tossed after striking out once too
Struck out a lot, once he let loose with a barrage
And I mean a barrage of swear words ....In Italian no less
I always thought the kid was Mexican or Spanish or something
But, he swore in Italian in front of an Italian ump
Poor kid, three holy ***** in another language
And he got tossed,
If I could get him to stop at two....he'd be fine
Eddie was a good kid, I liked him
He tried, he smiled, and he was terrible
couldn't hit water if he fell out of a boat
But he didn't care, and neither did I
But, Eddie, or Timmy, whoever he was
Was a good kid,
I hope he remembers me as fondly as I do him.