Dialogues Concerning the Mojo of Jason Matu

Wearing sunglasses that are hiding my tears
Feeling hungover from too many beers
As I’m suffocating in irrational fears
Waiting for someone to hear me
Hear me, hear me
Waiting for someone to hear me

All that I did was not know what to do
Waiting for fiction to turn into truth
Holding my own when my own would not do
Waiting for someone to hear me
Hear me, hear me
Waiting for someone to hear me

On and on I go pretending to say
Something relating to the end of days
It’s not my fault I was born in my way
I guess I need someone to hear me
Hear me, hear me
Guess I need someone to hear me

Most of all I guess I thought it’d be more
Not that I am that too often bored
It’s that living sometimes can be such a chore
Guess I need someone to hear me
Hear me, hear me
Guess I need someone to hear me
Hear me, hear me
Guess I need someone to hear me
Hear me

Hear Me

I don’t know if she was throwing it away
I couldn’t tell, I ran away
Though I know it’s gonna haunt me to the end
I’d do it all again

I’m getting better dying of the cure
You can get better dying of the cure

I take a puff and I take a couple pills
I take my bike through Cypress Hills
Overthinking drinking last night
In the beauty of the sunlight

I’m getting better dying of the cure
You can get better dying of the cure

Friday night rambles around inside my mind
I’d search my memory but I’m scared of what I’d find
Looking in the mirror, asking those questions of the glass
Never learning nothing, just like I did in class

I’m getting better dying of the cure
You can get better dying of the cure
I’m getting better dying of the cure
You can get better dying of the cure

Dying Of The Cure

It used to be so cool, but now I hear it’s not
They left in the kitchen, where it got too hot
I know it’s hard to hear it, it’s got to hurt a lot
Something’s rotten in the heart of Denmark

Give me seven reasons, show me whacha got
Dry up all your eyeballs, and wipe away your snot
Search your recollection, I think that you forgot
Something’s rotten in the heart of Denmark

I swear, I am not who I am. 
I am somebody else.

Spectral apparitions suddenly appear
An angry mob is forming to drive them outta here
I’m searching for quotations to take from King Lear
Sound and fury, signifying nothing

Maze-like though it isn’t, it seems we’re lost in fear
Of losing all the nothings that we hold so dear
The world’s surely ending, let’s drink another beer
Sound and fury, signifying nothing

I swear, I am not who I am. 
I am somebody else.

Shall I compare you to a summer’s day
You are more lovely and more temperate
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May
And summer’s lease has all too short a date

Little baby spiders never cry boo-hoo
I’m thinking that it’s something only human children do
I think I’ll find the answer when I get the flu
Many true words were said just joking

Mysteries are dying, making orphans of the clues
Homer never mentioned once the color blue
But while we’re on this journey, we have to see it through
Many true words were said just joking

I swear, I am not who I am. 
I am somebody else.
I swear, I am not who I am. 
I am somebody else.

I Am Not Who I Am

Lost my mojo and both of my dogs
Lost my mojo and both of my dogs

Laid up, can hardly take walkin’
Down to the store where I buy me my beer
Injured when I was stepping
Giving my pup to someone once I thought dear
Back in the City of New York
With my dog, Lucinda, at my mom’s place
Stuck inside my apartment
Memory Lane is a trail back to trace

Lost my mojo and both of my dogs
Lately my life’s been kind of a slog
Nothin’ to do but keep carryin’ on
Writing it down in my songs
Layin’ it all in my songs

One time, I was so happy
At least that maybe I thought that I was
Now I know that it’s different
Searching for something like meaning because

Lost my mojo and both of my dogs
Lately my life’s been kind of a slog
Nothin’ to do but keep carryin’ on
Writing it down in my songs
Layin’ it all in my songs

Sitting around feeling so sad
Ever get the feeling that you’ve been had
It’s more than a reason to get mad
It’s more than beyond the worst of the bad

Lost my mojo and both of my dogs
Lately my life’s been kind of a slog
Nothin’ to do but keep carryin’ on
Writing it down in my songs
Layin’ it all in my songs
Lost my mojo and both of my dogs
Lately my life’s been kind of a slog
Nothin’ to do but keep carryin’ on
Writing it down in my songs
Layin’ it all in my songs
Writing it down in my songs
Layin’ it all in my songs

Lost My Mojo (And Both Of My Dogs)

Not too long ago, I got cursed by ghost dogs in a haunted house in upstate New York. Disoriented from the effects of the curse, I tripped and fell into a then never-ending seeming abyss of pure darkness. From within the void, I called to my friends. One of them told me of a spell from their grandmother and pulled me out with a rope made of purple and gold. So I took a dried chili pepper that I bought at the grocery store, set it on fire and circled its smoke clockwise seven times, and crossed the threshold. Then I consulted the oracle for the location of a cow. I found her at Seldom Rest Farms. I fed to Curse Breaker a half a loaf of Martin’s Potato Bread. That broke the curse. The ghost dogs and I were then free to move on. 

Momma come, get these guns
Bury them far away from the sun
I’ve got to go and find my way
When I’ve found
Another sound
Pick it and I come around
I’ll come back from that lost highway

All I know is I wasn’t to blame
It wasn’t me
It was so insane
It was the ghost dogs of the haunted house

Khubla Khan, what is this
Isn’t Xanadu still your bliss
Or did it die in last year’s freeze
In a crowd, all alone
I fell well outside my zone
And hid somewhere in the trees

All I know is I wasn’t to blame
It wasn’t me
It was so insane
It was the ghost dogs of the haunted house

Every single little universe
Could bounce back then and finally burst
Better for being or none the worse
What’s the matter
Every single little universe
Could bounce back then and finally burst
Better for being or none the worse
What’s the matter

All I know is I wasn’t to blame
It wasn’t me
It was so insane
It was the ghost dogs of the haunted house
All I know is I wasn’t to blame
It wasn’t me
It was so insane 
It was the ghost dogs of the haunted house

Ghost Dogs Of The Haunted House

The one and only folk singing lawyer of Bushwick from the Enchanted Mountains of western New York, who learned the craft in the Ohio River Valley and the Bluegrass Plateau.