"Our Country Duet"

You and I sing together every Thursday at Slagger's
Like George Jones and Tammy Wynette
The high point's the moment when you look in my eyes
As we sing "Our Country Duet".

But last night something happenned as we sang that song
That spooked me and I can't forget
I got a strange empty feeling when you looked in my eyes
As we sang "Our Country Duet".

Oh the words were the same and the tune was the same
And it wasn't like you looked upset
But I knew it was over when you looked in my eyes
As we sang "Our Country Duet".

And when we had finished you walked off the stage
And smiled and lit a cigarette
Did you know that I'd noticed what happened just then
As you sang "Our Country Duet"?

I look at you and, though you don't touch my hand,
Your face isn't filled with regret
But I know it now, even if you can't say it
I can never sing "Our Country Duet".






Kind of a country cousin to the last one.

Let the Music Do the Talking

Kind of a simple one, but it has a nice tune.



Let the music do the talking
Words lie and betray
Music has a way of saying
What words can never say

When I get sentimental
My feelings are a mess
Music then can say things
That words just can't express

For when you speak
Then the thought is broken
But music expresses
The unspoken

Every tune is a story
Each melody, unique
Why should words do the talking
Just let the music speak
Oh, just let the music speak

Happy birthday Jymn!  You make me blank.

Swiss mus-i-shian: http://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/in-the-loop/wp/2013/11/12/tina-turner-formally-relinquishes-u-s-citizenship/

The Return of the Maroon Smoking Jacket

A very happy birthday and many happy returns of the day, Tracy!  One hears from you far too seldom. How is Tim the Horse?

Christmas Special 13: The Twelfth Night of Christmas

I'm thinking a Nick Lowe, piano and brushes-on-the-snare feel.



Tomorrow the needles
Get swept off the floor
We'll take that dried wreath
Off of the door

The tinsel and ribbons
Will get thrown away
It's the Twelfth Night of Christmas
The very last day

The season of giving
Is over and done
And though it was fun
The time has now come for everyday living

Tomorrow we'll unplug
And box up the lights
It's the Twelfth Night of Christmas
The very last night

Christmas Special: The Christmas I Don't Remember

Cups of mulled wine, fresh eggnog
The roaring flame of the Yule-tide log
The smoky smell of smoldering embers
None of this do I remember

Sister's chased by her new beau
Until, beneath the mistletoe
Kisses are offered in surrender
None of this do I remember

Wassail bowl and Christmas toasts
Whelkins, oysters, pheasant, chickens
Leg of mutton, goose and roasts
A feast right out of Charles Dickens

The Parson makes a pious face
And says a most distinguished grace
"For thy gifts that thou dost tender…"
It must have hapenned--can't remember


We trudge through snow with our ice skates
To play Crack the Whip on the frozen lake
Some beautiful day in late December
Sorry, no, I don't remember

The snowmen all in family poses
Coal for eyes and carrot noses
Papa's hat, to distinguish gender
Sounds like fun. I don't remember

Mother boiling home-made candy
That she puts in silver wrappers
Raisins pulled from flaming brandy
Snapdragons and Christmas crackers

Father holds the baby high
To place the star and glorify
Our Christmas tree in all its splendor
None if this do I remember.

Christmas Special: What If It's True?

'Twas early morning Christmas Eve and I was less than fresh
I stumbled by a church and laughed at the plastic crèche
And even though I riduled the crazy manger scene
Still part of me was wondering what it all could mean


What if peace and justice really come from above?
If life has a meaning, and that meaning is love?
If a kind word can triumph over force of a fist?
What if that's the reason why we humans even exist?
What if we take seriously the words of Doctor King?
What if "Amazing Grace" isn't just a song for Aretha to sing?
What if we paid attention to Mahalia and Sam Cooke
Bach's St. Matthew's Passion and Dostoevesky's books?

I mean, what if it's true?
It seems unlikely, but what if it's true?
It makes as much sense as most things do
I don't know, what if it's true?

I'm no one to talk about salvation, I'm just about the worst
My friends would only laugh if I'd say the last shall be the first
If somebody hits me I'll give them a smack
I'm not going to smile and say please could you hit me back?
I don't love my neighbors, I can barely stand 'em
I won't turn the other cheek, I'll just strike out at random
But what if there really is more to life this:
Eating, drinking, scratching, snoring, belching and a piss

So what if it's true?
It  seems unlikely, but what if it's true?
It doesn't seem like anyone else has a clue
You never know, it just might be true

Christmas Special: (Just Like An) Astronaut (In Space on Christmas)

I heard a cover of "Space Oddity" and thought, that would make a good Christmas song.

I feel marooned 

As far away as the moon

I don't know how I got myself in this mess

Out of my window

I see the earth's bluish glow

I'm like an astronaut in space on Christmas

On my space phone

I try to call home

Pleading pull me from this seclusion

Help me Houston

I float effortlessly

Suspended in zero-G 

As if there were no center with us

Just like an astronaut in space on Christmas

Alone and unloved

Though they say I have the Right Stuff

I feel a sadness that I cannot dísmiss

In my tin playpen

Abandoned son of John Glenn

I'm like an astronaut in space on Christmas

Can I reverse

Come back to earth 

Free myself from inside this capsule?

Help me NASA

Like a misanthrope

Peering through his telescope

At all this Christmas celebration business

I'm like an astronaut in space on Christmas.

R.I.P Rosie

Haji, Rosie of Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, has passed on.  "Soak it up Miss Sponge, I'm-a gonna squeezing you dry!"

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-23666502

Some Mad Maggies, embedded for your pleasure.  The brindle pit bull at the :26 mark is Odetta.

Happy birthday James!  I love yuh, Big Dummy.

Christmas Special: O Tannenbaum

Beneath the tree, the dark roots shove
With star and sun and fire above
The golden sparks of its machinery
Flash and shine within the greenery

O tannenbaum, O tannenbaum
O glorious green fuse
Our food and shelter, seed and juice
Our mistress and our muse

We mark its branches with a wreath
With blood-red berries underneath
And there's the plant entwined like lace
That tells us when we may embrace

O tannenbaum O tannenbaum
Remain forever green
A beacon in our darkest days
Our begetter and our queen

And the great Father in his boots
Pulls it up right by the roots
He sets the mighty log alight
Which burns for twelve days and twelve nights

O tannenbaum O tannenbaum
Spirit of woods and earth
As you're consumed with fire
We view our own rebirth

Nick Lowe's getting on the Christmas Special train: http://nicklowe.com/

Christmas Special 08: The Advent Calendar

Well, each day has a secret
If you know how to find it
Each secret opens up a door
Each with a gift behind it

Each gift is like a mouth
Each mouth has its own word
And every word a saint
And every saint a bird

For every day is like a new book
Open it up slowly!
Each book is a story in stained glass
All lit up and holy

Each day's a secret storeroom
In which all things belong:
Cathedral, atlas, Noah's ark
Museum, city, song





Not forgetting Jimmy's curious habit of not opening any Advent windows for several days, then opening them all at once

Christmas Special 07: When It Snows in San Francisco

Some call it Baghdad by the Bay
Some the Barbary Coast
When it snows in San Francisco
Her beauty shines the most
The Victorians form quite elegant shapes
With a quiet, bluish glow
When it snows in San Francisco
San Francisco in the snow

Over on Castro and Market
There's quite a lively scene
Contestants dressed as skaters vie
To be named Ice Queen
Dorothy Hamils and Peggy Flemings
Compete for "Best of Show"
When it snows in San Francisco
San Francisco in the snow

Cars go flying off-street
As they try to navigate Gough Street
Or fly quick as an arrow
Slipping down Divisidero

The food trucks tweet that they will serve
The finest cocoa from Europe
A few will even serve up locally-sourced
Snow and maple syrup
Guys with beards and boots and vests
Who look like Henry Thoreau
Line up in San Francisco
San Francisco in the snow

Christmas Special: Christmas Eve in Texas, 1954

You have to imagine Firestone singing this in his Beefheart-ish blues voice:


Christmas Eve in Texas
Nineteen fifty-four
The crowd called out for Johnny
Lined up way outside the door
Who could guess that Johnny
Would not be alive
New Year's Day in Houston, Texas
Nineteen fifty-five

Big Mama said to Johnny,
"Watch how you have fun
Don't drink and slap a lady
And you be careful with that gun
There is one card, Johnny
That can beat an Ace."
Christmas Eve in Houston, Texas
Wrong night, wrong place

He said, "I've pledged my love, now
The time has come to spend it."
She said, "Fame's a hound dog
There's no way you can befriend it."
His finger on the trigger
Getting set to pull it
He said, "Mama, now don't you worry
There's just one bullet."

Johnny watched the clock
Both hands stuck at twelve
He aimed at Big Mama
Then aimed the gun right at himself
The crowd was calling Johnny
But there was no encore
That Christmas Eve in  Houston, Texas
Nineteen fifty-four

Christmas Special 05: The Longest Night of the Year

A love song to Santy Claus, which as far as I know makes it unique in the Christmas cannon:


This night's both dark and bright
This longest night of the year
The shortest day is too long
Only night brings you near

I hear bells ringing
Up in the sky
I'm too excited
To fall asleep when you're so nearby

Any moment you'll be here
The longest night of the year


I see your shadow
Cast on the moon
I look up and know
You'll be shining on me soon

And like magic you'll appear
The longest night of the year

Christmas Special: No Returns

Gifts lined up in a row
Each one with a bow
Corners all just so

I haven't any bling for you
All that I can bring for you
Is the song I sing for you

And when you open up 
My little song
What if I got
The size and color wrong?

Love, this is not show biz
My song comes "as is"
No returns, as is.

Christmas Special: Boxing Day

They say the most important thing's

A positive attitude

So we'll smile uneasily while

You show your gratitude:

Thank you for the twenty bucks you tipped us

Thank you!

Thank you for the bottle that you slipped us 

Thank you!

Never mind the many times you clipped us

Thank you!

Thank you for your presents on this Boxing Day

We don 't mind how often you've neglected us

We don't mind!

We don't mind that you have disrespected us

We don't mind!

The petty insults to which you have subjected us

We don't mind!

Thank you for your presents on this Boxing Day

A special day is set aside,

The feast day of St. Stephen

For charity that otherwise

You really don't believe in

Thank you for this one day when you serve us

Thank you!

When you pretend you really don't deserve us

Thank you!

Even though it only makes us nervous

Thank you!

Thank you for your presents on this Boxing Day

Schamus delivered the 2013 Saint John's commencement speech: http://www.stjohnscollege.edu/about/AN/speeches/gradspeech_2013.pdf

Christmas Special 02: The Snowman (when he melts)

 A soul blues, like "Neighbor, Neighbor" or "My Babe":


What happens to a snowman when he melts?
He gets turned into something else
Mister Snowman melts and dies 
Nothing left bit two coal eyes
Please don't make a poor old snowman melt

What happens to a snowman when he thaws?
You can say goodbye, he's a lost cause
He will turn into a softie
No more being cooler than Frosty
Please don't make a poor old snowman thaw

Winter is the only season
For a frozen heart
Springtime blows it into pieces
When growth and greenery start

What happens when you melt a cold, cold man
Who never felt a thing since time began?
He will turn right onto water
Crying over some man's daughter
Please don't try to melt a cold, cold man

Christmas Special 01: Santa's Comin' Tonight

I'd like to do a Christmas show this year of all original songs, so I'm trying to get an early start on the songwriting. My first is a 70s Nashville weeper. More to follow.



Little Bobby told me after grace over our meal
The big kid next door said to him that Santa Claus ain't real
I saw his little worried face and had to make things right
I said, "Your momma loves your daddy and Santa's comin' tonight.

Christmas Day will be the best day ever at our house this year
Food and gifts and togetherness and all that yuletide cheer
I know you've heard your mom and papa having little fights
But Momma loves your daddy and Santa's comin' tonight."

Well, the truth is that sometimes you've got to tell your children lies
Tell them that they can't believe what they see with their own eyes
Kids just want to know they'll have both a dad and mom
That they're livin' with a nuclear family and not a nuclear bomb

My boy's all the world to me, I can't think about his face
When he learns the world's not such a happy, magic place
So I'll say what I have to, tell him black is white
That his momma loves his daddy, and Santa's comin' tonight.

(I lost you and then I lost) George Jones

Tonight I heard the news

And poured some drugstore booze

Into a jar with a picture of Fred Flintstone

I guess I should hold back

But my mood is extra black

Cause I lost you and then I lost George Jones

I feel the sadness coming on

As I listen to his songs

It's a pain that travels deep inside my bones

Just when things seemed seemed alright

The news came in tonight

That I lost you and then I lost George Jones

I know I've played around

I know I've been a drunk

And there are even worse things that I've done

But look at old George Jones

Well, who'd have ever thunk

That old outlaw would live to 81?

I'm spinning those great LPs 

And pitying poor little me

Drunk again and singing all alone

I'm slipping into the abyss

Say, what kind of world is this

Where I've lost you and now I've lost George Jones?

Shiva is

a 17 year old blind girl in Dadar.

My old nemesis as the Lemonade Seller: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/07/magazine/the-fearless-risk-loving-winemaker.html

I can't imagine what the overlap between Roxy fans and lovers of trad jazz could be.  I can only assume that Bryan Ferry made "The Jazz Age" for me personally.  Thanks Bryan. I may need to get a new maroon smoking jacket (full-length, this time.)

Shouting in a Bucket Blues

Ah, this is sad

Hard Times for 2013

Updated verses for a song that's a few years old now:

The Mayans made a prophecy
When the end'd at last occur
Instead we got the usual:
A schoolhouse massacre.

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

A policeman tried to tell me
His department was corrupt
He killed his captain's daughter
Before they blew him up

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

Lightning struck the Vatican
The chimney smoke blew black
The Pope had run away, and they
Were trying to get him back

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

Maybe I am trying to hard
To read between the lines
Are asteroids and meteors
Exploding warning signs?

Hard times are these, my friends
Hard times, indeed

Dorothy's Parka (Who Cares the Least)

It's taken me a while to get something here, really had a strong desire to "reply" to 4P. It's not what I initially imagined but I like it anyway. Makes a nice bookend I think. And a couple of nice "tricks" in it that gave me pleasure to write.

I'm sorry darling that I distinguish
What I show and how I feel
Your love infects me like possession
At your feet I bow and kneel

It may happen in conversation
I wear a mask and show restraint
You must know that I adore you
And I'm showing what I ain't

Could I survive the raging passion
Endure sans cesse the touch so sweet
Every day I would expire
Denied convention's clemency

So watch: I'm bland; see: I'm insipid
I've covered up the shameless beast
Who waits supine, dying for you
While I pretend to care the least

The Next To Last Night of the Year

Well isn't this a lovely night?
The bar has both Bud and Coor's Lite
You asked me not to call too late
But I'm starting to deteriorate
Two idiots right by the door
Go on about how they much drank the night before
Why'm I alone
Why am I here
On the next to last day
Of the year


My mother said that if your bored
You lack Resources--Oh, Good Lord!
I'm sorry if I seem remorseless
But I admit that I've no Resources
Tomorrow night, off to the scene
Where the boys are dumb and the girls are kind of mean
Why will I go
Why aren't you here
On the next to last day
Of the year


This morning as the sun arose
I was still dressed in last night's clothes
The crescent moon was nearly gone
The stars were fading in the dawn
Tomorrow night, another day
Another wasted year gets toasted and gets thrown away
And why go on
If you're not here
On the next to last day
Of the year

4.P

Came up with this while reading Dorothy Parker on the flight home from Montgomery AL:

All my wisest friends have told me

If you'd save yourself distress

Keep a close watch on your heart

Be the one who loves the less

Love well, my friend, but not too much

So they tell me that it's best

To lose your head but not completely

Be the one who loves the less

If you keep your feelings penned up

Slightly distant and amused

You're much more likely to end up

With your heart just slightly bruised

This is what my wise friends tell me

Thinking of my happiness

Yet I think just one more time I'll

Be the one who loves to excess

Last November I had an attack of the gout that had me limping for a few weeks.  The doctor told me I had to end my relationship with my old friend Bertolino Bourboni.  He since relented and told me it's OK to see him, now and again, socially, but that our former passionate friendship might lead to more and more frequent gout attacks.  I've done it before, of course, but this is a sad thing.  Tuba-playng and sobriety don't go together so well.

Bobbi's Coming Back

We've had our little summer fling

Our brief clandestine tryst

But I can't see you any more

Please go now, I insist…

Bobbi watches all her fellows

Her temper's bad, and she's jealous

Better run girl, girl run faster

If she catches you, it'll be a disaster

Tell your priest to start saying mass

'Cause Bobbi's going to kick your ass

All the way to Indiana

She's a new Tura Satana

'Cause now Bobbi's coming back

B-B-B-Bobbi's coming back

Bobbi's coming back to town

You won't like the resolution

Of her acts of retribution

But Bobbi's coming back to town

Sure we had a brief flirtation

But it's time to change your focus

Weren't you talking about taking a vacation

To visit your sister in Ho-Ho-Kus?

Don't think she'll get any softer--

Now she's taking her earrings off her

She will go and snap your body

She knows kung-fu and karate

Bobbi has the force when she gets vicious

Of a few well-armed militias

She'll do grievous bodily acts of harm

Someone just might buy the farm

'Cause now Bobbi's coming back

B-B-B-Bobbi's coming back

Bobbi's coming back to town

You better get your bags packed

If you don't want to get whacked

'Cause Bobbi's coming back to town

                                      The original Tura Satana

The Old Bear to Delmore Schwartz

Poor bear

     His toothless mouth that cannot bite

     His eyes now clouded milky white

     His sad, unending appetite

The old bear’s fallen down

Poor bear

Making wild faces like a brute

Pulling tricks in his charm suit

Panting, roaring, what a beaut

The old bear, man about town

Poor bear

Shambling with his funny trot

Humbled in a bunny squat

Looking for his honey pot 

The old bear of renown

Poor bear

In his sleep lets out a scream

All he ever does is dream

Of eating candy and ice cream

The old bear’s lost his crown

And even when I think I'm alone

He apes every move I make

I hear his sad, pathetic groan

The vast world of his bellyache

Poor bear

The joker with his rubber ball

His shoes too big, his pants too small

They clap and laugh to watch him fall

The old bear's just a clown

Poor bear

Takes one more round on stage

He growls and lunges out in rage

Ha ha!  Too funny! Doesn't need a cage

The old bear's going down

Bye, Ray

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/ray-collins-original-mothers-of-invention-singer-dead-of-heart-attack-20121227



(not to be confused with Lieutenant Tragg)

The Chatter and The Noise

An Along Came Jones studio recording: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5f9ATPbocDw

 

Happy birthday Jymn!  Let it flow with you.

F-hole

My wife

            with the dimple on her scrollwork

            with the smell of spruce and rosin

            the small of her back that vibrates

            as gently as a sound post

And her little f-hole

My wife

            her tongue a run of eighth notes

            arpeggio eyelashes

            allegretto fingers

her thighs two even half notes

And her little f-hole

           

And from somewhere within her

There beats a hidden metronome

A rhythm that I can’t quite capture

The ocean, my own secret home

My wife

her breasts a bit rubato

her navel a fermata

her cleft is like the moment

            between the up-bow and the down-bow

And her little f-hole

With thanks to Man Ray and André Breton's "L'Union Libre"

Let me be the first

To wish you happy birthday, Johny.
It's just past midnight in the departure lounge. Was hoping to write you a rhyme about all the gifts I wish you had, or I had to give you, or you had to get, but inspiration fails. So I'll settle for taking advantage of living half a day ahead of you to wish you all the best, first.
Love

On Martyrs

Here's what I ended up with, Jim:

When I think of my love for you

It’s like staring right into the sun

Maybe we only really see

When the story’s finished up and done

Loving you is as bottomless

As a dark infinity

Martyrs die for love, my dear

But your love will be the death of me

My heart’s spitted on a stake

Burning with a clear, undying flame

Ashes rise up into the air

Spelling out the letters of your name

Oh you are my true lode star

You’re my only destiny

Martyrs die for love, my dear

But your love will be the death of me

Poor old Saint Bartholomew had his

Skin flayed off him while he lived

Anthony was stabbed so many times

That he started leaking like a sieve

Saints embrace their suffering
And that suff’ring makes them free

Martyrs die for love, my dear

But your love will be the death of me

One Roll of the Dice ...

RIP Mister Wilson

http://www.stjohnscollege.edu/news/memoriam-wilson.shtml

RIP Lol Coxhill

http://www.guardian.co.uk/music/2012/jul/11/lol-coxhill

The Devil Took My Woman

Dennis suggested the title, Euripides suggested the rest.  Μωροσ γαρ μορα λεγει.

The devil took my woman

Rose before the dawn

Flew out to a hilltop

As her spirit filled up

She tore a fawn to pieces

And made a fleece of

That little fawn

The devil held a wolf pup

To my woman’s breast

She just calmly smiled

Thought it was her child

She nursed a bear

Snakes in her hair

Loose and untressed

The devil took my woman

He gave her the power

As a fortune-teller

Blind as Helen Keller

Strumming on a lyre

With a bolt of fire

He broke my tower

Then the devil took me

Turned me to a goat

Well, up came the priestess

Wearing a meat dress

Like a housewife

She grabbed a stone knife

And slit my throat

This is true: I had eggs today with Michael Coss and young Mike Junior.  He remains a king among men, if that needs saying.

We're all swinging and we're all satisfied.  Happy birthday, Poppa!

My Lonesome Cowboy Shirt, Reekin' at Ya

I'm Just Glad It's Not Christmas

My recollection is that Jimmy wrote a song called "Christmas Is Laughing At You", though all I remember is that title.  I know one of his finest post-FF songs is called "The Last Day of Christmas".  

Oh poor George, father of his country

He lost his day, to speak quite bluntly

He shares with forty other guys

And there’s no longer cherry pie

Mostly sales at used car dealers

Selling ATV four-wheelers

But I can smile and half-pretend

I’ve got big plans for the weekend

I’m just glad it’s not Christmas

With the presents round the tree

I’m just glad it’s not Christmas

This is not the way Christmas should be

Father’s Day is not so bad

All I do is call up Dad

We don’t have to talk too much

It’s just nice to stay in touch

So we talk about the Knicks

Or (very lightly) politics

Dad’s had his heartbreak, I don’t doubt it

But we never talk about it

I’m just glad it’s not Christmas

With the mistletoe and the holly

I’m just glad it’s not Christmas

‘Tis no season to be melancholy

Memorial Day’s for what’s been lost

And how we live and what’s the cost

We don’t like to think about the past

Or why the flags are at half-mast

And I, like any normal Yank,

Would rather leave the past a blank

And not think much about what’s dead
Pretend there’s better times ahead

I’m just glad it’s not Christmas

With Santa Claus and all his little elves

I’m just glad it’s not Christmas

Cause I can’t stand to be all by myself

Mister Bluebird

We're planning to release this as a 7".  I had imagined Nick Lowe singing it when I wrote the lyrics: Mister Bluebird link

After All These Years...

Bat Chain Puller has finally been released.

http://pitchfork.com/reviews/albums/16625-bat-chain-puller/

Eye Sore

I do believe today is Perfesser Ghiberti's birthday.  Happy birthday, Bugsy--may you rule beneficently over Geneva for many years to come.

Pachuco Cadaver, the Beefheart tribute band that's been about to start for the last year and a half, will make its debut as part of a (post-) Mother's Day Zappa Tribute at the Bay View Boat Club tomorrow.  We'll be playing "Harry Irene", "Candle Mambo" and "I'm Gonna Booglarize You Baby".

You & Me & Suzanne

We were the Three Musketeers:

            You and me and Suzanne

We were punk rock cavaliers

            You and me and Suzanne

Now there will be no such antics

Suzanne’s no longer a romantic

She’s more like a Lars von Trier

            Oh, you and me and Suzanne

We were like those Stooges Three

            You and me and Suzanne

On an endless, madcap spree

            You and me and Suzanne

I was Curly, she was Moe

You’re too sweet for Larry, though

That’s the way things used to be

            With you and me and Suzanne

We were once the best of friends

            You and me and Suzanne

Funny it came to an end

            You and me and Suzanne

But she lost you to another

That she thought of as her brother

Did she know you still like men?

            You and me and Suzanne

I guess I thought that I was just joking

            You and me and Suzanne

But it’s over, completely broken

            You and me and Suzanne

It was wrong, but I still did it

I’m an asshole, I admit it

The morning’s cold and we’ve awoken

            You and me and Suzanne

Saint John's has a new fight song:

True love of wisdom is sheltered in her halls
Seekers of virtue will answer to her call
Books and a balance are all the tools we need
St. John’s forever! She will make us free.


I was working on one myself, which I did not submit:

Saint John's forever
To her we pledge our youth
Steadfast are we in our
Grand pursuit for truth

Our search for wisdom
Surely cannot fail
Lovers of wisdom
We will always prevail

Here's a link to a couple of songs performed live last month.  It's just a cassette in-the-room recording, so the mix isn't all it could be.

Beatitudes

Blessèd are the poor in spirit
The end is near but they don’t fear it
Blessèd are the broken hearted
Now that all the madness has started

Bless’d are those who dare increase
The slender hope there may be peace
Bless’d are those who show some kindness
In a world so often mindless

Blessèd are all those who hunger
For justice in a world gone under
And blessèd are all those who mourn
May their hopes somehow be reborn

May the weary too be bless’d
May they somehow find their rest
And may the weakest ones be bless’d
When it’s done, they’ll inherit this mess

A blues in the Highway 61 style.  Since Dennis will be singing it and I don't like to drive, I wrote myself in riding shotgun.


I went down with the Moron, headed for the border
Searching for a cure for his sleeping disorder
Since he had the narcolepsy
I shot him a Pepsi right away
He opened his eyes and said where are we?
Aaaaaaah, wrong way!

Well we saw a couple hitchhikers, so we pulled over
Turned out that it was Marguerite and Casanova
He had powdered wig
He was late to his gig as DJ
We turned on Camino Real
Aaaaaaah, wrong way!

Well I saw a marble lady who exposed her breast
They locked her away, I suppose it’s for the best
They said save your quarters
You can afford a Doris Day
I tried to pay with Green Stamps
Aaaaaaah, wrong way

I met a man who said he’d lost his youth
To Marsden Hartley and to Charles Demuth
He said, Behold!
I saw the figure 5 in gold on display
Wheels rumbling through the dark city
Aaaaaaah, wrong way!

Mother Theresa met the Dalai Lama
He said to her let me tell you mama
In my horoscope
It said I will be the pope one day
But saints won’t give you nothing
Aaaaaaah, wrong way

Well I guess we took a wrong turn back at Albuquerque
The Moron said can you take me back to Berkeley
I just told him phooey
And I made a U-ie mid-highway
I don’t know if we’ll make it
Aaaaaaah, wrong way