U-boat

Thirty-two years ago
There was a boy:
he was not I.
There was a girl:
she was not you.
He went away
like I will do.

“I will be gone
on this nuclear submarine.
Please assure me
you’ll wait right here.
Babe, if I could
I would stay near.”

“I will wait,
but it won’t feel like waiting
as long as you
exist someplace.”

Seven years from then
That same young boy’s
sub floated home.
There was a note
on a grocery slip,
said “I have left
on a battleship.”

“I will wait,
but it won’t feel like waiting
as long as you
exist someplace.”

A couple days ago
in the middle
of the ocean,
a war broke loose
between two gods.
That same young boy and that girl that loved each other enough to wait forever, they met and they hugged and then they died together in the ocean.
What were the odds?

What were the odds?

What are you on these days?

Highway song part II

I’ve been doing things like drinking
to try and bring my spirits down.
And I’m gonna start with things like smoking,
until my body hits the ground.

In an aeroplane,
there’s more room up than there is below.
On the highway,
it’s tiresome to drive too slow.

I’ve given speed a lot of thinking.
That drug deserves its own fair shot
at ruining my outside appearance.
And I’d like to see my sad soul rot

Up on the aeroplane,
there are parachutes to help me jump off.
Back on the highway,
seatbelts and door locks bound me in.

Everyone seems to die in burnouts:
plane crashes were so yesterday.
Wonder when my tires will stop spinning?
In the silence of screaming what will I say?

I'm in an aeroplane.
No I'm not: that metaphor is dead.
I'm on the highway,
racing toward an eminent death.

Tomorrow?

Might not be here tomorrow,
but at least I’m here today.
And that’s more than a lot of people
could say.

There are lots of dead people:
lot of dead in the ground.
Won’t you be with me while I am
(still) around?

Many stars up in the heavens,
but tonight stare at the moon.
You must know that this all might
come down soon.

There're much worse, I know it.

I wouldn’t laugh if you were crying.
I wouldn’t smile if you were sad.
I might not give you lots of hugs,
but at least I’d hold your hand.

I’m not a bad person.
No, no. I’m not.

I use all the PC language;
I wouldn’t call you bitch or whore
So much better things (for me) to do
then go looking for a score.

I’m not a bad person.
No, no. I’m not.

I don’t make fun of your religion.
I don’t pet your pets too hard;
probably won’t go to your funeral,
but I’ll definitely send a card.

Never sold kids drugs,
never stole radios,
never beat up a cop,
never snuck in for free.

I’m not a bad person.
No, no. I’m not.

That other girl you saw me with
it was not at all better with her.
I know that that sounds repulsive,
but it’s a compliment for sure.

Gwynevere (Broken)

He came back late.
She was in bed. He said,
“Where’s my dinner?” “Right
over there.” He didn’t care.
Then he broke her,
Broke her.
She will never walk again
Broken
Broken
Hardly ever talks to men, she’s
Broken
Broken

Works at a firm,
Where she wheels around, she’s bound
To go really far if she can
Take all the glares and stares she sees.
They broke her
Broke her.
She cries at her office desk
Broken
Broken
God, is this some awful test?
Broken
Broken

Emergency Exit,
She opens the door. Before
Eight flights of stars, she
Closes her eyes and flies down
She broke her
Broke her.
All she wanted was some love
Broken
Broken
Her friends say it was just dumb luck
Broken
Broken

Her name was Gwynevere
Broken
Broken
It was written on her wheelchair
Broken
Broken
I knew her
I knew her
Gwynevere
Gwynevere
I knew her
I knew her
For
Twenty
Seconds.

History of a love story

One day you will die,
That day I will cry.
Windows frozen shut
Of the apartment
Where we lived our lives
Signifying some
Thing I’ll never find

No I don’t relate,
To history’s greats
Julius and Napoleon
Marie Antoinette’s not like me
Nor was Robert F. Kennedy
No I don’t relate
To history’s greats
But my love will carry on.

I could write a book
About the love it took
It would have no text
Not have statistics
It’d be full of thoughts
I can not express
They’d connect the dots

No I don’t relate,
To history’s greats
Martin Luther King and friends
Abraham was just the opposite
Everest can’t get on top of it
No I don’t relate,
To history’s greats
But my love will carry on.

Open up our lives
To page ninety-five
Second paragraph
New material
There’s a word in bold
Check the glossary
Says it won’t grow old

No I don’t relate,
To history’s greats
Cept maybe one no one knows
Being unknown isn’t too bad
Fame wrecks people, love won’t do that
No I don’t relate,
To history’s greats
But my love will carry on.

And that's when it all stops