'36 hudson in the garage, all sorts of junk in the unattached spare room, dishes in the kitchen sink, new straw for the old broom, friends who dont have
Alright Ia??m on Johnson Avenue in San Luis Obispo And Ia??m five years old or six maybe And indications that therea??s something wrong with our new
The king of the jungle was asleep in his car When your chances fall in your lap like that you got to recognize them for what they really are Nobody in
got up before dawn went down to the racetrack. riding with the windows down shortly after your first heart attack. you parked behind the paddock, cracking
There's bound to be a ghost at the back of your closet, no matter where you live. There'll always be a few things maybe several things that you're going
I broke free on a saturday morning I put the pedal to the floor headed north on mills avenue and listened to the engine roar my broken house behind
King Saul fell on his sword when it all went wrong and Joseph's brother sold him down the river for a song and Sonny Liston rubbed some tiger balm into
I checked into a bargain-priced room on Lacienica, gazed out through the curtains at the parking lot. walked down to the corner store just before nightfall
Feed the kittens in the kitchen Set food out for the strays Try hard to do your best The magpie will have his way Fill your mouth with berries By the
The reception's gotten fuzzy. The delicate balance has shifted. Put on your gloves and black pumps. Let's pretend the fog has lifted. Now you see me,
You are sleeping off your demons when I come home. Spittle bubbling on your lips, fine white foam. I am young and I am good. It's a hot southern California
when we hid out behind the risers at he high school, working bitter calculations with a slide rule. the grim particulars of poisoning the swimming pool
alright I'm on johnson avenue in san luis obispo and I'm five years old or six maybe. and indications there's something wrong with our new house trip
we stank of hair dye and ammonia. we sealed ourselves away from view. you were looking at the void and sat unblinking. the best that I could do was to
the reception's gotten fuzzy. the delicate balance has shifted. put on your gloves and your black pumps. let's pretend the fog has lifted. now you see
you are sleeping off your demons when I come home. spittle bubbling on your lips, fine white foam I am young and I am good. it's a hot southern california
we all woke up that morning, claw marks on our little faces. the dull thud from the treetops the echo in the hollow places rose up high and lonely wringing
