I’m missing sips from my Jack Daniels bottle, tell me have you seen the thief? When I get a little sober I might find a clue to tell me where to peek. Cuz’ I’ve been searching high and low from underneath the table on the floor, but still I can’t remind myself of how I fell right through the bathroom door. I’ve got a loaded pistol full of vengeance for the man who stole the whiskey bottle from underneath my hand, and I’ve got no sympathy for the crooked whisky thief who stole my only promise from the sober working week. Have you seen my leather boots I don’t remember where I left them yesterday? They’re usually outside the door but it looks like they got up and walked away. I’m a few dollars short from the money that I left by the bed. I woke up to find that ten bills had been lifted with no evidence again to prove that I’m that I’m wrong, but I’m right; to prove that I challenged the right man to a fight. And I can’t remember how I fought or what I did. If I knew that fucking thief had stole my pills and my gin I’d fight again. Well it seems that the whiskey thief also ran off with my clothes. And he must have done some snorting cuz’ the kitchen table is covered with my blow. But it’s strange that he was stealing the cocaine and stale alcohol, because I could have sworn I locked up the booze and the powder down the hall. Then it all started to make sense, as I looked in the mirror with a hesitant glance. I found my pills and my gin and the money from my bed, and I remembered late last night stealing whisky from the den. I’m the whisky thief, so it seems I’m drunk again. Stealing things from myself and I blame it on my friends. I have no idea of the time or the day and I can’t fall in love cuz’ this gin makes me hate. Just one more chaser for my pitiful fate that will leave me time for dreaming. And who the hell stole my booze anyway?

The Whiskey Thief

A friend of mine once told me that you never get to pick the ones you fall in love with and the ones that you might lose again. In time I’ve understood that he was right and it’s hard to lay alone in bed without you by my side. My hands can’t hold a callous and my hairs are turning grey. My stomach’s getting bigger as I count the years away. I miss your arms around me as you smile when you say “I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Another friend once told me that you never get to win, cuz’ the ones you hold the tightest are the ones that always leave again. I’ve never understood if she was right, but it makes think about a different place, a different time. You talk yourself in circles and you worry everyday. You’re too opinionated for the other half to take, but I miss my arms around you and I smile when I say “I wouldn’t have you any other way.” Nowadays I never ask my friends for their advice because they tell me that I fall in love to easily sometimes. I can’t help it but I understand it’s true, as I wander on these streets and all I think about is you. You used to drive me crazy but now you make me feel sane. This gap seems so enormous because you live so far away, but soon I’ll have my arms around you and you’ll hear me say “I couldn’t have it any other way.”

Habibti

I can’t seem to wake up to take a bicycle ride five miles at five in the morning. And I can’t seem to get back all the feelings that I used to have, about just about everything, but I keep trying. I’m dying my hair my hair black and blue today. I’m hoping this might spark some kind of change in me like when I was fourteen, but I really got to stop living in past. You, you’re right here beside me and I know that you feel it to. It’s just that neither of us knows quite what to do.  Yeah you, you’re in the same boat I am and just like me you’re probably wondering how the fuck we just jump out and swim. It seems my negativities keep feeding off of one another, its like they’re eating up on Forbes at our favorite Chinese buffet. And it’s giving us both the same kind of stomachache.  I’m gonna ride that bike in the morning. How many times have I lied this to myself? I’m gonna ride that bike in the morning. When I wake up I’m gonna crawl out of this shell.

My Mid-Punk Crisis

It used to be I used to see these hills as suffocating, forcing me to steal from the Goodwill, a snickers bar for lunch. They used to stare me down, from every bridge in town they’d say “you’ll never find new friends or love and by the way I hope you liked those fries ‘cause you’ll be eating from the O’s garbage again tonight.” But now it’s been nearly ten years and countless pounders of Iron City beer and as it seems I had these hills all wrong they were never suffocating at all, they were just holding me close and now I never want to go. One day I’m gonna shout from every bridge in town. Your grey skies no longer get me down. I love this city for everything she’s given to me. From every bridge in town. My heart is steelbound though the steel’s long gone nowhere to be found. From every bridge in town.

From Every Bridge In Town

Walk out the door, don’t look back, leave your January cap 
in the corner of the closet with the ancient script attached.
Newer towns and different schemes to breed these outlaw scholar dreams 
from these golden strips of pavement from your city memories. 

Can I hear that one again about the time that you got lost in acid? 
Write me another page soaked in whiskey wisdom from Merle Haggard. 
You’ll return again I hope, 
to share some thoughts and some words and some songs and some dope. 
A lost bandit stealing time 
to laugh through the summertime.
I’ll miss these days but I wish you well. 

Close this book, no strings attached, leave a secondary map 
and an undisclosed address to keep the cops off of your back. 
Because this world ain’t what it seems, it’s just a rhetorician’s dream, 
filled with skateboards and punk songs and drunken harmony. 

Can I hear that one again about New Mexico in love and anger? 
You smile when you say her name, in the fall on the phone searching for Jack Daniels. 
You’ll return again I hope, 
to share a long forgotten verse, slap yourself with a joke. 
A lost bandit stealing wine, 
a southern crush in the summertime. 
I’ll miss these days but I wish you well. 

When you’re gone don’t waste your time on the words left unsaid 
and if the repo man comes to your door I’ll tell him you’re in bed 
with hangover dreams about somewhere you’ve never seen, 
with your girl by your side, laying crooked in your sleep. 

Can I hear that one again about the 1970’s in Hazzard? 
Or the time you smashed your daddy’s car 
in the garage with a wicked grin and hammer. 
You’ll return again I hope, 
to share these same old songs about our friends and our smoke. 
A lost bandit stealing wine 
to laugh through the summertime. 
I’ll miss these days but I wish you well.

The Misadventures Of John Baynard Woods Jr.

*Recorded by Jonathan Sterne in Pittsburgh, circa 2001
**Later recorded and released by Voice in the Wire (2004)

LYRICS:
our movtives fight their way out front
as we call in sick to delay the fun
headstrong belief in this concrete playpen, awaken
to siren evidence of rides I’ve almost taken
shrug off the dialogue through sleep
ride these tires bald and trade spare change for destiny
a rusted steel tooth decay
these patchwork rooftops leave a crimson mark on blackened days

wait for a sign, wait for a solution
to this concrete theme alive in the confusion 
with a will to scream out loud
under the cover of a starless pittsburgh night
wait for a sign, wait for a solution
to this concrete theme alive in the confusion
without a need to save myself for anyone

footsteps and keys play songs at night
to keep the dogs awake outside 
this city breathes through the fire escape
when morning comes right after noon for several days
fill in the blank, project my fate
combine these words in different arguments and shapes
to watch the purple chase these leaves as the city falls asleep 
until the morning sounds I finally have the chance to breathe

the volume of this city makes me choke
machinery turns poison into notes
so laugh out loud to kill the day
and I’ll meet you on the sidewalk down in front before it rains

How It Works

i hate how much i love this city
waiting for a sense of clarity
when the drama fades and lines are drawn
and plans are made

i love how much you hate my pity 
waiting for a break in the sanity
when the sunset fades and blinds are drawn
we’ll sleep for days

these self-indulgent songs won’t get us anywhere
but they sound so good in headphones on the bus when you’re not there
these self-important dreams don’t compare to a raised fist
but we need a sing along sometimes to show us what we missed

we breathe and break the time and tension
that washes over us in waves
so far above our heads
we’ll drown unless we stay together

*Recorded circa 2006

Recording Mixes

Living Brutal (is Living the Dream)

Trying to get in the habit of playing again. Recorded on a crappy mic in one take, circa 2019.

House Of The Rising Sun (half-drunk, one-take cover)

Zack Furness's Album

Tones (cover)

Burn (one-take cover)

Aging punk, college professor, former singer of Barons, Voice in the Wire, and Teddy Duchamp's Army. This is a space for some of my random recordings over the years, as well as the album I recorded with my previous duo, Cityhands.

Punkademic

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