Raveling Helen

Empyrean 

I wanna shoot beyond the boundaries
Of the heaven of fire
Kick the edge of the void
With a thrust of desire
I wanna sweep the inexcusable
Removable feast
Play the Passion of Thorn
Through the horns of the beast

I got a feelin’ ‘bout you
I got a feelin’ ‘bout you
I got a feelin’ ‘bout a sliver
Of the center of all the heavens
Floating on the smoke
Of the Empyrean

How are your questions going to reach the sky 
When all around you lie the lead weights of fear?
My dear

I got a feelin’ ‘bout you
I got a feelin’ ‘bout you
I got a feelin’ ‘bout a moment
On the tip of your tongue
Chanting the sacred drift
Of the Empyrean

Do you wanna dance thunder
Swirling romance under
The trance of a second chance?
It’s waiting on the burn pile
Burn pile

I got a feelin’ ‘bout you
I got a feelin’ ‘bout you
I got a feelin’ ‘bout the random
Laughter of the void
‘Cause the word of the day
Was Empyrean

Empyrean

This song started out as a sidewrite for the Steel Bridge Creative Foundation, which throws three songwriting festivals a year. It’s the brainchild of pat mAcdonald of Timbuk3 fame. I worked on various renditions of this little ditty but nothing ever came to fruition. When Brewski suggested writing a love song for his songwriter group at Soulwriter University, I knew I could finally finish this tune. The song was inspired by the painting pictured, “Drowning” by Steven Bossler. I wish I could show you the whole thing but soundcloud automatically cropped it square. I guess this song is kind of my Zappahemian Rhapsody because it has so many parts. As always, everything was done on my iPhone on GarageBand and mixed through a cheap bluetooth speaker.

Remember behind the 7/11?
Out by the dumpster
Plunging seventh heaven
Couple of youngsters
You taught me how to love hate
You taught me how to hate love
Somewhere in this broken candle
Sleeps the torn manticore
Cursing the latent sun
What fun to hang clean
By the slurpee machine
I wonder if I can hide
Can I fit inside?
Or just my heart
Cold and sticky
Picky coke or cherry
Poke it with a stick
To keep it beating

Love hate love hate love hate love hate
Love hate me some love
Love me some hate me some love

I feel it
Pulling me down
Love hate love

Love Hate Love

Some of my friends
Are angry
Some of my friends forgive
Some of my friends
Have passed on
Some of them continue to live

What’ll you have?
What’ll it be?
What do you want?
What do you need?

I need an answer, please
I don’t know what it means
Almost like love was never there at all

The one for me is two
Much rain and
Three’s a cloud
Four I have no idea
How to five finger discount
My sixth sensory fail
All hail 

Who do you want?
Who do you need?
Who do you flaunt?
Who do you bleed?

The past creeps
Cat burglar quick
Up on the roof
And through the window
To tear yesterday
A new one
I don’t know what it means
But it cuts so deep

Sixth Sensory Fail

Well the
Clock on the wall says quarter to 4
What the hell does time even mean anymore?
Madness without method
A crumble room shamble
Where the
Clock on the wall says quarter to 6
Ain’t got time fix the mix
The heavens are falling
The second hand will hold up the sky

What is the meaning of this?

Clock on the wall says quarter to 9
Maybe the world is spinning backwards in time 
The crush is too much
Popping the clutch
For the last great burnout

Here comes old laptop
Ready to eat
Grinding desire
Gnashing of teeth
Here comes old laptop
Ready for war
Balloon’s gonna bust
Blood on the floor

Rejection of redemption
Exemption from detention
Infection of depression
Reflection from deception

What is the meaning of this?

The Last Great Burnout

Written by Barrett Tasky and BillyDave Wammo

A couple sitting at the table 
Hiding from the sun
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

She’s trying not
To pay attention
As he drones along
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Cops and kids and katydids
Lovers holding hands
Nothing seems to matter much
Nothing in demand

Dust cloud in a sunbeam
Sparrows on the hunt
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

That parking lot is where 
There used to be a five and dime
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Old man sculpted by regret
Purchased with his time
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Trees are turning 
Shades of red and yellow 
On the ground
Nothing whispers in the breeze
When nothing comes around

Every breath gets shorter
With the coming of the cold
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Shadows getting longer
As the light begins to fade
Conversation washed out
Like a welcome overstayed

Evening wraps it’s arms
Around horizon’s waning soul
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

SWU Week 5                    

Nothing's Going On (acoustic)

This piece is about a lover of mine, who killed herself back in the ‘80s. The music is based on Lamento della Ninfa (The Nymph’s Lament) written in the early 1600s by Claudio Monteverdi. Everyone from Dylan to Willie Dixon to Nina Simone to The Beatles to Ray Charles to Chicago to BÖC has used this descending minor bass line. 

The sky is gray
My eyes are gray
My flesh is gray
My brain is a festival of light
Mired in lockup’s frozen embrace

Phantom shadows, nugatory
Just an exhale towards the void
Cold sidewalk, purgatory
Your dust on my shoes, unavoidable

And now that you’re never there
The nothing you left is still part of me
And now that you’ve disappeared
The hole you reside in’s inside of me

Hole in your head
How could you do this to you?
‘Cause you’re never
There

Trace smoke on the wind
I feel your lips
As yesterday turns to dust
In my throat 
I see your eyes
Sparkle with mischief
In every star

How was I to know
That tiny exchange
Would be the last time
I would ever see you
Except for shades of gray photos
Except for shades of gray dreams

And now that you’re never there
The nothing you left is still part of me
And now that you’ve never there 
The dark you reside in’s inside of me
Cold lump of lead
The last thing to ever caress you
Now you’re never

Never There

This is all Mark Magram's fault. We tried to write a song together and the ice cream turned to shit. That and my frustration of not seeing a single blood relative on Thanksgiving inspired this song. Oh yeah, and comedy. 
P.S. Hey Mark, let's give it another try.

Terrible truth
On the loose
You ain’t no
Fucking Lenny Bruce
Don’t even think about 
Chocolate mousse
Drawing a blank
What’s the use?
Do you really think you’re
Tough enough?
Are you ready 
For your closeup?
Take a drink
From your golden cup
Thanksgiving
Fucked me up

Bill Hicks
On a mountain top
Bill Hicks 
Dressed like a cop
Bill Hicks
Don’t ever stop
Bill Hicks
“Pretend I’m mopping!”
Bill Hicks
Fucking had it rough
Bill Hicks
Rebuff off the cuff
Bill Hicks
Let’s get fucked up, cuz
Thanksgiving 
Fucked me up

What you want
I don’t care
Joan Rivers in her
Underwear 
Liar liar
Pants on fire
Listen to some
Richard Pryor 
Hemingway could 
Land a marlin
Not as funny as 
George Carlin
I’ve fallen and 
I can’t get up
Thanksgiving 
Fucked me up

Holiday For Dead Comedians

Oh yeah
Come on
Multiple culpable
Rubble and stubble
Foxy in the henhouse
Nothing but trouble
Put me on repeat
‘Cause I’m incomplete
I swiped my dad’s Penthouse
Sweet!
Brass ball band
Empty hand
You stole my jack mag
I’ll be damned
Tom Waif chafing 
Aftershafing
Spaghetti and meatballs
Exclamafing
Burn out Chevy
Empty heavy
You stole my jack mag
With fuckbook envy

C’mon baby!
Let’s do the twist
C’mon baby!
It goes like this

Armstrong sore
Four on the floor
Worn out
Run Down
Gimme some more
Motel Hell’s bells
Visibly swelling
Dumpster fire fighter
Why are you yelling
Get back, Jack
Back in black
I want my book back
My look at book back
I want my book back

You Stole My Jack Mag

Doesn’t seem to be much going on
Doesn’t seem to be much right or wrong
I’m under the floor 
You’re on the porch
Hiding
Don’t know why
I’m hiding
I don’t know why
Here against the wall
Nuzzled patina of your arms
I’m up in the air
You’re on the porch
I’m whispering wind
You’re on the porch
I’m murmuring rain
You are the porch

Porch

My buddy, Barrett Taskey, wrote the music, I wrote the words and melody. We also recorded an acoustic version.

A couple sitting at the table 
Hiding from the sun
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

She’s trying not
To pay attention
As he drones along
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Cops and kids and katydids
Lovers holding hands
Nothing seems to matter much
Nothing in demand

Dust cloud in a sunbeam
Sparrows on the hunt
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

That parking lot is where 
There used to be a five and dime
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Old man sculpted by regret
Purchased with his time
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Trees are turning 
Shades of red and yellow 
On the ground
Nothing whispers in the breeze
When nothing comes around

Every breath gets shorter
With the coming of the cold
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Shadows getting longer
As the light begins to fade
Conversation washed out
Like a welcome overstayed

Evening wraps it’s arms
Around horizon’s waning soul
Oh, but nothing’s 
Going on

Nothing's Going On (Electric)

Try to measure this
From the third ring so far
Redundant carnival masquerade
Can you fit in the clown car?
Up on the high wire
They play with Hellfire
Above the faces
Plenty of space to fall

Makeup 
In the rain
Pain pain 
Pain clown 
Town frown
Going down 
The drain

Five o’clock shadow
Peeking through the pancake
The balls, the pins. Damn
These bulbous shoes
Elephants, horses catch
Jungle cat scratch
The crowd is screaming
For liquid terror

Coulrophobia

The Death of the Ball Turret Gunner
BY RANDALL JARRELL

From my mother’s sleep I fell into the State,
And I hunched in its belly till my wet fur froze.
Six miles from earth, loosed from its dream of life,
I woke to black flak and the nightmare fighters.
When I died they washed me out of the turret with a hose.
****************************************************
All my friends 
Are dropping like flies 
So get well soon
Hanging out 
Would be
A nice surprise 
So get well soon
Afterlife seems a little vague
Taking drugs to avoid the plague
Throttle to the fade-out
Death brigade 
So get well soon

Don’t want nobody 
To rely on me
So get well soon
I’ll kill you
If you fuckin’
Die on me
So get well soon
I don’t want to be the last one left.
Leaving the grieving, so bereft
Bargaining some cosmic antitheft
So get well soon

Live live live
I don’t wanna fucking die
As if I was born to try
To pull off a sly surprise 
My eyes
My mind
Get thee behind me

Get Well Soon

How Shiny Them Ribs?

Remember in Saturday Night Fever, when John Travolta cleared the dance floor by being the hottest dancer in the room? Ever been to a club where someone cleared the dance floor by being the most hazardous? Here's a song I wrote for a guy who wanted to surprise his gal while they were attending a blues festival in New Orleans. He told me a story about taking dance lessons with her at the world famous, honky tonk, The Broken Spoke.
 "-- during our Austin vacation we ended up at the Broken Spoke for dinner and a lesson.  I kinda thrash around and ‘feel’ the music when I dance.  I can waltz and stick with a jitterbug for a few bars, but I’m most interested in responding to the crescendos and ‘interpreting’ the music.  I could not manage to find the rhythmic correlation between the music and my feet for the two step and the nice lady administering the lessons basically asked me to leave. Kathy was beside herself, actually in tears (we WERE kinda drunk)."
  Now, I've attended two step lessons at The Broken Spoke, so I can assure you that they're real nice, patient, folks. To get booted from a lesson must have required some serious, Spiderman-on-acid interpretations. Need a song for any occasion? I do custom songs starting at $99. Christmas is coming, y'all.

Interpretive Dance Blues

Here's week 3's submission for Brewski's songwriting thing. The catchphrase was "pipeline."

Sing your folksong
Clutch your sign
Hold your protests
What’s mine is mine
Rally your rights
Fight for the poor
All I need
To settle the score
Yeah, I’m gonna score with
War

I wanna kill all the whities
I wanna kill all the blacks
I wanna kill all the foreigners
I wanna kill all the hacks
I wanna kill all the straights
I wanna kill all the gays
‘till I’m the only one left
Then I’ll have a parade!

I wanna rape all the corpses
I wanna knock em up too
I’ll give them backroom abortions
and paint them all blue
I wanna rename the earth
Call it Planet Me
I’ll shoot my finger at the sky
and I’ll howl with glee

I’m gonna grab you by the pussy
and even though you’re dead
I’m gonna poke you in the booty
I’m gonna poke your lifeless head
I’ll wear your face for a mask
That’s what you get
For saying things about me that you’ll
Later regret
I wanna fire all the missiles
Just to watch the show
You think that’ll kill me?
How little you know, ‘cause

I gotta pipeline
I gotta safety net

More of me and less of you
 
But I can't do that
I need someone to watch
To worship my hairline 
To worship my crotch
When it’s all over
I’ll see you around
I gotta country club bunker
Way underground

I Got Your Pipeline Right Here, Buddy!

Here's this week's tune for Bruce's songwriting thingy. The prompt was "without beginning" and the song required onomatopoeia.

As the censors push us
Down the aisle towards
Nothing too controversial 
You always turn me on
In the middle of a show
So let's cut to commercial

failure to regale
like a taxi never hailed
misgivings with all the trimmings
tales without beginnings  

So have a drink plop plop fizz fizz.
Kick back Snap Crackle Pop
Tony, it's too late to say "They're great!"
But you still went out 
On top

And all these beratings
Are lowering my ratings

Rock the boat 
The Minnow would be lost 
With the remote
So why bother to change?
The channel went from flannel
Back to spandex
And I'm too jaded
To think that too strange
Scary like a tall dark stranger
Or the White Power Ranger
Kinda like that song, "Greased Lightnin'(g)"
Not terribly fast or frightening 
So have a drink, Mr. Travolta 
We can rock out to Mars Volta
Kick back, relax, call the cops
But you shoulda gone out
On top

And all these beratings
Are lowering my ratings
Wham bam leggo batman

Be Ratings

Here's this week's entry for Brewski's songwriting thingy. The prompt was "against the grain" and the song wasn't supposed to rhyme. I improvised the lyrics and then overdubbed the Bobby Fuller 4 bit.

I Never Liked Bob Seger

I think this is the last week of Brewski's songwriting thingy. It's been a hell of a ride.

I can’t wait to be your favorite disappointment
I can’t wait to be your favorite failure
So come on baby let’s do the collapse
Come on baby let’s do the affliction
Come on baby let’s do the divorce
And celebrate our dereliction
Let’s do the disaster
Faster faster
Stratocaster

I can’t wait to be your sweet fiasco
I can’t wait till you put me behind you
So come on baby let’s do the undoing
Come on baby let’s do the mishap
Come on baby let’s do the washout
Build ourselves a better deathtrap 
Let’s do the disaster
Faster faster
Slave and master

ZOIKS!

Do The Disaster

Aw Shucks

Searching For A Vegan With A Sense Of Humor

All lyrics improvised. The prompt, "looking for a fight," is in there.

I couldn’t be happier

Here's the second installment of the continuing saga.

Dot Lester, Tequila Sheila and Champagne Jane pt. 2

He not as manly as he thinks he is
But he knows when to take it to the bridge
If you can't find your key well, he's your guy
And he knows all the words to American pie
Because he's
Too much cologne karaoke guy
Too much cologne karaoke guy
Too much cologne karaoke guy
Too much cologne karaoke guy
Too much cologne, Carrie
Too much cologne, Carrie
Too much cologne karaoke guy
Just watch him grimace, you can feel his pain
Because someone left his birthday cake out in the rain
The aroma is is aura and it lasts all night
‘cause he’s reaching Paradise By The Dashboard Light 
You can always find him Dancing In The Dark
(Ignorance is bliss)
Or you can find him with your eyes closed at the water park
(Over by the ice cream)
He's a little long in the tooth for raising hell
But he can still rock a version of Ooh That Smell

Too Much Cologne Karaoke Guy

Bedtime flies
When you’re having fun
Like a fly on the wall
Flying under the gun

Bedtime flies
When you’re on your own
Or with someone you love
Or with someone you don’t

Bedtime flies
Away

Bedtime flies
Like a turn of the screw
‘cause you can’t make it last
No matter what you do

Bedtime flies
Time runs away
And there’s so much to do
Maybe not today

Hush sweet baby
Come to my arms
We’re gonna scream 
Like a fire alarm

Hush sweet baby
Not much to say
We’re gonna make it 
All go away

Bedtime Flies Theme

got a rocket singin’
pockets of clouds
knew a spanker crankin’ 
“Shout It Out Loud” 
yeah
dozen buzzin’ on vitamin k
pray the heavens wash
eleven away

brutal’s futile 
wash it all out to the sea
scary mary
hangin’ off the marquee
scampin’ campin’ tramp
holding a sign
gimme money
for a bottle of wine

ooh nanananana hey

Ooh Nanananana Hey

Let’s get things straight to hello how are you go to hell on wheels spinning wheel in the skyrockets in flight of the bumblebee or not to be me myself and I wanna hold your hand in hands across the water fall into the well well well oh well east coast girls are hip shake baby love me do bee do bee do you feel like I do you want to know a secret santa clause is comin’ down the mountains come out of the sky pilot light up my life blood and roses on your grave digger wasp nesting instinctive drift alone pout to sea to shining see me feel me touch my cheek before you leave me baby love boat house of the rising sunshine on my shoulder roll over Beethoven’s ninth symphony tickets to paradise pack your bags we leave tonight’s the night time is the right time is gone the song is over thought I’d something more to say you say me and Julio down by the school’s out forever and ever hallelujah hallelujah hallelujah yeah yeah yeah!

Straight To Hello

I made this for you
A little copy of your life
I made it just in case
You wanna be your own wife
You could lie to yourself 
About what you wanna be
Give yourself the run around 
Or lay it all on me
You tell you pretty little lies
While you lie with you
You want a piece of me?
You want a piece of you?
You could catch yourself cheating
You could buy you a ring
You could give yourself a beating
If that’s your kind of thing
You tell you pretty little lies
While you lie with you
You tell you pretty little lies
While I lie with you
I’ll tell you pretty little lies
While you lie with you
You tell me pretty little lies
While I lie with you

You Lie With You

Just because you’re old
Don’t make you old school
See how long you pogo-go
Till you run out of fuel

‘cause you’re an over 50 punk rock dude

Bloom is off the rose
Cross faded tattoo
Evil eye bifocals
What ya gonna do?

Over the hill punk rock

Over 50 Punk Rock Dude

Clueless
Clueless won
Clueless wonder
Clueless wonderful
How can you even ask “What’s up?”
When you can’t even tell what’s going down?
You’re so eager not to know
It’s like you’re happy that we’re angry
At the catcall lies
(agnostic praying mantis)
About your plagiarizing enterprise
(sinking like Atlantis)
Ringing hollow like your empty eyes
(wow ain’t that a pity)
And your Cracker Jacks
Ain’t got no prize
(rip off city)
You look like somebody licked
All the red off your candy
A sad mixture of happiness and trust defiled 
Peeled like a potato and chop chop chopped down
Thrown on the fires of disaffection

Clueless Wonderful

unhappy untrue
unwoven unyou
unhuman unwise
unbuttered unsize
unfancy unknown
unkinky unshown
unmacho unchoked
uncivil unsmoked
uncomic untaxed
uncloaked unfaxed
unsexed unflipped
unstuck unzipped 
uncrowned unteached
unpared unpeached
unfenced unhitched
ungloved unbitched
unmaker unmake
undrunk unawake
uncover unvoice
unbrake unchoice
unseek unsink  
unspeak unthink 

unthe unbest uncondition unmy unlife 
unplease unlike me
unconditionally 
unthe unbest uncondition unmy unlife 
unplease unlove me
unconditionally 

untalk unfox
unwalk unbox
unclasp undeep
uneat unsleep
unfussy unvex
unhook unsex
unpack unjam
ungreen unham
unjust unmixed
unpicked unfixed
unwax unbind
until undermind
unconventional undistorted
unilaterally unimportant

unplugged unfunny
unmoved unsunny
unraveled unblocked
uncuffed uncocked
untrained unlucky
un-t-shirt untucky
unbloody unbowed
unmanly uncowed
unwrapped unmasked 
unclogged uncast
unpaid unspool
uncle uncool
unwrap unclog
untie underdog
unfurl unwell
unholy unhell
uncage unspun
unpure unsung
unhip unbaked
uncut uncaked 
untied unfazed
unconfuzed undazed 
uncovered uncorked
unspooned unforked

Unwe

You rolled through the stop sign
I slammed on the brakes
My baby’s in her carseat
And baby that’s all it takes
To piss me off

You must have lost direction
You must be low on gas
‘cause now you’re stranded on the corner
Of kiss my succotash
You pissed me off

P-I-S-S-E-D O-F-F!

I want to come out swinging
I want to take you down
But I got to get my kid to school
And get myself downtown

You barely even function
You almost died alone
Your head is up the junction
Your hands are on the phone

Pissed

For some reason GarageBand decided to change the key on me at the last minute and wouldn't put it back. The original key was G major. It was getting late and I couldn't figure out the glitch, so I said screw it and rerecorded all of my vocals. I definitely channelled some Ronnie Van Zant on that second verse.

mama told me not to come on eileen
and i don’t wanna press my luck
saw the low riders on the storm
going faster than the speed of suck
now mama wanna get her soap opera on
but i’m more in a metallica mood
wanna crank it up to the rafters
so what the hell we gonna do?

we’re gonna ride
the guiding lightning
tonight
we’re gonna ride
the guiding lightning

now sister wanna jump on the trampoline
with the guy who delivers the mail
and the kitty cat chasing the bark bark dog
gonna swing him around by the tail
wanna cheesesteak cheesecake dinner
wanna party with the crew of the  wire
wanna ski lift sysiphus over the hill
to the tune of light my fire

Ride The Guiding Lightning

I got lost on Veronica Mars 
I felt the tingle when she shook my hand 
The chime of the dynamo 
Man oh man 
She took some time to help me find my cue 
I thought to myself 
How unbelievably cool 
Because 
She didn’t have to do that 
No 

I got lost on Veronica Mars
I knew my lines but there were too many stars
I even scratched a few harmonica scars

Fix a flat
Kitty Kat
Made me pretty
The pizza guy even 
Took a selfie with me
You know he didn’t have to do that
No

The guy who hired me
Was a righteous dude
He even took me out 
For Italian food
You know he didn’t have to do that
Yeah

I got lost on Veronica Mars

I Got Lost On Veronica Mars

How are you? 
My little sunflower, you.
How are you?

I'm a unicorn.
I'm a unicorn.
But how are you?

Sunflowers And Unicorns

Who washes all the dishes at your party?
Who gives oranges to orphans and high heels to The Queen?
Not The Queen you’re thinking about but another Queen.
Who does things in a Bill Murray way that only a Bill Murray can do?
You got to have a Bill Murray day if you wanna hang out with Bill Murray.
Bill Murray on an airplane and Bill Murray on the sea.
He ran a 12 second quarter mile that ended halfway around the world, yeah.
They say he was born with a tail and had it surgically elongated.
He psychically encouraged me to play this harmonica solo.
Who roller skates in your living room to scare away your silverfish. 
No one’s ever seen him in the same place as Underdog.
He rescued a bus load of freak show memorabilia collectors sinking under a quicksand lava flow.
He once shanked a golf ball into a tree, that’s how we got the Grand Canyon. 
Bill Murray at the hardware store and Bill Murray up a tree.
Everybody gotta try to be the best Bill Murray they can be…

Bill Murray

You gave me quite a scare
Stripped bare, caught
I thought I was so clever
Wrought until I bought into the riddle
Considering the cost
If I lost you
Gone forever
Forever

Why you gotta be that way?

I/I/I/I (easiest chart ever)

Why You Gotta Be That Way?

the magician in the kitchen, spouts 
religious addiction competition, ouch
his mission is forgiven, south
quit your bitchin, stitch him in the mouth

listen to the mission of the vixen’s call
friction glistening the itching balls
ambition wishing callipygian all
acanthopterygian fishing, too small

how many fingers?

twitching ignition diction, pitching
the kitch in chicken bitching
to switch from bliss to fiction to snitching
piston dishes a digit rich from hitching
a smidgen written from the prison of this vision
smitten with riches, tradition’s clay pigeon

how many fingers?
five, motherfucker
how many did you think there was gonna be?

How Many Fingers?

Give it up for the porno unicorn
Give it up for the chocolate moose crucifix
Give it up for the bed head deadline
Give it up for the meta metaphor euphoria 

Devoted devotees devocalizing devoutly 
Devolution devoid
Devoiced, devolved, devoured

Show me how cells of my skin float
Like ashes in the wind 

The moon unrolls her tongue
A ladder of falcon bones and chicken wire
That takes 3 days to reach my back yard fog 
And I climb that damp beast of a tongue
Hanging heavy with old feathers and rumpled car parts

Show me how cells of my skin float
Like ashes in the wind 
Skyward

Skyward

Thörnögräphÿ

Howdy folks. Wammo here. I've been writing and recording custom songs for people for as little as $99. You tell me what you wanna say and what kind of music you want, I'll write and record a one of a kind song and send it to you! Love songs, hate songs, let’s go on a date songs. Funny songs, sad songs, sorry I treated you bad songs. Work songs, twerk songs, my boss is a jerk songs. You name it, I’ll write it. If you want me to spoof another artist’s song, I can do that too. All you gotta do is contact me on facebook and we’ll set it up. 

BillyDave Wammo

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