I stand inside your
halls of dirt and wonder
at the processes which
bring me here

All the cash is gone
three states away and
yet, here I stand, among
hollowed pockets in these
unhallowed halls of dirt

the stench is thick but
I cover my face with
a fresh, clean T-shirt
(poly-cotton blend)
as I stand in your lines
and I count the ways
that every fucking dime
I leave with you could
drop so easily in a Coinstar
machine, or slide quite
neatly in to my piggy bank

But no,
you’ll take care
of the banking
for me

Here in your halls of
dirt, I stand and wonder,
but I smile. After unfolding
bills and signing paper
I will go back to my shitty car
and drive it to a basement show
and then I’ll play some guitar
and you know, you can’t
charge me in guitars. The rest
is only money. Dig deep
the pit you put it in,
here in your halls of dirt

Kansas City
boy I’d love to shuffle down in
Kansas City
play them heartland blues and
shit, I’ll maybe hit a
jam or two

yeah,
Kansas City
that’s just where I’d want to be
where Bird still Lives
and thrills are cheap and music’s free
and Kansas City bound
I think I’ll be

Suffering
underneath the weight of a
broken remote control.

Life is hard
damn it, and I’ve earned
the right, damn
it, and I’ll
have this Television on
under it’s own power

or someone else’s
as long as I
can sit,
right here.
Life’s hard,
damn it.
I’ve earned the right.

There’s a crick in my neck
reminds me
of all the cricks in my neck
I’ve had before
but I’ll still sleep on that pillow
because it’s still my favorite pillow
and I’ll sleep on your shitty couch
(I swore I’d never sleep on it
again)

and when
you wake me
accidentally
I’ll let it slide this time
just like I let it slide last time
just like it slides most every time
and I’ll be cussing at your couch
and rubbing out this damn
crick in my neck

body aches
enough to stop the
music? No
hardly enough to
stop the musician

How am I to speak your name
when I can’t even spell it
and this always ends up just the same
as every other silly game
and barring fortune, luck or fame
I’m sure I’ll lose everything on it.

But it’s Ashley,
right?

I know three fellas
aint got a line to walk
aint got a line to talk
neither
but they’re walkin’
and talkin’
and damned if they ain’t
brand knew! But they are
and they’re fakin’ it
and they’re makin’ it
and baby, that’s just fine
‘cuz some fellas just aint
meant to talk no stuff
or walk no lines

There is no final destination
on this itinerary
but if the
choice is
be tween
marking an X on the map
and riding someone else’s bus
why friend,
I think I’ll joyride
for the rest of my long life

I watched you fall
from the top of the world
to the bottom of the barrel

I heard the wet thud
as you struck the wooden floor
your body splayed out
and there you lay

Then blood started pooling
at the bass of your haired cranium
your fingers curled forevermore
and there you lay

I watched you fall
from the top of the world
to the bottom of the barrel
and I didn’t try to catch you

Your mother would be proud, you know?
I told her all about it
and she’s written back a letter
said she’s on a train this weekend
gonna see you on a Sunday
with a bonnet and a bible
and she’ll take you out to dinner
while her gaze grabs you like fingers
and she’ll ask you all about her
when you’ll bring her ’round to meet
and you’ll say all the pretty things
you know she wants to hear
but all the while she’s just staring
her eyes grabbing you like fingers
and you’ll swear you think you’re finished
as she’ll catch another train
and just as soon as she came in
she’s out of town and life again
and she’s really very proud, you know?

the tank parked in the driveway
tells a story that we know too well
but parties on a Friday night
just seem to swing and swell until
the house’s beams burst through the seams
and timmy’s lost but there’s no well
and we can’t hear the shouts and screams
so turn the tables up a bit
the tank’s been idling all night long:
I guess we’ll never call it quits

these cough drops hardly ease the pain
you put me through you put me through
I’ll never understand again
or talk to you or talk to you
I hear excuses day and night
it never seems quite worth the fight
I really only want to be
just a bit less confused
but really I just feel I need
to talk to you, to talk to you

Sure, that walk
ain’t so bad
but a block and a
half through two
feet of snow in
tennis shoes
still makes wet
feet

Of course, if it’s
a walk back home
you can always
change your socks
to dry ones

Existence has been ripped
to shreds
all decadence, been torn
asunder
all the worriers put
to bed
coroners sliding back
their covers
clockwork clicking near
to dead
comfort pillows now to
smother
remember what the wise
men said
we’ve lost ourselves but
found eachother

make me
make my
fingers move
oh, make it
make it so
so I can
make the
music, make
the sounds
I made so
long ago
again, just
make me
make my
fingers move
oh make it
make it
so

God and
Greed and
Johnny Dubya
and the Devil
and crying over
SPILT MILK
and crying over
Dead Friends
and everyone
)I mean everyone(
can sit so
high and migh
ty and it’s
sickening
but noone’s
sick enough and
then there’s that
one person gone
and all but for
gotten (forgiv
en) sitting somewhere
too far north to
even think about
but shit, it’s all
a waste of breath
and Mr. Hugo
was right. It’s
time for me
and everyone
)I mean everyone(
to just stop bitching
for just a little
while.

It was at a
restaurant
some other friends
were with me
when you called
and I remember every
little thing you said
and shit, it’s tough
when I look back
and wonder just
how much you really
spewed your bullshit.

I have not found
the bottom of that barrel,
and I’m confident
I never really will.

Nobody really knows, but I’ll tell you
‘way to be’
when you slide one past the radar
and the folks all know just who you are
and every little
piece of your
(fragmented)
personalities are scattered
like plastic cups after a party
and they see you
yeah, they see you
and they know you
(they don’t know you)
but I’ll tell you
every time you think you snuck one right past me
yeah, I’ll tell you
every god damned time
I’ll tell you
‘way to be’

I hope the boys with trumpets
roll through Monday.

We’ll let ’em swing.
Yeah, that dixieland
that ol’ big band
we’ll let ’em swing.

The cymbals splish
splashing and the
bass just pounding
and I hope the boys with
trumpets come
‘cuz man, we’ll let ’em swing

By the pocketful
by the absolute bucket
there is forward motion
via funnel and pump
and adding machine
there is forward motion
from the spinning wheels
and thrusting pistons
and jet engines on passenger ships
though the dirigible has long since
been abandoned
there is forward motion
leaving animals behind
leaving modest means askew
leaving fresh air as a
commodity
there is forward motion

Let’s take a few steps back.