The battery is dying out
So I leave my phone in the other room
Voices fade to mumbles as I walk out
Just the kitchen floor creaking now
The door shuts after you slip out
Take the water glass from my hand
Lean against the fridge while it fills

We should stay here for a lil
They'll never notice or care
Just you, me, and the water we'll share

I lean my elbow on the cold counter
I dent his confidence with my stare
He breaks my heart with his tongue

Well baby then I'm leaving
A kiss on the cheek is no fun
I'll see you sometime later if you want

My eyes fall as he brushes past
Carelessly hands me the water glass
It splashes on my t-shirt
I watch the drops soak in quickly
They'll dry out eventually
I go back and join the crowd
A house party no longer as loud

How you always wake me up early in the morning

Standing on the roof of my house while the house sparrows

Chatter among themselves in their sweet frenzied way

Arguing over food, and space and all the other things that

Siblings squabble over



They flutter around and you pay no attention to them

But like Zarathustra on his hillside, you continue to call out

And demand answers with that strange rising intonation at the end

A rising arpeggio of riddles asking of me in the morning-

Who-who, who-who, who?

We drove past it every Thursday;
blank, bleach white walls.
Clean, block rectangular.

There was a garage
and sometimes a black car
in the driveway.

It stood out crowded by cluttered
town houses smothered in ivy,
with long grass, red brick or pebble-dashed.

Glass on the street and supermarket
bags on the path, traffic,
conventionality, routine, and teletext.

But his house stood out.
The closest vision of showbiz style
I could see with all I knew being

he grew up near here,
like me, and that must be it,
the very house where

he would live if still in this city.
Creating a myth to myself
that he was allusive but he was inside.

I’d wind down the car window
listening out for the sound of
his songs in the air,

or watch to see if anybody
opened the door, lights of cameras
in the seconds we pass the junction.

Of course, never saw him
on the Thursdays our car passed by
but knew he was very busy.

Watch the falling of the rain
Through the dusty window pane
Life's out there, a lost soul
Coming through the rain
I see him pushing in vain
The storm is too angry to let him pass
But still I see the falling rain
Through the dusty window pane.

This house sometimes leaks
Leaving stains for weeks
Claw marks down the walls
It's what the dampness seeks
That confuses me from house to leaks
I've thought of hiding them
But they show upon the window pane in streaks
What funny little freaks!

On sunny days there is no sign
And I forget that window confine
Life's with me, a restless soul
Pushing at the living vine
I see him and know the sign
That sunbeams whistle out a tune
Dusting out that little memory of mine
Just so that I know, with me it's fine.

As I’m leaving I run into you on the kitchen floor
Sharing with the appliances your miserable company
Giving me your melancholy stare
I can help you not be alone but I can’t help with lonely
You called me boney as I put my back against the cabinet and sunk into my seat on the hardwood floor
Now we both feel lonely don’t we
We aren’t a pair, a puzzle, or each other's other halves
We’re not even complicated togetherness
We’re two people and we’re alone
No amount of bodies on the kitchen floor will fix that
I had to go but still I sat, in the ditch next to you hurting my neck looking up to speak
I missed my ride home I was looking for a girl that I knew, she had the same name as you, have you seen her?
Sam says she was last seen in the basement dancing, equipped with a convincing smile
The ******* the kitchen floor looks like she's been here for awhile
But I’m too boney to lift her up and make her dance side by side with a memory
I guess we’ll never know who she is
Where did the dancer go? She’s dancing with dust bunnies under the fridge
She drunkenly holds onto the steering wheel
This version seems a bit more real
I don’t feel as well as I used to due to two names just listed on the loudspeaker
Thank the lord that I don’t
Or I’d be dancing with the dust bunnies, reliving a memory, feeling lonely on the kitchen floor
I’ve certainly been there before
Nobody ever sat with me, I erased it from memory
This is the difference between alone and lonely

In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the old raggety rocker,
The one that always tips back too far
And my heart skips a beat as I
Secretly enjoy the thrill.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the mounds of old recipes on
The counter, yellowing with age, being
Ripped from ancient editions of
House and Home magazines.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There’s the constant pleasant aroma of
Cookies, chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin
And snickerdoodle, the presence of cookie
Jars that are quickly ransacked by us.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
There is the collection of teapots on
The shelf, the daily weather forecast that
Grandpa writes out every day on the table,
The forest of palms and tiger lilies in the center.
In Grandma’s kitchen,
Time seems to stand still, and everything
Is perfect, familiar, right.
Even when the room itself doesn’t belong to
Her anymore, it will always be to me
Grandma’s kitchen.

I'm a DJ, a Disk jockey.
My fingers are like a jockey stick.
I breathe and live House music.
The first descendant of Disco music.

I'm the descendant of Frankie Knuckles.
My tunes ease listener's glooms.
I'm a predator, music beats are my prey.
House music is the only language I understand.
I busk locally and internationally.

I'm a beast, not just any beast.
Beast that play 4/4 repetitive beats.
I play tunes that move with heart beats.
My tunes aren't restricted to race or religion.
Behind the deck, I'm thee "House beast"

A Broken House

My house is broken, the windows cracked,
Don’t you see it falling apart right now?
I never said it was gonna be intact

The floorboards screaming, the books are stacked.
I won’t let my house fall apart, anyhow.
My house is broken, windows cracked.

The house is dying, having been ransacked.
It hardly comes back together, somehow.
I never said it was gonna be intact.

I jettison the bed in special act,
The walls cave in on me, just wow-o-wow.
My house is broken, windows cracked.

I allege my house has been attacked,
Still my house, hatred I will not allow.
My house is broken, windows cracked.
I never said it was gonna be intact.