1. |
Characters
03:38
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It’s just a joke,
but the joke was on me.
Out of phrase, but in time
with how I ought to be,
and why take yourself so seriously?
It’s just a year off,
and it’s just some city
for romantics and nobodies,
and your characters.
They come and they go when it suits your fancy.
All these characters
are one hell of a joke
and that joke is on me.
Now that I’ve learned
not to sleep where you drink for free,
I think I’ll move back
and follow through to some degree.
For now,
I’ll stay at home,
call some friends and pretend
that I’ve got a black cat
to procure bad omens.
‘Cause she don’t do ‘er dishes.
I’d mind but the roaches ain’t nearly as vicious
as your characters
who ride into town like some vigilante
all these characters
are one big stupid joke
and that joke is on me.
[harp]
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2. |
Thanks, Delacroix
02:23
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Mephistopheles stares idly back
from the charcoal-print postcard,
taped up to the rear-view mirror
on the driver’s side.
It looks to me
like Sad Wings of Destiny,
representative of those
in danger to be damned.
I’ll reach out for his hand,
I'll drive down to the crossroad
and then cross the Rio Grande.
I kick my heel to the gas.
Another look to the rear-view;
I get a glimpse,
you’re in the back
cleanin’ up your six shooter
to our favorite delta blues track.
As a bullet skips
from your lips to the gun,
you sing “my father is a fascist,
and the only good fascist is a dead one.”
It looks as if
you’ve signed your soul away
to guarantee that he
will be the best one.
In my head,
I tuck and roll out of the car.
Bobby Johnson’s on his knees
as Mephistopheles plays steel guitar.
Murder isn’t that hard,
so far.
In my head,
I tuck and roll out of the car.
Bobby Johnson’s beggin' "please!"
as Mephistopheles plays steel guitar.
Murder isn’t that hard,
so far.
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3. |
Black Cat
01:41
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I want a black cat
so I have a friend that
I don’t have to talk to.
I don’t have to talk to you.
I want a black cat
so I can bring bad luck on you.
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4. |
Madonna & Child
02:30
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Thirty-four times—
a dress, red wine.
She is the lady, Madonna,
and I am the child of god
in San Bernardino,
where the dukes of Urbino
lay buried ‘cross the pond,
high on hopes that they would get to heaven.
you paint a picture and you’ll see’s the reflection
of every person, place, and thing that’s been hurtin’
and all those other things they thought they'd deserved
and one of ‘ems love,
the other’s god;
both of them gone,
both of them lost.
So every time
your red dress whines;
“My cup’s growin' empty,”
please have some of mine.
Speak up if you’re feelin’ sick from the blood.
the sad sickness in fact, is...
I’m a vampire in a bear-trap.
There’s no way in hell I’ll ever get to heaven,
'cause I can’t even see my own goddamn reflection.
Albeit, every person, place and thing that’s been hurtin’
and all those petty things they'd thought they deserved
and one of ‘ems love,
the other’s god;
I’ve got ‘em both,
but it still ain’t enough.
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5. |
Opossum
02:24
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My little ones crawl up my back.
Stark white teeth, pink gums,
I ain’t no alley cat,
but I’ll still eat your trash,
climb highway exits,
eat beer cans for breakfast.
Every can I visit, I’ve got to admit that I might not make it back.
I’m not playin’ around.
The true black is comin'.
There’s no use in runnin'
from a sixteen wheeler headed southeast out of town.
And I knew it from the start,
in my little junkie heart,
that I’m better off dead than a scoundrel in bed around noon.
Pour one out for opossum,
who lay up there, rotten.
Hope they scrape ‘er up pretty soon,
scrape ‘er up real’ soon.
[harp]
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6. |
Back & Forth
01:49
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My strummin’ hand pulls back the shades
the shaky one will fumble with the latch.
It’s beyond better judgment day
a shit excuse for takin’ out the trash.
Sometimes you’ve got to push yourself to do it.
The crooked way’s the only way
we’ll ever get through this
back and forth.
So get a grip or a dead last resort.
It’s a hell of a view from the seventeenth floor.
I had visions of trashing your hotel room,
but I didn’t tell you.
I know you’ve got a lot to say
before your train of thought runs off the track.
Every day’s a holiday.
You waste away then try and get it back.
Oh, I swore that I would do it
and this time I think I will.
I’m doing this for both of us
and not just for the thrill
of back and forth.
I had a grip but it slipped and I swore
as I tossed the T.V. from the seventeenth floor.
I had visions of trashing your hotel room,
but I didn’t tell you,
and now look what you’ve made me do.
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7. |
Tough Love
02:10
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I guess they call this tough love.
Way to get so worked up.
I don’t need a paid vacation,
just leave me a beer and a lighter.
I guess they call this tough love.
Way to get so worked up.
If we meet on some fateful encounter
I won’t ask for sympathy
I’d ask that the choir sing songs of sweet simians
performing sick circus tricks
while leaping through hoops filled with fire.
And I don’t do my own narration,
I sure as hell don’t won’t get some shot at salvation for free.
All I need is tough love.
All I need is tough love.
All I need is tough love.
All I need is tough love.
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8. |
Three Sheets to the Wind
02:17
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I’m addicted to using my hands.
Every cigarette on the front porch is a performance of sorts in the
worst way,
and I can’t sing when I’m hungry.
So cut up a slice of Jesus Christ
for Sunday brunch and tell the crying children to shut up.
I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough.
Hey man, it’s alright—don’t start a fight.
You’ll take the edge off some way someday.
Communion came and went,
and now I’m one, two, three sheets to the wind.
One two three sheets to the wind, and that’s a cardinal sin.
So Father, I’m here to confess.
I’m kind of drunk and I’m wearing your dress.
Why the fuss? Hey! I’m kidding, alright?
But don’t my ass look great in these fishnet tights?
And I took a big bite of that Jesus Christ
for Sunday’s lunch.
And goddamnit! Won’t those kids ever shut up?
I’ve had enough,
ain’t you had enough?
And I’d got in that fight
‘cause I’d drank all that wine
it’s just the flesh and blood taste oh so holy
hell, I’m born again.
and I’m one two three sheets to the wind.
I’m one to three sheets to the wind,
and that’s a cardinal sin.
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9. |
Cave Canem
02:28
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Cave canem—
beware of the dog,
keep your head above water
and stay the hell off my lawn.
Take comfort
in the image left alone.
Throw a fresh coat of paint on the courthouse
to get someone with some gusto on the phone.
And let ‘em know about the folks outside
with the torches and the pitchforks and the signs
of a better way to live than most amount to
and reports of mass revolt and rising tides.
I think today might be a good day for the neighbors
to keep their cat inside.
Cave canem—
but I’ve been a good boy.
Every now and then attempt to keep my nose clean,
hold my conscience close and void the hoi polloi.
Day breaks, but I’m still tired.
The universal sun spits plumes of fire,
parasitic on particulars— the bastard sons of holy wars
the war machines and overlords
and all the other angels in the choir.
Just what have we inherited?
I’ll try to get a grip on it,
but I wouldn’t dare to reconcile.
With politics from sovereign pricks
who act like they don’t give a shit—
If we ever hope to undermine the colony,
We’ve got to organize and smash it from inside.
I think today might be a good day for the neighbors,
for the colonizers and the enslavers..
I think today might be a good day to beware of the dog.
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10. |
Halcyon
02:16
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You’ve got Dostoyevsky’s toothache
and Tom Traubert’s broken heart,
and you’re mumbling songs about some things
that you can’t run away from.
You’re pleadin’ that your liver hurts,
I tell you things will get much worse
‘cause you still see that ghost
down off of 9th and Acoma.
You love this little hell of your own making,
and write letters by the dozen addressed to anybody
who will love this little hell of your own making.
You write letters to St. Christopher
to help you find your way
to halcyon, so on the mescaline you’ll stay.
Was he slain on the streets of Denver,
or some Copenhagen jail?
You’ve got Dostoyevsky’s gambling debt
and lackluster signs of regret,
dissociate degrees in the ashtray.
You mouth words to strangers
on the C.M.E. to Aspen.
‘I begged you to stab me,’
like some Kafkaesque display
of halcyon, so on the mescaline you’ll stay.
Take one good last look into my eyes
and then bury the blade.
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11. |
Unwind
02:10
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Take this for the pain,
it’ll help the ringing in your ears go away,
so you can have a good time—
and it wouldn’t be the first time
you’d have to unwind about it.
I don’t give a shit,
but I feel fine about it.
I don’t give a shit,
and I feel fine
‘cause it wouldn’t be the first time you’d have to unwind.
Take a step downstage.
In the light, we can tell that you’re starting to look your age.
I think we had a great time,
and it won’t be the last time
you’d have to unwind about it.
I don’t give a shit
and I feel fine about it.
You just can’t quit
and I feel fine.
I hope my guts still work
when you’re through with me.
I hope her stomach hurts,
but she can put that hurt on me..
‘Cause it wouldn’t be the last time,
I hope to god it ain’t the first time..
Hell, it wouldn’t be the first time you’d have to unwind.
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12. |
Cordelia
02:39
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Love and stay silent.
Speak what is true.
Don’t you admire the folks that love you?
Fish for confessions
in spite of what’s true.
Oh, I’m damned if I don’t,
and I’m damned if I do
bite my tongue.
I’m damned if I skip town and run.
Five years away might be my last mistake,
but it’s better I try than just march off to die.
[harp]
Try,
Try,
Treasure your daughters in death and in life.
[harp]
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13. |
To Live & Die
01:46
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Is this what it takes
to live and die some other day?
Oh, I’ve been feelin’ awful
but at times I have felt awfuller.
I’m sick of coughin’ blood up in the sink
And yet she claims I might achieve
some peace of mind when I stop pleading,
but I’d sure as hell rather keep singin’.
‘Cause that’s the only thing that keeps me breathin’.
Is this what it takes
to live and die here, in L.A.?
Oh, I smell pretty awful,
but at times I have smelt awfuller
I stink at keeping friends and family
in better hopes I might succeed;
in better hopes that I’m not bleeding out
in some street or in some slum.
Please teach me how to live
and how to love another human being.
Just what is it that I’m not seein’?
And now you’ve got me thinkin’.
Why the hell did I move to this city?
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Just Nick Berkeley, California
"Semi-revolutionary + Bedpunk" LP Reissue now available for preorder via Lavasocks Records!
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