Shut up and go to bed
Put the pillow under your head
I'm sick and tired of all your worries
Shut up and say goodnight
Say your prayers and turn off the light
I'm sick and tired of all your sob-stories

Shut up and shut your eyes
No more histrionics, no more college tries
Stop pushing, stop shoving, stop straining
Shut your mouth and button your lip
You're a late night faucet that's gotta drip
All you're doing is merely complaining

The excuse that you're crazy is useless
You're not biting you're barking you're toothless
But you're ruthless

Shut up and count some sheep
And do me a favor, don't ***** in your sleep
No more agony, please no more sorrow
Shut up and catch some Zs
Ice cream with a cherry plus a big pretty please
I promise we'll resume tomorrow...Goodnight.

She is sleeping in her bed,
in her little house,
with fireplace and kitchen,
garden, and faucet.

These flowers on the walls
were not there before.
A lot of things have
appeared since
the last time I looked.

Loudon Wainwright gets the pain right.

My English teacher warned me
not to fear brevity
there are times not to be concise
but for the most part, wordiness
can only
hold me
back

Bright Eyes: Lua
Loudon Wainwright: Motel Blues
Radiohead: No Surprises
Keaton Henson: You don't know how luck you are
Tigers Jaw: Never saw it coming
Fleetwood Mac: Songbird
Paolo Nutini: Candy
... and your laugh
the clearing of your throat
your sharp intakes of breath
the chattering of your teeth in the cold
and the movement of cloth against your skin

The last of six children
You made your way late
Through the humdrum of life
In the Volunteer state
Strapped to the hollows
Where your daddy and kin
Pulled coal from the mountains
And mine shafts within

The hum of the smokestacks
And the fog of the earth
Wore at your senses
And questioned your worth
While the cracks in the family
Like the cracks in the hills
Were as easy to slip through
As fortune’s goodwill

So you took to the bottle
And you took to the boys
With a thirst for the throttle
And the late barroom noise
While your mama and daddy
Sat at home by the phone
Sendin’ prayers for their youngest
Toward the gold plated throne

The folks down in Loudon
Remember too well
The night you rolled through
In your dust caked Chevelle
And the way it spun out
On a stray slab of ore
And careened down the *****
For the cold valley floor

The dirt in those hills
Never merited much
Beyond the black rock
Buried deep in its clutch
But the same soul that sprawled
Beside granddaddy’s grave
Was the same soul consumed
By the soil that day

When the April rains whisper
Their song to the pines
And the distant train whistles
Its lonesome steel whine
Deep in the thunder
Behind the grey hue
Your memory glistens
Like the late morning dew

The last of six children
You made your way late
Through the humdrum of life
In the Volunteer state
Pining for something
Your voice could not name
A dream and a dreamer
Too restless to tame