Fool me once, shame on you;
You said and did such awful things like I could never say or do
But fool me twice, shame on me
‘Cause I hoped and dreamed of things that we could never hope to be

So ask me nice and I may say goodbye
But to be honest, babe, I prefer to stay quiet.
To write my problems all down in a song,
To string my feelings up in a pretty poem.

Now I keep the future in my pocket
I only take it out when I get bored or I’m feeling forward.
I keep the past inside a locket;
A picture to remind me who I am and where I’ve been.
I lock my thoughts up in a journal
I’ve got a page for every night and every day that you’ve been away.
I’m on the highway doing ninety
I stuck here in this pale and smoky air.  I’m going nowhere.
Nowhere.

01 A Pretty Poem

I have met the morning star: with eyes of coal and silver tongue
He sold me lies that deign to call me father.
Now I speak of many things; of beauty, passion, truth and love
Of all those virtues good men hold in deference.
But know this now, such catching art is black and rotting, full of puss.
It poisons any soul that it should bother.
The mirror’s gaze: a frightful sting, I beat my fists on shattered glass.
The blood that runs has sought always this severance.

For the only soul that knows me is the soul that grants me life.
It wishes me just one wish: to die.

Days unfold like fetid prose and draw me, helpless, to the night.
Black ink from my pen begins to fade now.
So I lay me down to sleep but lo, behold! a blinding light.
With golden scales a dragon weighs my thoughts.
Still I lie in trite repose ‘till sleep, like death, doth carry me
To sunrise and the rancor of a new day.
What have I, a frightful beast, but tin and sand for which I seek?
‘Tis human, it is real and won’t be bought.

And when this dragon finally claims me with gnashing fangs and fire
I’ll have for me my one wish: to die.

02 I Have Met the Morning Star

I’m going to write a song about a lover lost
Or a rendezvous with no direction home.
I’m going to strum a chord, something that no one’s heard before
As I fret around the bars and let my fingers roam.

And as these shots of poison fill me my hands concede to clumsy 
And I run back to that same old simple ‘E’.
Enough time to waste to eclipse time and space
An eternity to ease myself to sleep.

So, please, bless me father for I know not what I do.
I must not have gotten your eyes ‘cause you saw it from the womb.
This tragedy of old this tired and long forgotten play
And though my days are comedy each smile is sure to fade away.

This theatre, it must be in the round
Because every time I pick myself up 
I fall back to the ground.

In a drunken haze I drove for what seemed like days 
‘Till I found a place to lie up for the night.
There I met a girl her dark hair danced and it twirled
As it parted to reveal her cold blue eyes 

And in her glassy gaze I saw the last of my love fade
Just a reflection, something I saw but couldn’t feel.
Now the morning is come and I know what I have done
I’m walking backwards; I see only what is past and behind me.

So I’m headed home, no place else to go, I’ve got to save my wretched soul
Force myself to laugh it up I’ve got to get out of this deep black hole
And this tragedy I know it waits for me: I won’t lie, I’m scared to death
But this barricade of empty space in my chest, it takes away my breath. 

And this theatre, I pray that it’s in the round
Because those who fall from grace are placed on stage 
And we wait here to be found.

03 Theater in the Round

The only two tacks in my apartment 
Hold fast to a picturesque scene:
A portrait of poppies and orchids, 
The field of my dreams.

And these two little tacks in my apartment, 
I suspect they are smarter than me.
While I suffer my dearly departed  
They’re still in their sleep.

She rose as the clock it struck midnight 
And she was dressed ‘fore the bell found its mark.
I woke to the silence of sunrise
My darling was gone.

Now I weep at the ring of my telephone,
I retreat every night at last call,
Each chime I hear lands as an arrow
That pierces my heart.

My angel’s gone, grown wings and flown home
To the arms of the road
And now I know each crystal tone drives from her bones
The weight of a true lover’s soul.

04 Bells

Come on, stand up mirror, and proclaim what you see.
The picture before you holds not but a memory
And the figures that pass ‘neath the glass and the frame,
The faces grow older but the tired eyes remain the same.

So I turn and I walk away
‘Cause it hurts much too much to stay in this hallway
Under the mirror’s gaze.

Now I’m drunk again before the night starts to chime
So I repent to my pen and I swear no more wasted time.
The future is fading but the roads all run straight
Towards a town full of strangers where I’ll make my escape.

And they blur as the room slips away
And your words begging me to stay haunt the waking days
Inside the mirror’s gaze.

Here the pavement greets my feet with waves of heat
Burn like memories in my wandering mind.
And I carry her in a sepulcher of the finest myrrh
A scent that was meant to remind me of her smile.

Come on, stand up mirror, and proclaim what you see.
The picture before you holds not but a memory.

05 Inside the Mirrors Gaze

Make way for the newest god-king, Regret!
Ten thousand nations bow before the black flag bannerette.
Dark days before us, raising oaths of sorrow;
White nights pursue us, seeking no tomorrow

So I hide inside my den of waxing shadows 
And write under the light of a waning candle.
Dark days spent carving pages black with ink scars;
White nights spent chasing memories thin as pen marks

And akin to when the sunrise meets the new snow
They run at the smallest sign of trouble.
Dark days have left me standing frozen, untouched;
White nights to find me chiding smoldering beams of dust.

A war cry rings from the white hot streets
And the battle drums are met with flesh and bone
And the souls of each man who falls will meet
Our new king of kings and kiss the feet of Regret.

Make way for the newest god-king, Regret.
Ten thousand nations bow before the black flag bannerette.


White Nights

   Children, Broadripple is burning and the girls are getting sick off huffing glue up in the bathroom while their boyfriends pick up chicks and darling I'm lost.  I heard you whispering that night in Fountain Square: the trash-filled streets made me wish we were headed home. There was love inside the basement where that woman used to lie in a sleeping bag we shared upon the floor most every night and darling I'm drunk and everything I that I have loved has turned to stone so pack your bags and come back home.

   And I'm wasted, you can taste it, don't look at me that way 'cause I'll be hanging from a rope.  I will haunt you like a ghost.

And if my woman was a fire she'd burn out before I wake and be replaced by pints of whiskey, cigarettes and outer space then somebody moves and everything you thought you had has gone to shit; we've got a lot, don't ever forget that.  I wrote this on an airplane where the people looked like eggs and when a woman that you loved is gone she's bombing east Japan.  Don't fucking move 'cause everything you think you have will go to shit; we've got a lot don't you dare forget that.

And I'm wasted, you can taste it, don't look at me that way 'cause I'll be hanging from a rope.
I will haunt you like a ghost.

Broadripple is Burning (Loren Kavo Covering Margot & the Nuclear So and So's)

The precept of cooperation, of togetherness, of the intrinsic desire that lies within every heart to have and hold close to them another, be them friend or lover, is the defining factor of humanity and the driving force behind our choices; such is the symphony of our voices lifted up to join each others and sing of our time together.  At the center of every life there lies the person who is living it and at the center of Shoestring Symphony lies myself: it is not a band, it is an attempt to find myself in music and in others.  The voice that I raise is both an expression of my inner self and an invitation for others to join me in making a joyful or sorrowful or hopeful noise; your birth merited my affection, your desire merits your place by my side.  

"...and there, under the morning sun, the boy sat down upon a clearing and drew the strings from his shoes and fashioned a span across which to stretch them; he began to play and the music climbed upon the rays of the sun until it reached God in heaven and God himself was so moved as to weep and where fell his tears around the lonely boy a symphony sprung forth and they, together, filled the sky with music..."

Shoestring Symphony

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