1. |
Main Street Milky Way
05:25
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Everlasting stars paint a halo, Over the Earth bound angel, That walks the wonders of the ever ending streets of mankind, Thru the cries of the homeless hero, To the address of the famous zero, These sleep walking dreams and donors do work and wind.
So the beauty of a billion stars and a hundred billion more with light on the way, Turns the tongue inside out in search of the rapture that words just don’t know how to say.
Main Street, Main Street, Main Street Milky Way.
In the broken hearted moonlight, She figures the full night, And the wingless have their way with the run of the ground, Hydraulic dawn makes its circuit, In the wake of the garbage men who work it, Before the vision can penetrate the night’s curtain the world has come alive in sound.
The hopeless reborn everyday to the forced light of the immaculate morning, Some living in whispers some dying with the crash; others flushed in the warning.
Main Street, Main Street, Main Street Milky Way.
Adams to Zimmerman feed the new light, Each his own version of the lost night, She drifts like the smell of coffee thru the house of morning, The ancient rhythm of her waking, The life of her lifetime in the making, Nature’s slow flower blossoms of the ethereal friction of time aborning.
Traffic slowly leaks out onto the endless avenues hoping to find its way, Thru all the deadlines and destinations does anyone stop and ask is it really just another day.
Main Street, Main Street, Main Street Milky Way.
So the beauty of a billion stars and a hundred billion more with light on the way, Turns the tongue inside out in search of the rapture that words just don’t know how to say.
Main Street, Main Street, Main Street Milky Way.
Jan. 04
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2. |
Two Losers in a Fight
04:38
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Does it matter who starts a fight if no one is willing to finish it, Blame just follows guilt it doesn’t diminish it, Trying with a kind of alchemy to make the means justify no end, And this enemy has done more for your sense of purpose than any friend, The crowd that had gathered around got bored after ten thousand punches, Homicide bomber; suicide victim; double crossed by their hunches.
Two losers in a fight, Two losers don’t make a right.
Everyone has their opinion; maybe they’ll kill each other, Both of them their father’s son; neither one claimed by their mother, Ask them what they're fighting for and they both try to grab the same reason, Same fistful of dirt in their hands; same scripture of treason, They're willing to fight to the life; not willing to split half a death, The same girl that waits for the both of them is about to faint from holding her breath.
Two losers in a fight, Two losers don’t make a right.
The simple fact of the matter is that fighters just love to fight, You can’t know that you are wrong when you believe that you are right, So let this soil just be your grave and never your sweet bed, For you will never feel your heart while your enemy numbs your head.
Two losers in a fight, Two losers don’t make a right.
Right is just the opposite of wrong.
Feb. 04
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3. |
Song About a Girl
05:02
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In every instant of every age there seems to be nothing but trouble in the world, But this it not a song about the witless woe of the world, This is a song about a girl.
She is the wonder of my fugitive life, My spiritual bride; my earthly wife, Her golden hair captures the sunset's beauty, There is a rainbow in her eyes only I can see, I just watch her move across the room; I’m hypnotized, Just drinking in her grace oh how much I’ve realized, If not for her I may have never really known love's flavor, Now her sweet kisses I hoard and savor.
Oh my love we both know how the words are a poor substitute, But all is to say; I love you.
Her skin is a world to me, This secret kingdom mine where I am free, A ten year troubadour I am of her song, My love no matter what; no matter who; we were never wrong, They say forever is a long time; well I hope this true, Forever would be just an empty box of time without you, My tongue will never tire of telling how beautiful you are, My hostess of Heaven; my nearest star.
My love you make the whole of the weary world new, And all is to say; I love you.
Her lips make poetry of everything she says, I wanna be their only food I must confess, She is the soul of my conscience and all things right and true, My best advice; she will always pull me thru, She’s in my thoughts every moment of the waking day, Delivers my dreams at night in her own unrivaled way.
You are my one constant; my everyday proof of goodness in the world, Everything you do is a wonder for my witness my beautiful girl, And when my little life finds its end it will not have been in vain, If I made you happy then let that be my everlasting fame.
I say it everyday by task but I say it true, All is to say; I love you.
Jan. 28 04
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4. |
As She Goes
03:50
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She suffers from her sense of direction, At the mercy of the weather's affection, And the days of our un-naming whisper of her timeless libido, From the delicacy of moon howling grace, To the swamp of thought behind her face, And it's god’s own porch light that gives her this ghostly albedo.
Vessel of dark symmetries that nobody knows, Spreading light and logos as she goes.
Nocturnal callings brace her to the days, Baptized in the river of the ways, Freedom natures only doctrine; mankind a slave to many, A false Armageddon drives her rumor of cure, Believers are held to task; only confusion is pure, Dreamers are given their leftover sleep lust if any.
Teller of all secret nations that everybody knows, Spilling rain and ruin as she goes.
Order is truth and she the medium, The only point in this pointless tedium, And the chaos of misunderstanding will throw worlds into the deathless night, Her religion from the book of reason, Her sense from the logic of season, From the heat of heavens into your being; from your eyes her grace is a fixture of light.
The soulful shape of the stranger that anybody knows, Giving naught and notion as she goes.
March 04
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5. |
Life in Between
05:02
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She buried her sweet body outside the context of time, And like a necrophiliac you hunt the tongue of this rhyme, You’ve just got to know everything you believe, You will raise her from the dead or go to her grave and grieve.
Dusting your memories and telling them what to mean, Losing the sermon of the life in between.
Oxygenated warm blood swims thickly thru the veins, Hopeless spring; summer's carriage and the winter still remains, Your foot falls on the dreams footprints to the kingdom hall, But it’s a psychosomatic itch; dream and all.
It takes vision to really paint a proper scene, Or you’ll leave out the chronic detail of the life in between.
The toil and the trouble run deeper than the wells of midnight, You feel like a negative print undone by the light, All the focused motion of the world; just a politic of confusion, So you shadow-paint the real and wonder the illusion.
And your bottomless being brought to the surface by the rush of caffeine, Fumbles thru a living void of the life in between.
Her sweet body; to hold with all the definition of a dream, Sleeping and dying thru the life in between.
Jan. 04
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6. |
Flightless Dreams
03:55
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Mama I don’t wanna fly no more, Mama I don’t wanna fly no more, The winds too hard to fight and the sky is a bore, Mama I don’t wanna fly no more, Mama I just wanna crash this dream, Mama I just wanna crash this dream, Just let it drift into the midnight steam, Mama I just wanna crash this dream.
Mama I just wanna know what for, Mama I just wanna know what for, I wanna cut right thru to the bloody core, Mama I just wanna know what for, Mama I just wanna ease this pain, Mama I just wanna ease this pain, I'm tired of soaking up this stinging rain, Mama I just wanna ease this pain.
Mama I just wanna see my light, Mama I just wanna see my light, I wanna rip the flesh from this gutless night, Mama I just wanna see my light, Mama I just wanna feel my bread, Mama I just wanna feel my bread, I wanna chase these false prophets from my head, Mama I just wanna feel my bread.
Mama I just wanna find your nest, Mama I just wanna find your nest, I wanna lay my head on your sweet breast, Mama I just wanna find your nest.
Dec. 03
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7. |
Animals and Angels
06:51
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I will not suffer gladly for the penance of the wing, The animal must validate his hunger, Humbled silence whispers sage but cannot say a thing, A desire goes blank as the blood grows younger, The elements grow weary of the strain of Heaven's weight, The construct is a reference to this bearing, Sky is all fireworks and shooting stars when the angel's mate, The animal struck dumb in wonder staring.
Heart pumped worlds grow weary in the chase of orbit's tail, Surviving on the crumbs of life’s token, Bated with dumb reason when the strut of time does fail, And the statuary of this life lies broken, Illusory skies beckon with the chanting of the lot, Animals fight in temples of creation, Lost to all that tooth and nail can divine from this plot, Vested in the power of sensation.
Animals and angels and Heaven's dream of Earth is on the cusp of waking, Doom and glory twinned in rapture's question; the oneness made flesh in this aching, Buildings forged of words corrupt the flight path of the angel's deliberate wing, As the animal tries to take his feeble growl and make it sing, The sky is Heaven's warning of the brutal ground and its wing-crushing catch, And how must you deliver grace to this wingless; dreamless and tooth-fed wretch, Stuck in habit worship and the vivid plainness of the flesh and its decay, There is no tread that does not lay intent on the dumb truth of the manufactured way.
I will not be crushed beneath this endless depth of sky, Hung in gravity upon this alter, Encrypted dreams that only bring the dreamer a new why, In choice-divine he is left to falter, The ceaseless ceremony of the clawing at the dirt, Living down the burden of the meaning, He fumbles with the keys of Cain and the duty of his hurt, While all of Heaven’s host is drunk and leaning.
I do not know the reference for the coin of the days, The angels bait the paradox of motion, Habit of direction qualifies as the way, Fantasy goes drowning for the ocean, When the sky is grounded upon the animal's tired back, And angels tread the path of his making, The inventory taken then of all that he does lack, Will humble angels to give what they’ve been taking.
Dec. 03-Jan. 04
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8. |
Barbie's First Flight
05:40
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In the shadows of the building's of Babylon, The only light you can read is neon, She studied the sign until it made some kind of pathetic sense, And the game show host he’s such a charmer, He looks so handsome in his armor, And she feels like she’s arrived in the perfect present tense.
She had wings but didn’t realize she didn’t know how to fly, But oh what a view when you’re poised on that ledge, She was just born to believe she could never die, But the sky is your master once you’ve made a pilot's pledge.
See what the substance of this symbol can yield, Because we don’t create we just build, They translate her beauty to the stuttering cold touch of brail, Now she discovers her pride is inedible, Her only faith spent on the incredible, And the potential income of the aftermarket value of the holy grail.
She had wings but didn’t realize she didn’t know how to fly, And ironically reality is the new sensation, So here’s your bullet; your target is the sky, Nothing is as beautiful as the amorphous bulk of temptation.
Now she’s prying for what she use to wish for, A virgin with the conscience of a whore, But this sacrifice just demands innocence not purity, So with a lovely smile for the executioner, Not even the cliff can disillusion her, Proud to be a servant to the master of obscurity.
She had wings but didn’t realize she didn’t know how to fly, Thought she was a taker taking didn’t realize she was a buyer buying, Success and failure the twin poles of ambition when all you can really do is try.
And she hit the ground before she realized she wasn’t flying.
Feb. 04
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9. |
Unknown Soldier
06:12
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Unknown soldier buried in the bush, Unknown soldier it’s not just news to you, He has stared into the blank eyes of hate, We cannot know his forsaken soul.
Unknown soldier sleeping with your pain, Unknown soldier your children never born, Deathbed marriage; bullet breeds with bone, A victim's prelude and a hero's epitaph.
Unknown soldier your name is all we have, Unknown soldier a rifle for your grail, Did you suffer the doubt that riddles war, Did you wonder if right was your might.
Unknown soldier; murdered or killed, Unknown soldier; cold to the price, What were your dreamings; your dateless worlds, Politics of blood have drained your heart.
Unknown soldier rest with your reason, Unknown soldier die not in vain, And if it turns out you did indeed, We’ll not stain your memory with this god damned shame.
Feb. 04
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10. |
The Why and the Woe
02:15
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It takes half my soul just to get out of bed, I feel like the body of the ghost in my head, I just can’t make sense of this day-after-day, I followed the leader when he lost his way.
Well I try and I try and I try and I try, I cry and I cry and I cry, My life has gone by, I don’t even know why, Woe is me.
It takes my best aim just to fake this shot, I can only find answers to what this is not, The girl of my dreams she won’t let me sleep, I’m just sowing a seed that I’ll never reap.
Well I try and I try and I try and I try, I cry and I cry and I cry, My life has gone by, I don’t even know why, Woe is me.
The life of a man is just pain and toil, You try to grow food from this weary soil, From the moment we see we realize we are blind, The things that we seek are the things we can’t find.
Well I try and I try and I try and I try, I cry and I cry and I cry, My life has gone by, I don’t even know why, Woe is me.
Jan. 04
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11. |
Apocalypse Jones
03:54
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He’s part owner of the street and may god bless you for your dimes, He is a proud connoisseur of these palpable end times, A little wild-eyed and scary looking but he would never hurt anyone, Just wants you to know god is your savior and he sent his only son.
Apocalypse Jones told Mr. Smith, Life is like a little bird you found; fallen from its nest, You must give it back to its creator but first you cradle it in your breast.
Sometimes he’s divine inspiration but most the time just nonsense, He talks about the righteous future in a precious past tense.
There’s no one left who can remember why he doesn’t have a home, Some say his woman died and after the funeral he just started to roam.
Apocalypse Jones told Bonnie Brown, Love is a perfect day but the weather man he sends the rain, Anyone living under the sky must live with the beauty of the pain.
Always mumbling to himself or some unseen witness divine, Staring off into the yonder not sure if that’s a signpost or a sign, He goes down to the river's edge even though he’s terrified by the rush of the flow, That supple; tenuous; tragedy of motion is all a man can know.
Apocalypse Jones told Mr. Whatever, The mind is an angel the body is the beast; know what you’re doing, Count your blessings before your curses lest the world bait your ruin.
Feb. 04
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12. |
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The world is a beautiful woman that doesn’t even know I exist, And I’m still some little boy lost to the point of all of this, I just don’t care about where tomorrow is taking its ride, Or picking bloody diamonds off the sidewalk from a crashed Wall Street bride.
But I want to believe in something; oh something that can deliver me, I know what I’m looking at but I don’t know what I’m supposed to see.
The sky is a bleeding barrier to the heavens soft design, The stars proof of the light beyond for which the Earth bound angel does pine, But this is not some dreamer's definition; this is flesh and clock, Sick-souls and mercy-boats dashed upon the rock.
But I want to believe in something; oh something that can salvage me, The blank script of the everlasting now is the mere burden of my memory.
She is the desert on my lips; let her be the river for I can drink her, From her actions I must infer the thought that built the thinker, A boy studying pictures of perfect women from a hopeless room, He’s just dreaming up the details of his masterpiece of doom.
But I want to believe in something; oh something that can believe in me, And pictures of perfect women are the stuff of apathy.
Feb. 04
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13. |
Rebuilding Babylon
05:06
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This petty day-labor will make a ghost of a man, Turn him into the beast from which he ran, Unmated steel and stone; precarious agent divine, Wait the meaning into what the architect does define.
What looks like ruins are really the parts in play for the rebuilding, Deliberate landscape the omnipotent victim of history unyielding.
Oh the mess of this construction dump can strain the vision, I’d like to leave this place for awhile and then come back and see the great city.
Nicene engines chant the dogma of ruthless revival, Tuneless bravado for this mandate of survival, Foundation of the ages; augmented tasteless times, Precognitive graveyard of incidental context crimes.
A man can be so lost in this psychosomatic deliverance of fate, He knows not where to find the self in the jury of the state.
The automatic making can leave the soul in a place unmade, I’d like to leave this place for awhile and then come back and see the great city.
So this faith based construct overloads the senses, Under this world ending weight the Earth winces, It is the snake nubile in its new skin, The wreck of Eden; the dire feed of the next has been.
If man is meant immortal well let him butcher so he may build, And if he will be a stranger’s child to meaning let him remain unskilled.
Rebuilding Babylon can turn the quest into the eternal question, I’d like to leave this place for a while.
April. 04
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14. |
The First Song
05:16
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From the inborn faith in the everlasting stars, A voice is conjured from the soul of guitars, The first lonely howl trying to sync to heartbeat's time, A tangle of wonder and awe seeking its patron in rhyme.
The first song was all being trying to fix its place in time, We still try to cover that first song.
The carnival and pageant of season and sky, The inevitable curse of the why oh why, She is like a planet starved in her own ecstasy, The voice of every hope every dream every world myth that could ever be.
The first song was all being trying to touch what it did feel, We still try to feel that first song.
The suffering soul divined and released in melody, And this clock placed sentiment echoes infinity, The move and the shake before rhythm knew its name, A universal audience before the diva knew her fame.
The first song was sung for the rapture of the singing, If we could only know the words to the first song, If we could only tune our voice to the first song, If we could only sing the soul of the first song.
April 04
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Michael McGuire Nashville, Tennessee
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