We're here to cut the ropes off!
and get your hands untied!
Greet my generation
with yer arms open wide!
Yeah, meet my generation
We feed our morals no pride.
Meet my generation
We don't take our quarrels outside.
(no, we'd rather sing)
"Fomp Fomp Fomp, biddle-ee-bomp bomp."
Meet my generation
If we're pissed we'll say.
We won't bottle it 'til it comes out
some convoluted way.
My generation
leaves that crap behind.
We tolerate most any faith,
any state of mind.
Meet my generation.
Please, ma'am just the facts.
We feel no need to spill no seed
but Truth upon these tracks.
Yeah, meet my generation
We don't fall in love with things.
Instead we save our soul to crave the gold
in human beings.
(let me hear ya say)
"Fomp Fomp Fomp, biddle-ee-bomp bomp."
My generation
don't believe the hype.
We've seen too many false prophets
crowned in twenty-point type.
My generation,
we're through playing cool.
We follow no bland recipes,
make up our own rules.
back to top
A word of Chaos is in order to describe the way
your mind's behaving seeing Justice in her lingerie...
...portent's of nation's detonations...oh, it's deadening...
How worse can hell be? Here can well be just as threatening!
Lo! and Behold! Our mores fading,
disintegrating Sense.
Past and Future start invading.
They wake their ghosts, they shake their bones,
they make the present tense.
Stop giggling, it's only chaos.
Keep chanting: It's only chaos.
Whirlpools in my eyes...ev'ry sunrise...can't connect the dots...
apocalypses...and ellipses join the scattered thoughts...
Restraining Order slaps a border on libido's cloud.
Soldiers of Dogma are the smegma of the scared and proud.
Only the Strong will perservere in
Truth's punishing pursuit,
certain that once the dust starts clearing,
revealed we'll see the seeds of Mayhem's never-bitten fruit.
Stop giggling, it's only chaos.
Keep chanting: It's only chaos.
So add the spice of vice to virtue.
Initiate your soul.
A little pinch impure won't hurt you.
Come liberate yourself out of the arms your arms control.
Stop giggling. It's only chaos.
Keep chanting: It's only chaos.
Stop chaking. It's only chaos.
Start embracing only chaos.
What else is there? Only chaos.
Keep chanting: It's only chaos.
Admit it. There's only chaos.
What's pure when there's only chaos?
If there's a message you could hear
I'd swear to God I'd make it clear.
I'd tell you how I'm sick and tired
of how you've got the whole shit wired
by teaching me resent and hate
towards those the least empow'red of state.
As if, for all faults, they're to blame
When I know it's you who runs the game.
Them for'ners look so pitiful 'cause they're not
in your motorcade.
Yeah, your motorcade,
your little bubble safe from real life's dark parade.
In your motorcade
it's too much trouble to peek out your windowshade.
If there's a message I could send
that I'd be sure you'd comprehend
it's that Your Time is Up. We're wise
to how you primp and subsidize
the wealthy who make missiles sleek
that grow obsolete in a week.
"As long as it makes jobs!" you say.
You keep real progress miles away,
like all the riffraff screaming as you're riding
in your motorcade.
Yeah, in your motorcade
it's too much trouble to peek out your windowshade.
Yeah, your motorcade
absorbs the rubble tumbled from the mess you made.
You motorcade
is half-enlaid
with tooth-melt gold
to help protect you,
disinfect you
from the fold
that grow two boots
with each blue suit
you make stand guard
next to your fence,
your bedroom vents,
atop ten motorcycles gliding down each broken boulevard.
If there's a message you could know
I swear to God I'd make it glow
in neon lights that line the curbs
as you're escorted through the 'burbs
to bribe folks not to vote you out.
Paint demons they can go chew out.
And if you only last one term
I'm sure there's some other job to which you can squirm
...about a block down; we'll still drive your ass there
in your motorcade!
Yeah, your motorcade,
your little bubble safe from real life's dark parade.
Yeah, your motorcade
absorbs the rubble tumbled from the mess you made.
Yeah, your motorcade,
your little bubble safe from real life's dark parade.
These imperfections,
these infections
that all of you introduced me to
(when I was waddling,
wrapped in swaddling,
one or two),
have become habits,
automatic,
second nature. I hope you're happy
with these beasts like me you've made.
'Cause we're sick boys and
we've been poisoned
but by your standards we're just fine
especially when we make your grade.
So here you have "La
Ferme de Pavlov."
Here we are, mouths watering over
girls and guns.
But I won't race in-
to formation
like the others if the big flood ever comes.
'Cause I've got theorems
they're the serums
for diseases you disseminate.
See Reason's Might hide
in my right eye.
Look at my left, it's full of dreams.
I open one up, close the other
depending on the situation.
I'm perfecting how to operate.
So that when the Flood comes
this Gadfly flies away.
Pummeling, shoveling flesh with bone lines blur furry and furious
Whacked and worn no faces seen suddenly down and delirious
Then a fist cuts through the fog and the frenzy. No sense, why me?
It's making me Dizzy
Smothering, bludgeoning halfway home mouth fills curdled and curious
Baked and burned face flat on grass maliciously soiled and so serious
While a buzz grows louder back in my brain-bomb. (tick tock tick sick chuckle)
I'm not him
I'm Dizzy
I kept screaming "No no no no no no no no no no you don't understand."
Get gotta get quick someplace bright lights flicker voluminous Red and reeling circling stars halo, man and viciousness
He is brown
No, white and round
How seldom facts
they slither down
The mayor he speaks with hollow sounds
and nary a word of truth resounds
In this Your Town
We was mad
No, sullen, sad
The paper snubbed
our latest fad
The money spent
was all we had
But funny smells
aren't always bad
In this Your Town
In muted fun we stared at the sun
Looking for the newest one
The more you learn, the less you'll run
With feet so swollen
Hot cross buns
You weigh a ton.
You, with the ribbons in your hair:
Recall when there were flowers there?
Before the Men in Power saw red
and turned yours into a scapegoat's head?
They said your pursuit of liberty
had thrown all their boys in poverty
and "made most you women disobey."
How could so much change from yesterday?
And they seated their chiefs, resplendent
and they gave them the words you wore;
and they helped make your Sex descendent
by closing your ev'ry door;
and if you still felt independent,
they'd demote you to working poor.
You were working, but guess who for?
for the Men in Power.
Manpower for the Men in Power.
(Who're the men enshrouded
holding silent strings round my hands
that tug to make me blame you
and twist if I refuse to?)
You, with the powder on your cheek:
They've made the facts to keep you weak.
Their yellow research headlined the rags
while editors of the fashion mags
said, "Your freedom's made you discontent"
except when you'd choose their sponsor's scent.
And soon household goods would catch your eye
'til "Surrender!" was your soul's sole reply.
And they deified hip reduction
and your roles early on were played;
they convinced you a liposuction
was a sure way to make the grade;
and the press, with their trend construction,
called you Over-The-Hill Old Maid
so you'd panic, and wed, afraid,
for the Men in Power.
Manpower for the Men in Power.
(Have we made no progress?
Has there been no lesson we've learned?
Are they so frail and fearful
They need to see you cower?
If they're disenfranchised
boys are paid 'til tables are turned.
These men-in-white's advantage
is that they own the tower.
And the fact I'm passive
makes me all the more concerned!
Am I so tired and jaded
to fight the Men in Power?)
This Song I Wrote is a far ways away from here.
With it, though, I swear you could get your conscience clear.
You could make your sobs soak the heart of some financier
who thinks that gold licks the tip of each well-aimed spear.
You could demand a recount of any crooked polls.
You could uplift your spirits like you're wearing platform souls
or walking round on stilts your heart controls
through choking soldiers bent o'er streets of coals.
Yeah, you could go straight to the war-torn wrapped in gauze,
and deep-freeze them with a worthy cause
while the breeze through the trees gives applause.
You keep walking while the healing thaws
through fields that Cezanne draws
you change your feet to tiger's paws
ask which road is Shangri-La's
take a left at the Land of Oz
pass the statue of Santa Claus
then you'll know you're in this song I wrote.
This song I wrote could make a politician sweat.
Stab a snapshot future through his conscience like a bayonet.
Show him wheelchair dowries in the cradle, crying, "Massive Debt!"
And its ev'ry phrase'd be a sword-tongued epithet.
And it'd lick some pea-brained "education president"
by stirring up each couch-trousered resident
and getting them to look inside their porpcupine coats
to see beneath their purse a throbbing heart that's being robbed a vote
and be thankful this here's a Voter Republic
and get in the booth or see a Notary Public
and mark a ballot true, and approved,
and by the millions, by God, we'll prove
to those fuckers who can't feel to groove
that they ain't wanted, pack their things, and MOVE!
Clean out the sin, we're movin in, it's time
to rid the world of your covert crime!
The only thing to stop us now is a rhyme.
Well, then, I see...it's just a song I wrote.
This song I wrote might be my ticket outta here.
The only thing anyone else might ever hear.
And since it might work I guess I'd best make this sincere,
to educate, and raise someone's consciousness one tier;
to combat crap heedless hoodlum popstar tarts emit
too busy trying to top the charts to dare admit
to the spiritual casualties they inflict
on their fans, as they walk Fame's road, so yellow-bricked.
The Fame they seek to get the spotlight shown
on them, to preach, and let themselves be known
to me, and you, and her, and every other drone.
So they're the flower to be sucked on, to be grown.
But each idea of theirs is a vapid seed.
It's from a soul where fame's the only need
Yet in this world, where the god is greed,
vapid is valid if the purses bleed.
These and other injustices cause
me to calmly re-ink my claws
and let the muses rejuice my jaws
to let go a little song I wrote.
It might seem like, with all of these
impassioned platform pleas,
I should be singing "Vote For Me!"
But I'm not, don't get me wrong.
I'm just a singer, and this song
I wrote, I wrote for me
Robots Anonymous (2001)
Click Here or scroll down to see descriptions of these lyrics
Mr. Pennycounter,
tell me what’s the matter.
Is that my candy wrapper
stuck inside your gutter?
Your eyes are getting redder.
Your cheeks are bulging fatter.
I’d help, but I’m no climber,
and it’s you who owns the ladder.
Inside my roach motel,
I’m a martyr for you.
And since I don’t fare as well,
you say it’s harder for you.
Inside my roach motel,
I’m a martyr for you.
And when I don’t fare as well,
that makes it harder...
Mr. Pennycounter,
sorry for the clutter.
I’ll hop aboard my scooter
and head back to my trailer,
I’ll come back in an instant
with some disinfectant
to spray upon your poodle.
(He’s sick because I touched him.)
Inside my roach motel,
I’m a martyr for you.
And since I don’t fare as well,
it makes it harder for you.
Cast of Players:
CONTESTANT, a young bachelorette (dressed as Mary Magdalene, concubine)
BACHELOR #3, a cocky young male (poss. dressed as Jesus the Nazarene, age 33 1/3 rpm [revolutions per Masada])
GAME SHOW HOST, mid 40’s white male (cross between Messrs. Wink Martindale/ Alex Trebek/ Chuck Woolery/ Pat Sajak)
AUDIENCE, the “chorus,” a Y2K family at home dressed in sweatsuits, including but not limited to DAUGHTER, MOTHER and FATHER
BACHELORS #1 and #2, done up like Barrabas and the other guy.
Setting:
An L.A. sound studio,year 2000 or 2033 1/3, taping an MTV Dating Game show.
Other Settings: Kitchen of Y2K family, watching TV
CONTESTANT
Bachelor #3, maybe you’re right for me? Better than #2?
BACHELOR #3
Contestant, my source of pride is I’m .09 microns wide, and built RAM tough! with racing trim! I’m .01 micron more than him!
CONTESTANT
Bachelor #3, rape me! A sight to see! Make me your bride-to-be!
BACHELOR #3
Well, I’m the first in history to be the follower of ME! See, my strengths count while his are void. In time, I’ll have his kind destroyed!
GAME SHOW HOST
(disgusted, admonishing Bachelor #3 off camera during commercial break)
5 million cameras testify to truths your stubborn heads defy: Your blips leave little resonance! Your actions have no consequence! Your opinions have no weight beyond the air your pierced tongue spits them on! Soon you’ll join us, with your father, in a chorus of “Why Bother?”
AUDIENCE
(shot of the family at dinner table watching the TV, during same commercial break, enamored with Bachelor #3’s cockiness. Also, at some points during this section we see a shot of all 3 bachelors with their buzzer lights going on in sequence to the three-note melody, the highest note played by #3, the words of which we see light up on his money screen, e.g., “3, “ love,” and “brash”)
That #3 will only love his shadow! So loud and brash he’ll sure be double-plus good! Kids, turn him up, yeah! Violences assert you, or something like that. Honey, pass the tastebuds.
(father pulls condom-like “tongue sheath” off his tongue and passes it across the dinner table to wife. )
CONTESTANT
(Daughter, essentially a younger version of Contestant, sees her father do this and begins to daydream of a nice studly husband someday that she could share tongue-sheaths with while kissing---which, contemporaneously, is the only safe and sanitary way to kiss. Dream husband looks like Bachelor #3, we see her pressing the rewind and fast-forward buttons on the tape deck of her mind.)
Daddy says it’s time to see who could be the match for me. And in my dream home, #3 is plugging in my screen. The picture’s so pristine, like our happy family.
AUDIENCE
(audience growing more excited by the silly ballsy antics of Mr. 3)
That #3’s the promise of new breed! He’ll caulk her hairlines, make us wanna breed rich! Kids, can’t you listen, stop biting eachother, stop screaming! Honey, can’t we change the channel?!
(channel is changed to VH-1 “Messiahs of Rock” special, episode #33 w/Peter Frampton. Or at least Count Zero dressed like Peter Frampton’s band. During each applause snippet, camera cuts from band to excited rock audience members. First, it’s a 70’s rock crowd; then by the third snippet it’s been morphed into a crowd of perfected 21st-century huge-breasted waif-models, eager to “show us their dayds.” We see behind the curtain at the editing room where this morphing is occuring. The video editing suite is being manned by a potato-chip eating techie, who bears a resemblance to the comic store owner on the Simpsons. )
CONTESTANT
(Daughter grows up to look like contestant, but bit by bit til the end of this section, morphs fatter and fatter into her parents)
Daddy says it’s time to see who could be the man for me. And in my dream home Mr. 3 is on ev’ry magazine with his teeth and hair so clean. We’re one happy fat machine. Bachelor #3! Bachelor #3! Bachelor #3!
(Daughter, pressing rewind on the tapedeck of her mind, is now happily riding on a merry-go-round of unicorns, in a dream world, singing “Bachelor #3.” On the opposite side of the merry-go-round is Contestant, looking a tad haggard, on her Dating Game Date Vacation at Pepsi-DisneyWorld, with Bachelor #3, looking like Merle Haggard, on the unicorn in front of her. There are tongue-sheaths on all the erect horns of the unicorns. The poles that run alongside the unicorns that she lays sadly against are the texture and color of erect penis flesh. Pan back to Daughter on other side of merry-go-round, as she lays against her penis-pole, dreaming. [Folks, please dig the wicked-heavy symbolism.] We follow her dream as she again presses fast forward on her mind’s tape-deck. Soft-filter lens. She is the age of Contestant again, now as story-book angelic as can be, in a flowing white dress, riding horseback with a shirtless man she has her arms around and is laying her head against. No saddle. [Note to self: Befriend someone in the movie bid-ness who can get me access to the last two minutes of John Travolta’s mid-70’s made-for-TV movie “The Boy in a Plastic Bubble,” because I remember the closing scene of that looking a lot like what I just described.])
We got the Moon, it’s ours for the taking
We got the Moon, it’s in our hands
Look at the Moon, there’s Armstrong-a-leaping
He got the Moon, and he’s our man.
Send our love to Russia
Sympathy? Not much.
Tell Brezhnev and his brethren:
“We think you’re out of touch.”
Big deal, you threw a boomerang,
Laika, puppy in the sky.
But our silver capsule landed.
Man has never been so high.
The moon is heaven’s eye.
It looks so very small from here,
but it’s really quite a trip.
It always seemed impossible
got to move at quite a clip.
Say Hello to the Future
though he’s a bit behind the times.
They scheduled him for yesterday,
now he’s finally arrived.
(This transmission is coming to you from the moon.)
Bailey tossed a rope around,
now NASA reels it in.
But old folks say they staged it
on a backlot of MGM.
Move over, Mr. President,
No ticker-tape for you.
These boys been lunar after all, man
that golf ball really flew.
We heave hallelujahs hell-high
to the moon-eyed sky.
The moon is heaven’s eye.
You’ve lost again
Ten out of ten
Your talent tries...
who’ll recognize?
You win the truth:
You’ve lost your youth
For the big time
there’s little time...
Stop sinking! Take a breath!
Stop thinking “This is death!”
Clear that mascara
that embarra-
singly dries
on your sorry eyes
Answer each cattle call
Sing them each “Satin Doll”
Regard all catcalls
as just small pratfalls
on your rise
to the starry skies
You fear your friends
You’re near the end
Nothing to trust
But girl, you must...
Stop sinking! Take a breath!
Nothing can kill like death!
Clear that mascara
that embarra-
singly dries
on your sorry eyes
Answer each cattle call
Sing them each “Satin Doll”
Regard all catcalls
as just small pratfalls
on your rise
to the starry skies
Can’t keep gettin screened by your Thought Police
Can’t live my life doin as you please
Can’t have a voice, have a choice!
Won’t see your face and ever rejoice
Won’t shake your hand in your Rolls-a-Royce
Won’t catch the fleas carryin your disease!
I wore all the suits of your biologies
I bore all the fruits of your theologies
I cooled down the rods of your ecologies
What does it take til you acknowledge these?
Back to the wall, Sham-Maker!
Can’t fool us all, Sham-Maker!
Can’t beat myself to death with a wet rat
Can’t live my life watchin you get fat
Can’t sleep, all wet from sour sweat!
Won’t just forget you cloaked me in debt
Won’t kiss yer ass and thats a threat
Won’t lay down flat I aint your welcome mat!
I taught all the tots your tautologies
I bought all your botched ideologies
I sung to the gods your doxologies
Well, here I come looking for apologies!
Back to the wall, Sham-Maker!
Can’t fool us all, Sham-Maker!
(He walks no walks but he talks the talks)
Back to the wall, Sham-Maker!
Can’t fool us all, Sham-Maker!
Where’s my quill? Where’s my satchel bag?
Make haste! Clouds are soon to eat the moon!
Heavens! How will I write?
A star just bloomed and sent my muse a tune.
Curse this broken quill! When will the stars
send us ships full of gifts?
They’ve room for us all
With wheels & wings of fire
they’ll save us from ourselves
Quick, it’s hell down here
Out There---is at the light only the Silent see.
Out There---is always where you can never be.
Boot my pager up and read the ads:
‘Secretaries, too, can Meet the Sun!’
‘Son of Man Seeks Lass’
Press return and punch the password in
locked on log-on, the signal’s jammed
Users keep clogging lines.
there’s space for us all
past where we’ve gone
where we shall overflow,
overthrow, and outgrow
Out There---is that light only the Silent see
Out There---is always where you can never be
Out There---is so designed to let your mind go free
Out There---is always where you can never be
out there is: Paradise, not parasites
Holidays, not squalid days
Out there, no proselytizing pharisee
will dowse your works in kerosene
to sterilize your heresy.
Out there, no one imagines God’s complaints,
and thus commands that sacred paints
be used to clothe your naked saints.
Out There---is that light only the Silent see
Out There---is always where you can never be
Out There---if so inclined you’ll let your mind go free
Out There---is always where you can never be
Good news is not news to you,
not without evil, or pain.
Well, watch out before your life
seeps itself right down the drain.
Soon you'll be a bloodless soul---
bitter tears is all you'll sweat---
groaning over what you got;
sad for what you'll never get.
Kvetch, bitch, and complain all day.
God forbid Life runs its course!
You can't hope without regret.
You don't dream without remorse.
If you only knew your lot,
how it stands in space and time,
you'd be glad for what you got.
You'd see good news ain't no crime.
Amplify trivial events
just to win the pity game.
Shape frustrating incidents
so there's someone you can blame.
Call bearers of all offense
some banal, derisive name.
Hate can make such simple sense:
Those different from you are all the same.
No news is good news no more.
It's all part of their grand plan;
Broadcasting "Killers Roam the Streets!"
helps you fear your fellow man.
That way you will never dare
harvesting a common ground,
joining forces with his flock,
building louder powers with Love's Sound.
And Li’l John says, “Please, Father, tell the Lord that Im regretful for my Sins.” And as the bells peal, he begins to drain his pockets into bins. Says, as he makes his offerings, “As soon as Coin in Coffer rings, Dear Mothers Soul to Heaven springs!”
He interjects, “Please, if I may, take just a moment here to say Im so inspired by the way Our Lord has promised You more Land! Your fine Cathedrals stand so grand! Your Holy Jewels glow on Your Hand! And unless,” he reflects, as his good conscience squirms, “I request to ingest a steady Diet of Worms, I had best do my best to better come to terms with Your Indulgences.”
And dull John says, “will the owner of a Ford who left their lights on, could you please go turn them off?”
You blink and freeze, and in the pew you check your keys because you up and plum forgot just which of your five cars you brought...Oh, good, that’s not yours in the lot. And you get on your knees and pray that your new hair dye hides the gray and that your stocks perform okay.
You don’t come here to question truth. You just need this confession booth
to relive your low-pressure youth.
Ask the priest where he got the fabric for his vestment. Now he knows you think God is just a smart investment. So your soul is all flawed. Surprise! Another testament to your indulgences.
Very obvious, even Ho Chi Minh
could sympathize with the mess I'm in
I'm number-one-son please tell me are you Charlie Chan?
Give me wise proverbials I'm your number one fan
Tired of the cheap towels that scratch my skin
tiny soaps and TV are my only friends
thugs on an ambush spy me through conical eyes
I'm a walking target in a bullseye disguise
Pick it up Pack it up Pack it in my bag again
I'm on the move my new name is Finnegan
Pick it up Pack it up Pistol in my back again
I'm on the news `cuz their closing in again
Closing in on me
I'm no desperado, I am no culprit, I'm no hired hitman ........I'm sick of this
Glass goes flying, bang and crack
my reflection shatters and itÍs luck I lack
I'm framed like a Rembrndt, thatÍs me on a postal wall
thereÍs a one-armed bandit out there and I took his fall
Pick it up Pack it up Pack it in my bag again
I'm on the move my new name is Finnegan
Pick it up Pack it up Pistol in my back again
I'm on the news 'cuz their closing in again.
come on down
to the Bikini Machine
where the Teacher DJ
spins the hits so clean
you can dance
or just make the scene
and there’s no live bands
punchin’ fists through your screen
it’s a gas
it’s a package deal
they’re lining up at the bar
little racks of veal
it’s a blast
where all the world’s a show
where the boys can’t stop
watchin girls go go-go
Go! Go, go go-go, Go!
They’ve got no need to earn
They’ve got money to burn
They’ve got boobs on the brain
Jesus Christ! They’re insane!
They get numb when they smile
They get KUMM on your dial
They get Karl on your marks
ready set go!
They bitch behind your back
They’d kill their family for crack
(They’d kill their family for crack?
Allright, crack!)
They get chills through their toes
When the blue light glows
They put pills through their nose
From the get-go.
come on down
to the Bikini Machine
where the Robo-DJ
spins for euro-teens
champagne spills
on imperial jeans
daddy ‘s check get cashed
meet the Kitten Queens:
Tina was 14
when she married a prince
she had twins in Spain
she aint seen em since
Danielle was 12
when she got hooked on blow
now she wiggle when she walk
but she giggle when she go go GO
Go! Go, go go-go, Go!
They’ve got no need to learn
They’ve got money to burn
They’ve got tubes in the vein
Jesus Christ! They’re insane!
They get numb when they smile
They get come on your dial
They get Karl on your marks
ready set go!
They bitch behind your back
They’d kill their family for crack
They get the world on a plate
but it’s a dish they hate
They hear my tongue like a gun
Tell them how wise they are:
“We’re seven years from the sun
I guess that makes you the star.”
I walk into this party half out of steam,
half in a dream.
“Have fun,” she’d said,
“You might as well be dead
for all I know.” No one was gonna see
the hole from the heaven she stole out of me.
The talk we just had about her handsome new prince
left a taste in my mouth that requires a rinse.
So I sneak down a pint of my Victory Gin.
I take some cues from the news and I spit out a spin.
While my soapbox is latherin’ from the words I say,
well, the folks start a-gatherin’ around. And they stay
while I preach of maggots and their mad masquerade,
and make everyone fret about the mess that they’ve made.
And once every crime has been exhumed and displayed,
I notice they all look ill, and just as dismayed
as me. We’ve all lost hope in Hope itself.
Meanwhile, Beauty’s gone to bathe in the pond.
She’s wading shoulder-deep in the mist,
flirting with a frog on a frond.
He’s waited all his life just for this
---waited for the wave of a wand,
waited for the cure of a kiss.
St. N____ comes to the party with a vision to recount,
rushing from the mount.
He storms in, fresh off it,
with the fervor of a prophet.
Tears flow off his cheek.
He’s got turds for the wicked and words for the weak:
He says, “The Meek shall inherit some bald, sick prize!”
But the clock pickpockets the cause from his eyes,
and he voids his venom about six minutes in.
‘Til he finds us a demon, and calls the loss Sin,
which brings back the fire to his cheeks and his chin.
We brand him “Messiah,” tossin’ tips in his tin,
‘til two hours later we’re converted, convinced.
We’ve survived his cycle some sixty-six times since.
And each time we hanker for that first wave of bliss,
that rush, that sui generis, that primal pure kiss...
...but in the end, we just lose hope in Hope itself.
Meanwhile, Beauty’s gone to bathe in the pond.
She’s wading shoulder-deep in the mist,
flirting with a frog on a frond.
He’s waited all his life just for this
---waited for the wave of a wand,
waited for the cure of a kiss.
I stumble through the party, half-hearing blurbs,
half-hearing her. “Have fun,” she’d said.
“You seem so removed, remote,
you might as well be dead,
for all I care.” It was all she wrote.
It was all I read.
BITE
OFF THE ROSES
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
That twelve-year
old girl sure knows how to flirt.
She gets all her cues from popular noise. She's fond
of that line 'bout "hiking the skirt". She's eager to
blow her future on boys.
Bite off
the roses in my head.
Stuff my pillowcase with lead.
Shove my wings deep underground.
Bite off the roses in my head.
Stuff my pillowcase with lead and shattered things.
Sneak out
with Denise to charm some rich squirt who,
she's sensing, would rather she be someone else.
Moonlight finds them dragging her through the dirt face
up on a skateboard, strapped on by belts.
Fruit flies
in her hair; bile stains on her shirt;
eyes bloodshot through lashes stucco'd with mud;
pinesap on her arm; I.V. starts to spurt.
Nurse says they found .31 in her blood.
Bite off
the roses in my head.
Stuff my pillowcase with lead.
Shove my wings deep underground.
Bite off the roses in my head.
Stuff my pillowcase with lead and tattered slings.
DREAM
A MILLION STARS
hear a roundtable discussion
of these lyrics
The crayons
are being repo'd from cocoons.
The clouds learn to suckle from lead straws.
The crowd gives applause-sign applause.
Signs say
"last chance for gas next 50 miles."
Done waiting for Brothers Someday and Somehow?
I'm ready, and I hope you're willing, the time is now!
So, come out! Let's
dream a million
stars in color!
Who's that
at the Horizon Exchange?
It's Dunce, on his daddy's high horse,
to help steer a rainbow off course.
Signs say
"last gasp for change next 50 miles."
Done waiting for Brothers Someday and Somehow?
I'm ready, and I hope you're willing, the time is now!
Well, come on, and
dream a million
stars in color!
HELLO
SOMEBODY
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
Maybe
I'm going through a phase. Lately I dwell on younger days,
how stars would shine for me, and how it's different for me now
Weren't
folks more easily enthused?
Were they just keeping me amused?
Guess over time the truth is shown, & so now I'm left alone.
Hello somebody Hello anybody
This world,
it loves to pigeonhole,
That way the demons take control
Folks nod their heads but don't embrace the soul behind the face
I'm drinking
solid dusk to dawn
Got no one to depend upon
My only friend's the dial tone
I'm sitting by the phone
Hello somebody Hello anybody
MY LITTLE
MIND
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
My little
mind so snugly fits within this tiny skull at month eleven!
Less room for cheats; for ugly thug's deceits; for brats and boobs on
channel seven.
I will
shine Light to lead the blind.
I'll be fine 'til Hell fucks all the Heaven that is left inside.
Aye! Me
mind! meet your muse at four, when all the world's a backstage banquet!
Hey, little mind! what else, pray tell, is in store? Quick! Before they
teach us Language!
When will
your fancies play the fool? Who'll flay you first with ridicule?
When will you discern they're disinclined to wander through the wonders
you've designed, little mind?
The future's
a trap:
seduces with fables of fortunes that land
on my lap; and maybe a model who'll crave me like fly
on a crap. When, really, I'll either shine shoes with my hand
on my cap, or father some bothersome children and die
of the Clap.
When will
your fancies play the fool? Who'll flay you first with ridicule?
How often will their slaps help me breathe?
When
will it become their way to
blind-side my pride?
Well, wait til I learn to teethe!
All blood-stained white, my flesh, the flag, waves:
I will
shine Light to lead the blind.
I'll be fine 'til Hell fucks all the Heaven that is left inside my
mind.
MAY
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
The only
bugs seems to be these buxom, busy,
breeding bees who appear as charmed as we by
the flowers on your dress. The evening breeze wears
a perfume sweet enough to ask in the room and warm
enough I don't presume it's keeping secrets. It rustles
each of these tree's fleece, each of these tall boys, green
and obese, with their uncombed hair, humming peace
and making me full within. The sun knows only to be serene,
and hasn't learned to scream holes in the screen which lines
this carriage clean and protects this fresh, moist, skin of May.
May. I
know I'll lose you, you're only here one inch out of
every year, and every time you disappear before I learn how
to work your faucets. I wish I could stop these bland etudes
and savor—blessed with an aptitude for full-figured gratitude
—each second, each stitch on your corset, May.
SAIL
YOUR SHIP BY (unlockable song on Guitar Hero 1)
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
When I
met you, you were off course.
Fate's winds blew you to my sand.
You said, "My! What beauty lies here!"
but you just needed some dry land.
you hired
hands to recruit me.
but them uniforms don't suit me.
Well, if Dumbshit You donŐt care
to give something new a try,
just sail your ship by.
Found you
storm-tossed, off the whale's roads,
seaweed-necklaced, all soiled and green.
Led you uphill. I fed you plenty.
Your mates drank with my best fifteen.
But once
you saw you wouldn't rule me
you pulled out all the stops to fool me,
with flattery only to confound me.
Then deflowered all the bounty!
Look, if you're too scared to bear
to open one spare blue eye,
just sail your ship by.
Oh, look
at you! Look at you! You dress like a pirate! a devil!
Well, I work another level
some might call higher. But I ain't talking height.
I've just found fire's better used for light.
Heads up, all you bankrolled babes, here's a beam to blast your astrolabes!
And if you dare not even spare
One minute bare spot in your mind...
...sail your ship by.
MARIGOLD
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
You and
I are one
in fear of loneliness
and danger of neglect.
We're apt
to wither in distress.
Cold rush of water fills
this rusted tin of corn
and all to risk a prick
from your neighbor Rose's thorn.
Come on,
Marigold, where's that geekish grace?
The moon is mute and cold.
Let your sweet breath fill the space.
Soon you
will bloom into
a woman, pure and royal.
You'll be released for good
from the black prison of this soil.
I'll show you to the streams.
We'll run through woods and moors
'til you can smell the sea.
Watch the tides embroider shores.
Come on,
Marigold, when will the sun replace
your leaves with arms to hold,
and your petals with a face?
They placed
you on the sun-drenched side
and whispered while the earth around you dried.
Your throat quenched only 'cause you cried.
While everything you'd grown up with had died.
All you had had died.
Come on,
Marigold, where's that geekish grace?
The gods are growing old!
Tell me when can we embrace?
BEHOLD
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
This tale's
been told a time or two
but I keep forgetting how it ends
My crystal ball is consistently wrong
sometimes it's better not to stare
I sink and sit on the ocean floor
come up to fast and get the bends
Behind
disguise, I find you and
Beyond surprised, I'm caving in
Behold, what lies beneath the seen
Life turns
like a mouse on a track
We're blindfolded that's the twist
Our epic clutters up the cutting room floor
Imagined moments disappear
Nosferatu in a green fright wig
I can't believe we ever kissed
Behind
disguise, I find you and
Beyond surprised, I'm caving in
Behold, what lies beneath the seen
SCHIZOID
ASTROPLANE
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
Hey, gurl!
Your backyard's tight, as runways go. But I landed fine.
Allow me to introduce myself. I'm from that star there.
Don't go
calling the Police. Don't shriek & run & hide.
I only come in Peace, inviting you inside my Schizoid Astroplane.
Step inside my Schizoid Astroplane.
Hey, gurl! I watched you from beyond the clouds and my cockpit dials took me straight here. (Prob'ly should get that fixed.) Take it as a sign.
Look, if
I can't satisfy, I'll get you back by dawn.
But if you never try, you'll regret it when I'm gone.
Step inside my Schizoid Astroplane.
Hey! Flight
attendants hold the cabin doors! Gurl, check out the plus-size carpeting!
Sorry, no seats left. Hope this bed will do!
Captain's
singing "Westward Ho!" We've got the amps on ten, and the sunrise in
tow!
Your future's where we've been!
Step inside
my Schizoid Astroplane. Step inside. Come in. Come in my plane.
It's such a ride, come in my astroplane.
DID
YOU DECIDE YET?
hear a roundtable discussion
of these lyrics
You've
always lent an ear
for all his suffering.
Now, what's the value, dear,
for all he's offering?
And now, as you support
his dimebag martyrdom,
this road looks nothing like
the one you started from.
How long
til you decide
you need to stop the ride?
Why do you still wait for a sign?
Why can't you just make up your mind?
Or someday you'll wake up to find
it's too late to make up your mind.
You're
always back and forth
between the cold and warm.
This rollercoaster ride
has now become the norm.
You wear the right perfume.
You dress the way he likes.
You know to leave the room
once his dark thunder strikes.
How long
can you ignore
your love's too much like war?
Why do you still wait for a sign.....
You let
your martyr trap you into climbin' on
his lap just to lick upon his sap?
Did you pull upon his strap just to widen up his cap?
Did you like it when he snap at you?
Waitin for a slap are you?
'til he beat the crap outta you?
You make
a wrong move? You don't lose,
not if your game was true.
You make a right move? Well, you win.
So let the games begin.
MAN
27 DIES SLEEPWALKING
hear a roundtable
discussion of these lyrics
(AP) Silence
throws its spread across this April dawn.
Its cotton coating soaks up dyes of the morning dew.
Sunlight
shows its head to choirs of water drops.
Its wealth of hours warming this cold and golden morning, reassuring
and informing,
"No white wind will be storming for a long time."
Spider
sews his thread atop this leaf, his lawn.
He crawls, a big and black umbrella with his legs open wide.
And you
wish a closer viewing, but your six short legs aren't moving.
Now the spider's silk is spooling over you.
Why do you shudder?
Don't you feel a thing anymore?
Don't you feel yourself shudder?
Don't you? Don't you feel?
Siren crows, "He's dead!"
throughout these concrete crops, winds slowly to a stop at his six-story
drop.
The tired city clears its eyes of the morning dew.
HEAVEN'S
BALLOON
hear a roundtable discussion
of these lyrics
god imagine
me upon your dream
not prohibited a love supreme
thrilled to be transmuted by pure steam
filled until I can't command a seam
but when
it's the same
and I can't tell the moon
"come bear the blame"
and no other kind cocoon
can share the shame
of a wasted afternoon,
who'll carry me the way that you call home?
god imagine
me released from this
substance there replaces artifice
buried in the bosom of pure bliss
married to the wisdom of your kiss
but when
melting waves
turn shoreline frost to froth
and no eighth heart saves
the mother of the moth
and no ghost engraves
the cross upon the cloth
who'll carry me the way that you call home?
For roundtable discussions of the Little Minds lyrics check out the MP3 page
RADIUM EYES (2006, single only)
(an unlockable song on Guitar Hero 2 performed by Count Zero)
Merry is the man
with money in his hand
with grease between the wheels
and lamps in his latrine
and stacks of fresh towels for his wet hands
Counting up all his toys
Draining tent fire from the neighbors
Sermons from soldier boys
like our young cadet
whose lords require sweat
til Spain is on its ass
surrend’ring Philippines
He‘s stuck in ruts wearing lead pants
buried chest-deep in a Maginot
Wondering when he'll touch flesh again
next chance he gets, he must tell her:
“Oh, you've got Radium eyes”
He can see his girl
with temporary curls,
Her doorbell fetching maid,
pour fêtes a la piscine
but she’s working, changing the bedpans
in cities where none but daughters roam
Stretchers fill ev'ry cathedral
tarpaulins drip from each broken dome
“You've got Radium eyes”
Day meets night in your eyes.
“Oh, you've got Radium eyes”
SHAKE (2007, downloadable song for RockBand)
(come on, shake)
Thought I had you pegged: On the prowl for men who look money. You’d find one, delight his eye. He’d bite, you’d pull the reel in. He’d buy a round of drinks. All your friends would blink in envy.
Instead, you headed straight for me, dragged me gratefully to the floor, and said: “Let’s see you shake!”
“Look, I’d believe this if you came here more on your own accord. Not just to win a bet with yourself. Or a ring. Not just to seize the tension, or be adored.
“See, at 19, to be a wiser boy, I hid beneath the radar’s range. I met sisters who, with hearts destroyed, made all men look like junked John Waynes.
“Since no cries of Ecstasy have convinced me, I’ve no idea what it’s gonna take to change this mindset I’ve had ever since and can’t seem to shake.”
And you replied: “Hell, let’s both un-zip our souls, and run through fields with the goat-hoofed gods, and swim, all star-lit, in lonesome lakes.”
And I said “Right! How long you think the ride there’s gonna take?”
(Shake up. Shake Down. Shake Up. Shake Down. Shake...somehow.)
Album: Robots Anonymous
Lyric Descriptions
1. Roach Motel
Main characters and their roles:
A rich guy (Mr Pennycounter) and some poor guy who works for him
Concept of the lyric:
Poor guy is sick of being the rich man's slave
Inspiration came from...:
The poor and middle class in the US are making about the same money they were in the 1960's, adjusted to inflation. The rich, however, are making 75 times more money than they were in the 1960's, adjusted to inflation. The working class doesn't seem to mind. Odd.
2. Bachelor #3
This is a mini-play between a bunch of characters. I made a script out of it once, when I thought it'd be a great video, and it's on our website, that would help explaing things a bit:
http://www.count-zero.com/CZ-Lyrics.html#bachelor
It's based on a TV game show from the 1970's called "The Dating Game," in which a single girl would listen to three different bachelors, who were onstage but hidden from her, describe why she should date them over the other bachelors. The game show host would ask questions of both her and the prospective bachelors. Here, Bachelor #3's a macho, misogynistic asshole. But she falls for him, as does the rest of the viewing audience, as represented by the family who's watching the TV show at home. And the daughter in this family is fantasizing herself in the future as the Dating Game contestant, being married to a guy like bachelor #3, and how wonderful that would be.
So in these lyrics I'm examining why women (and everyone, really) like bombastic asshole males.
3. Moon 69 (most lyrics by Will)
Sung from the perspective of a pompous US citizen, this songs is about the race between Russia and America in the 1960's to be the first people on the moon. US did it first, in 1969, thus the song title. Brezhnev was Russia's leader in the 60s and 70s. Laika was the first living creature, a monkey, put into space by Russia. "Bailey" is a reference to the Jimmy Stewart character who offered to "throw a rope around the moon" for his girl in "It's a Wonderful Life".
4. Starry Skies
The protagonist (the person singing the song) is comforting an actress friend of his who is struggling to make it in the theatre business.
5. Sham Maker
Concept of the lyric: About living under the rule of a bad political leader. He is a Sham Maker, one who makes "shams", or lies, that everyone believes. And everybody does the bullshit he asks.
Inspiration came from...: hating President Bush (the first one, not the current one, who I dislike even more!).
6. Out There
Main characters and their roles:
The first verse is a character from the 18th century, who is frustrated by his tools that don't work (quill pen with a broken tip) that prevents him from writing his beautiful words.
The second verse is a character from the 22nd century, who is frustrated by his tools that don't work (a communicator that can't operate due to clogged bandwidth).
Concept of the lyric: Both of them wish for a world elsewhere ("there's space for us all...out there") that will save them from their current imperfect world. The 18th man's is more like a "heaven" concept, the future guy's thinking more of another planet, with less people on it, that would be ideal. Of course, that wouldn't really solve much, but they don't need to know that.
Inspiration came from...: Probably the fact that my machines always break! And that technology, even when much simpler, also failed us, and that's a part of life.
7. Good News
Inspiration came from...: The fact that everyone is always complaining about stupid things...including me! These lyrics were written in 1998, when the US economy was doing much better than usual, and it seemed that it's just human nature to complain, no matter how good things are. And it's not all our fault...the line about how the media broadcasts "killers roaming the streets" is about how the news media feeds us a steady diet of fear and violence because it keeps us watching, which keeps them selling the show to advertisers, which makes somebody somewhere wealthier. So it makes people fear their neighbors. And we never really get "good news!" I'm not sure I look at it quite so simply now, but that's the way I saw it ten years ago when I wrote these.
8. Indulgences
Main characters and their roles:
Again, like "Out There," the characters are from different points in history.
Concept of the lyric: The first verse character is from the 15th century, when church-going Catholics were encouraged to pay "indulgences" to the Church. "Indulgences" were when a church-going individual would pay the priest alms, or money, so the priest would ask special favor of God to reassign that individual's dead relative from Purgatory to Heaven. Therefore, "as soon as coin in coffer rings, dear Mother's soul to Heaven springs" was a common phrase spoken by churchgoers around this time.
The second verse's character is from 1998, when the lyrics were written. He/she is a wealthy modern churchgoer, with five cars. So the word "Indulgences" takes on a different meaning. This individual's reason for attending Church is to ensure protection of their investments, their material goods, their youth; quite a contrast to the poor, pious churchgoer of the first verse.
Inspiration came from...: I'm an atheist, but I believe I was a Catholic monk in a previous life. And I think when I visit an ancient cathedral or monastery, I feel the humility that a monk or a poor medieval peasant may have felt. The structure would have been by far the most beautiful, resplendent building in my village, and probably that I would ever see in my life. It would have convinced me of the absolute power of God, without a doubt. And I contrast that to now, when humans of all walks of life can see and experience so many awe-inspiring wonders that are not from the hand of God. If I were rich, and religious, I think I'd feel the way the character in the second verse feels, and the motivation to have faith would be similar to that.
9. Finnegan (by Will)
Main characters and their roles: A government agent that has been double-crossed and is now on the run under an assumed name
Concept of the lyric: Wanted to create the feeling of constantly being chased and looking over one's shoulder. He is perhaps pursued by the government and enemy agents and never knows who to trust
Inspiration came from...: Spy thrillers and Alfred Hitchcock themes of the innocent man accused and on the lam
10. go Go GO
Main characters and their roles: Euro-trash teens at a dance club.
Spoken mainly from the point of view of a bystander at a dance club, observing the people and the eternal rituals of young mating humans
Concept of the lyric: Boys go to clubs to dance with girls so they can have sex with them later. Girls go to clubs to do drugs that the boys provide. Rich euro-trash kids drink champagne and waste their parents money and live hedonistic aimless lives and all act like they're the center of the universe.
Inspiration came from...: Many of the live rock music clubs in Boston around the time I wrote this were closing and re-opening as DJ dance music clubs. This saddened me, as it seemed people didn't want any more "live bands punching fists through your screen" and instead just wanted the same canned euro-disco.
11. Cure of a Kiss
Both verses are long and wordy and involve someone thinking they have all the answers to life's mysteries and miseries, but all they do is end up confusing things. They are meant to contrast with the simplicity of the chorus.
The first verse, the protagonist is disgruntled about his relationship going sour. So he goes to a party, gets drunk, and starts blabbering about everything that's wrong in the world and just ends up making everyone listening to him sad.
The second verse, a prophet-type gets his audience all riled up, ranting about all the evils in the world, and who's to blame for them. But he, too, just disappoints everyone in the end.
The chorus ("Beauty's gone to bathe in the pond...") jolts us out of these meandering verses to remind us to instead focus on life's simple pleasures, such as a kiss.