The Origin of the Blues

 You in the Meadows

The saints will march out quietly
Without even a flutter for
Their wings were shed
To squeak out the doors of man
There will be no lips a-whistling
No sandals stamping cadences
For they were unemployed
When we declared God as dead

Philosophy has dictated
Man is his own deity
With all the power 
That is thereby implied
Strength is no possession
From a tall Olympian
So much as the blood
That surges inside one’s chest

So lay down, you in the meadow
With the snakes and the ticks and mice
If you are on your own now
Better learn a thing or two 
From the ones that got here first  

Say that you have a hunger,
And you find you’re crumbling under it
You’d better forge a plow
And wait for fall 
You declare yourself a renaissance
And indeed you are a man of thought
But mystery lingers
Just below the dust

So lay down, you in the meadow
With the snakes and the ticks and mice
If you are on your own now
Better learn a thing or two 
From the ones that got here first  


maiden cut: You in the Meadows

9:30

Last plane to Lisbon leaves 9:30 tonight
Forged my ticket, left one line blank
Hope to God that I’m not left alone
But He ain’t here and I fear my pen is gone
Last plane to Lisbon leaves 9:30 tonight

I got a long book by some Russian Saint
They say is good as a modern fourth fate 
Read 40 times, its jacket’s worn thin
Not the only thing I’ve in common with it
Last plane to Lisbon leaves 9:30 tonight

I’ll walk the runway like I walked out your door
Eyes down for a shade in pursuit
Your screen between us will be joined by a sea
Your clothesline will fly without my things
Last plane to Lisbon leaves 9:30 tonight

Someday should you find a relic of mine
My lost scarf or a gift I inscribed
I ask you bury it in the sands of the beach
So it’s subject to the tides like me
Last plane to Lisbon leaves 9:30 tonight


9.30

Evil In Silk

The cobbler’s always working
But unshod himself
The policemen in the courtroom
Are unsure where to put their coats
Me, I’m in the alley
Between two chain restaurants
Learning evil’s so much worse
When it’s wrapped in silk

There’s a bait-ball of comets
A silver billion souls I harmed
But if I were pressed for names
I couldn’t give a single one
I tried my best to do Good well
The truth sticks in the craw
I never could get very far
On instruments and mirrors

Put down your shield and bullhorn
I’m done feigning concern
I’ve dropped my arms since I learned
Evil’s worse when it’s wrapped in silk

I’ll lay down my jacket here
Untie my slope-soled boots
I’ll hold these headlines above me
A symbol for the little I can do
When the ink runs to my shirtsleeves
I’ll wear it proud
Knowing it’s the only honest way
I’ve ever owned someone else’s trial

Put down your shield and bullhorn
I’m done feigning concern
I’ve dropped my arms since I learned
Evil’s worse when it’s wrapped in silk


Evil in Silk (solo)

On Rhetoric/Grinch

My first foray into recording. Looking to break into something.


Welshrats