I was born philosophizing. Nothing glazed or compromising. Don’t sugarcoat it or jelly-fill it. Just let me have the cake. I took off down southern roads. Found myself in Mexico. Met Neal Cassady, who fancied me, And the two of us got baked. He went berserk on stolen cars While I mused on distant stars. He said, “YES YES YES! LOVE AND JAZZ.” Meanwhile, I melted in the sun. Soon we parted ways. I met a trucker on the interstate. He didn’t say a word and I felt absurd, Just rambling out west for fun. So I headed on back home. People wanted wisdom from the road. I said, “I don’t know. I’m just a donut hole,” And I felt very much alone. SO I made my way to church, A cathedral built on merch. Moneylenders in this temple got me raging to the bone. (Jesus doll, $9.99. Two for one wafers and wine. Oh boy!, what a deal!) Well they all wanted commentary. I had none, but I had stories. They said, “None of that. We got film for that. Just tell us what to think. So I made a remark on love, How I thought that it’s enough. Well they gazed at me so emptily I had to find myself a drink. DROWNING I couldn’t find me no direction, Just a useless want of destruction. Made my first tour in a distant war that was still very much in vogue. Soon we mad e the headlines. Killed a foreign general with some landmines. They threw a party, but I felt sorry, And they could tell I was a rogue. Headed back to suburban sprawl. Broke my arm in a drunken brawl. Chalk it up to posttraumatic stress. I’m blaming Wal-Mart for it all. Then I felt this need to drive. Don’t know where, don’t know why. But when I hear the tock of a ticking clock I get to thinking I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die. I want music. I want donuts. I want love. I want peace on earth and hippy shit like that.

On the road From here to Memphis. I grow cold. I grow sick. Should I tell you What I really think, About children and small town dreams? I don’t want to waste your sacred time, But feel free to do whatever you please with mine. The fire’s blazing, But the water is rising. And I hope we burn this forest before we start compromising. Well the road, From home to Memphis Is all too slow, is all too dead. I don’t want to drift out of line, But the light is dim and I’m surely going blind. That oasis better be looming up ahead, With my girl and heart safely stored within. Oh City, save us, From the miserable country. It’s arid and it’s windy with all its store-bought fantasies. It’s just a fantasy. I’m on the road, From hell to Memphis. And when I’m here, I don’t exist. Well I know you’re set in stone, But I’m the one that’s set to erode. It’s all too perfect to break the silence. Truth is of a lesser sort than kindness. My heart’s on fire, But I’m buried in the future. I’m most alive when I’m nothing but a suitor. Here’s to hoping I won’t always be a commuter. 6 hours away from good health. 6 hours away from myself.

NO WORDS!!!

Here in Lost Angeles, I lost a bitterness. Found it slowly swimming in my blood headed upstream. It held a confidence, Determined weightiness. Whipping my flimsy heart wherever it so pleased. It doesn’t rain here. I’m prepared for anger. Things shouldn’t feel so breezy or so clean. You can’t begin to guess At the amount of uselessness I heard from the noise of my worrying. I hold a crystal ball in the palm of my hands. It sees whatever I ask it to see. I wanna watch myself slamming it against the wall. Tell me “dreams are only meant for those who sleep. Wake up.” I’m lacking common sense, Shadows on her loveliness, Trying to lose that hatred I hold for my own dreams. Cradling a restlessness, Ever-unstable absence. My thoughts are hardly ever near the turf that grounds my feet. Let’s move to Venice. Let’s climb the pyramids. As long as I’m somewhere else I’ll never have to be what I have to be. And that’s a problem. Pleasantly lit prison. The future’s so bright it starts to get blinding. I hold a deck of cards; each one is a new start. Burn them all; let the flames graze my face. I wanna be where I am; I wanna connect with the land. There can only ever be one time and place. So in Los Angeles, I saw my selfishness. Millions of hearts all left beating as one. And I shot my bitterness. I found a wholesomeness. In forgetting where I’m going or where I’m from. Roasted at the stake, a martyr to myself. I hope it shows that part of me has died. If patience is a virtue, then I’m a man of wealth, But it’s time to give confidence a try. So step aside.

Would you like to go trick-or-treat babe? Or see a rock-n-roll show at your friend’s place? I’ve got a wad full of money in my pocket, babe. Making three dollars over the minimum wage. Hey Hey! I’ve got everything I need tonight. A best friend that makes out with me is all right. She played along with my masochistic fantasy. We’re a half-assed Charlie Brown and Lucy. Good Grief! I don’t care that you want to sleep early. There’s nothing really left for me on Beale Street. We could dance to some shitty 90s pop tunes. But I prefer the quiet of your bedroom. Hey Hey!

If you wanna play a game, Make it something soft. I don’t want to play slapjack. It hurts my feelings The way you get competitive As though it matters. It doesn’t matter at all. When can I come throw rocks Outside your bedroom? I’ve got a boom box and the moon. I’ll play an 80’s tune. Then you’ll scoff and turn away I know that you’re embarrassed. But it’s the good kind and you’re smiling. It ain’t broke, but you’re set on fixing it. Now I’m starting to get upset at your restlessness. You think I’m too complacent, just an idiot, But you never learned how to be happy. I read another funny book With a bunch of real big words That learned and then forgot. I guess I’m stupid Cause every time I write a song The sentences run-on And I always feel like dancing. You never say just how you feel, You just leave clues and signs. I’ve got too much self-respect To act so dignified. Don’t you know we’re specks of dust On a tiny rock in space, And no one really gives a shit? It ain’t broke, but you’re set on fixing it. Now I’m starting to get upset at your restlessness. You think I’m too complacent, just an idiot, But you never learned how to be happy. If you wanna play a game, Make it something soft. I don’t want to play slapjack. It hurts my feelings The way you get competitive As though it matters. It doesn’t matter at all.

You always laugh, At really bad jokes. Have you realized yet all your friends know it’s a hoax? You went to college, Didn’t learn a thing. Mocking all their learning, but too scared to sing. I know it’s cooler that way, But despondency is a drain. What’s the point in winning a loser’s game? You start gentrifying prison, Lobbying for decomposition. Just another wet blanket in my pouring rain. Well here comes Fitzgerald, Old money America, Sipping gin on yachts and writing with red mascara. He’s gone numb From small talk and alcohol 500 texts a day but never a call. When affection strikes to the core, And the sentimental people leave ya bored Start looking for something profound to ignore. Well the music went Rococo. Big mouths and little dreams. You don’t know where I stand but you know what I mean.

I don’t mind, killing time. Just standing in line. Just waiting to die. Not a moment to spare, moment to spare, moment to spare, In the checkout line. Not a moment to spare, moment to spare, existential despair, In the checkout line. Not a moment to spare, moment to spare, moment to spare, In the checkout line. Not a moment to spare, moment to spare, existential despair, In the checkout line.

Welcome to the struggle, We’ve got guilt and shame. We’ve got everything you want, Except a soul or a brain. Walk with me into the mall, And tell me what to believe. When my back is against the wall I try my best to cheat. Tell me ‘bout your dreams baby, I really wanna know. In mine we’re going crazy, Dying slow. Well too much Coca-Cola will make your teeth fall out. Another heap of sugar leaves sincerity in doubt. Slap me in my smirking face, give me what I need. Cause everything I want is void of honesty. Tell me ‘bout your dreams baby, I really ought to know. The way you’re hiding lately, Has me scared to watch the show. Tell me ‘bout your dreams baby, If they still exist. I sleep so peacefully But awake to abyss. Well nothing makes me more upset Than getting what I want. I pretend to be a nervous wreck Just because it’s fun. Ain’t no one gonna figure me out Cause I’m a million people at once. Instead of sticking to the script I flew straight at the sun. And I died.

Empty house, malleable soul. I gave god all my control. I know that I’m guilty, and playing the fool, Not enough sex and too many rules. Anything I do, I do in earnest. Anything less is totally worthless. I’m trying my best to let you know, Just who I am before I’ve grown to cold. But I’m so confused. Scripted life, pages of code, Give me big and give me bold. Creation myths, metaphysical wonders. You think I’m smart, but I’ve never felt dumber. I noticed all the lights while staring down When I was up in the clouds If the engines fail or the pilot dies Tell me that you weren’t surprised. That you took nothing for granted. Take back the body, take back the mind. I’d rather be real than cute and kind. How am I supposed to let things go, If I won’t be bought or sold Or taken for granted?

So runs the world away from your shallow grave. If you’re gonna bury yourself you better do it right. If you don’t want to be saved, keep digging ‘till your shovel breaks. If you don’t want to be saved, keep digging ‘till your shovel breaks, And, Give me all your loving. Give me all your hope. I’ll proceed to crush them Between my fingers of stone. The worms in your ears might actually be brains. See the way you’re going, you’re going to stay, With a tragic idea of the American way. In a beautiful summer we tend to forget the rain. Give me all your loving. Give me all your hope. I’ll proceed to crush them Between my fingers of stone. Give me all your loving. Give me all your hope. I’ll proceed to crush them Between my fingers of stone.

My words are always caked in waves of ideology. A phony is the real me. Sometimes I think that it’d be nice To write someone else’s songs. My self-obsession feels just a little wrong. I’ve been idling idle thoughts in my idle heart. But occasionally I begin to break. And they tell me it’s okay, You work too much anyway. But they never learned from my mistakes. I don’t want to be much of anything. I just want to be free. I don’t want to be that much of anything. I just want to be. I wanna move back to a desert town in west Texas. Wake up with the sun and cook a homegrown breakfast Instead of instant oats and television, My four walls are my little prison. I’m just made for escape, escape, escape, escape. I don’t want to be much of anything. I just want to be free. I don’t want to be that much of anything. I just want to be.