Origin Story

moved to a new town at age fourteen, never knowing less about who I was supposed to be. Put aside the football pads and picked up a few nasty habits, stumbling down a path too dark to see. A kid in town he showed me his six-string. He put it in my hands and bent my fingers into “g”, said “Press it down until it hurts, then all your scars will do their work and you’ll be good enough to jam with me.” Yeah, I think I got it. I think I got it now. I think I got it. I think I got it. And I fell so easily.

All summer long the noise was deafening, and suddenly the microphone was calling out to me. And not even my teenage love was potent as that gateway drug when, wide-eyed, she asked, “you write that for me?” I think I found it. I think I found it now. I think I found it. I think I found it. i know who i’m supposed to be.

And what do you see when the lights come on but the writing on the wall? where does it lead? You can near and far but never know it at all. Nobody knows. Nobody knows.

we plugged in and played a couple shows, too blissfully naive to grasp how much we didn’t know. And not even my teenage love was potent as that gateway drug when now i knew exactly where to go. I think I found it. I think I found it now. I think I found it. I think I found it.

Song For Abby Pace

I’m waking every day, accepting things that I can’t change, and all the places I can’t be. Too young to spot cliche; too old a soul to plot escape. I got another world in me. A secret to keep. And I know from your breathing when you fall asleep, receiver wedged between your ear and twin bed cotton sheets.

You walk the halls all day; your face, it gives nothing away, just show them what they need to see. And on the back of your bed frame, you carve the letters of my name, down low where no else can read, your secret to keep. And I know from your breathing when you fall asleep, receiver wedged between your ear and twin bed cotton sheets. But me, I never hang up, I want to listen to you dream. No matter what you murmur, your secret’s safe with me.

And night turns into morning, and everyone’s asleep. But we don’t want to hang up, when we’re living in this dream. And you can tell me anything; your secret’s safe with me. No matter what you murmur, your secret’s safe with me.

Disappearing

Congregating in the kitchen in service of the sin, you all crowd around the blender, watch the medicine swirl in and then it goes down sweet and easy, sugary like dessert. You never knew how much you needed something; suddenly it seems that nothing hurts. And you don’t notice there’s a gate you’re passing through. And if you lost yourself, it must be because you wanted to. There’s a lesson to learn here: not just how to loosen up, or how to melt persistent fears away with every single cup. The lesson you’re learning, it’s how to disappear: how to leave yourself behind awhile like you were never here.    

Only steal the clear stuff. If the bottle’s getting low, you can top it off with water and they’ll never even know. And if you wake up in the morning at the bottom of a hole, you can knock one back for breakfast, kick those consequences down the road.  And you don’t notice there’s a gate that you passed through. And if you lost yourself, it must be because you wanted to. There’s a lesson to learn here, not how to throw up, or how to crush so many breath-mints, you can pass for good enough. The lesson you’re learning, it’s how to disappear: how to leave yourself behind awhile like you were never here. There’s a lesson to learn here, not how to sober up, or to stumble in past curfew, looking tired instead of buzzed. The lesson you’re learning is how to disappear: how to leave yourself behind awhile like you were never here.

Incense and Blacklights

Sneak out in darkest night, go rambling under cold moonlight. Outside her house at four, I’m scratching on the basement door. My brain goes back to front, connections just ain’t fast enough. Tomorrow’s just a bluff; tonight, she’s real enough to touch.

And with that devilish grin, she always lets me in. And with that silent stare: the hunger that we share. She’s just an urge I can’t deny, so I won’t try, I won’t try. She’s like a drug I can’t refuse, so I just use and use and use.

Under the blacklight glare, the cheap incense perfumes the air. The sweat upon her skin, I lap it up, I’m diving in. I test these borderlines, defeat defenses, take what’s mine. No question of what’s right, when all the world is on your side. And of the flesh and eyes, and of that boastful pride. And always at your side, from now throughout your life. She’s just an urge I can’t deny, so I won’t try, I won’t try. She’s like a drug I can’t refuse, so I just use and use and use.

And everywhere you’ll ever roam, it’s going to haunt you like a ghost. You and your too-familiar friend, over your shoulder until the end.

Thick as Thieves

Fifteen and I was slaving downstairs in a retail basement. One of those jobs that wouldn’t last. You worked two floors above me, snuck down when the place was empty. Minimum wage: it bonds you fast. So then it was you and me, thick as thieves in misery.

How many times, you couldn’t go home, so you just crashed at mine and we stayed up half the night. How many times did the moment come when we almost crossed the line? But we made it through the night. We always made it through the night.

Your boyfriend never liked me. You convinced him not to fight me, but I knew he’d love to take a swing. And you seemed just as scary, made all my girlfriends wary. They knew I told you everything. So then it was you and me, thick as thieves in villainy. How many times, you couldn’t go home, so you just crashed at mine and we stayed up half the night. We stayed up half the night. How many times did you cover my tracks, because I told so many lies. But we made it through all right. We always made it through the night.

You took a whole yearbook page, told me you weren’t going to say “I’ll miss you.” You’d never say “I’ll miss you.” Because nothing was going to change, you’d never need to say “I’ll miss you.” So they say…

How many times you couldn’t go home, so you just crashed at mine, and we stayed up half the night. We stayed up half the night. How many times did you cover my tracks, because I told so many lies. But we made it through all right. We always made it through the night. How many times you couldn’t go home, so you just crashed at mine, and we stayed up half the night. We stayed up half the night. How many times did the moment come before we crossed the line? At least we made it til that night. At least we made it til that night.

Graduation Tears

It was graduation day: pomp and circumstance on display, but what a mess you’d made of your face. And dry-eyed by your side, I was giving it my best try to understand why you were crying. And the banners read “Congrats.” The point-and-shoots flickered and flashed. Handshakes and slaps on backs. We posed together on the lawn, but my mind was already gone, wondering what else lay beyond.

‘Cause what could be more sad? Sadder than a prom queen, scared of taking off her crown, scared to ever leave her hometown? What could be more sad - sadder than the townies, up in the bleachers at the high school gym, playing another tired round of “Remember when?”

What could be more sad? Sadder than a beauty, peaking in her senior year, thinking that it’s all downhill from here? What could be more sad? Sadder than nostalgia, never giving up on high school love, thinking some dumb boy must be The One?

‘Cause I was headed for the exit. I was headed for the quick escape. It ain’t me you’re looking for, babe. And I’ll be skipping the reunions. I’ll be skipping the “Remember when?” No, you’ll never see my face round here again.

Middle Family

Somewhere deep in a cardboard box: photographs of the ones you lost. Four by six paper documents, colors fading and corners bent. Huddled faces with arms entwined. Glowing youth from another time. History of a long-lost tribe, something vibrant that up and died.

And you all spoke in an intimate language just you understood: all the same songs, the movies, and books. Because what makes us care about things is that others do too. So you opened your world, as they opened for you.

As a toddler your favorite game: running wild through the simple maze of the kitchen where laughter chimed, as your mother trailed close behind. Decades later, it all repeats: pitter patter of little feet. Different house, but the game’s the same. Now you’re chasing, not being chased.

But in between those two families, another close family is formed: It’s all your best friends, sure to stick to the end. And each is close enough to be a brother, or lover, or more. Til one day they’re not. Suddenly they’re all gone.

You stumble onto your gateway drugs. All at once, you can’t get enough. With a taste of a brand-new life, the old one just gets left behind. No more talks in the dead of night. No more no-destination drives. Childish things to be put away, memories for another day. And there’s no fiery explosion to signify “All this done.” No funeral parade. No twenty-one guns. So “Don’t be a stranger” you say as you go separate ways. But that’s what you’ll be, all the rest of your days.

Wise Fools

What to say, when the crushing weight of your beauty leaves me breathless. I can see how it must be, as you float across a room, some wild rose in bloom. And I recall the confusion of those days, how it had a way of taking over. But I can’t keep you safe with talk, I can only watch you walk away before you round a corner.

What to do when the wisest fools swear they already know all the answers. What to think when every drink could be a gateway to something too familiar. And I know you’re going to have to break in order to mend, to fall so you can get up again. And I know your hands are going to shake, your knees will be weak, but you’ll be all right in the end.

I know you’re going to have to break in order to mend, to fall so you can get up again. And I know my hands are going to shake, my knees will be weak, but you’ll be all right in the end. You’ll be all right the end. You’ll be all right the end.

Gateway drugs

(Released on September 8, 2023

1. Origin Story

2. Song For Abby Pace

3. Disappearing

4. Incense and Blacklights

5. Thick as thieves

6. Graduation Tears

7. Middle Family

8. Wise Foools

My Heart Leaving

Up a frozen mountain trail I walked into the sun, squinting in the snowy glare, thinning air within my lungs. when below the path, three mule deer tiptoed silently, big one shepherding the rest, caution clear in every step.

And I could feel my heart leaving my body, and I could feel it going into yours, and I knew you’d have it with you, every path you tread upon, and I knew life would be different from now on.

A creeping case of vertigo had stopped me flat: the tilt and spin of higher ground. I couldn’t keep from looking down. And I realized I was higher than I’d ever been, on any bender, any peak, too amazed to even speak.

the mountains never looked so much like monsters, and the wind had never seemed so like a song. And the world was never so alive with wonder and with fear because I knew my life was different from now on.

now I sense my heart outside my body, now I feel the change I’ve undergone, and there’s equal paralysis in terror and in love, because I know my life is different from now on.

this much is true

Be still my heart for a blue-eyed blonde girl. I was running like hell when you came in the world. I was mining for diamonds and diving for pearls, hoping it would all pay off one day. But all those lost moments I can’t recollect: I was deep in the jungle when you stepped your first steps. I was three-thousand miles from the crib where you slept. I missed so many moments, it’s true: So many memories of you.

whether out on the highway or across the sea, there was so many nights when I dreamed the same dream. So you if you ever found yourself dreaming of me, well I promise you this much is true: when you were dreaming of me, I was dreaming of you.

I can peer at the pictures but it just ain’t the same. you were grown up all golden before I knew your name, before I saw your face, like the sky after rain. because a childhood is fleeting, it’s true.

whether high on the mountain or out on the beach, there were so many nights when I wished the same thing. So if you ever found yourself wishing for me, I promise you this much is true: when you were wishing for me, I was wishing for you.

whether safe, home, and happy or alone suffering, there were so many nights when I dreamed the same thing. So if you ever found yourself dreaming of me, well I promise you this much is true: when you were dreaming of me, I was dreaming of you.

my girl’s

i’ve heard enough from the pious, and the morals you profess, because the only one worse than the worst is the worst who thinks she’s best. no on asked your opinion on what other people do, but if we’re picking roles for each other, i thought of one for you.

My girl’s going to do what she wants, if it’s a brick through your window or being your boss. If you think I’m wrong, just wait and see. My girl’s going to do what she likes, whether saving the world or just living her life. It ain’t up to you; it ain’t up to me.

I’ve had enough of the tyrants, and the cowards who prop them up, because the only thing weaker than a weakling is a weakling who thinks he’s tough. all the antiquated bullshit about man and god and law. your self-doubt is showing, friend. Zip up and move along.

My girl’s going to do what she must, if it’s a white picket fence or a black tour bus. And you better watch who you’re talking to. My girl’s going to do what she likes, whether saving the world or just living her life. It ain’t up to me; it ain’t up to you.

And you wouldn’t know jesus from a bum on the street. You wouldn’t know jesus from a crook on tv. It ain’t up to him; it ain’t up to me. it ain’t up to you. It ain’t up to me.

my girl’s going to sing where she wants, if it’s a gospel choir or a honky-tonk. and you better watch who you’re talking to. my girl’s going to do what she likes, whether saving the world or just living her life. it ain’t up to me; it ain’t up to you. it ain’t up to me; it ain’t up to you.

Ess Eff

“NO ONE CALLS IT ‘FRISCO,’” YOU SAY AS WE WALK UP THE STREET. “MAYBE YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH ‘ESS EFF’ BUT IT’S JUST ‘THE CITY’ TO ME.” AND I THINK: “SHE’S TOO BEAUTIFUL. THIS IS JUST ANOTHER DREAM.” BUT THEN I RECOGNIZE THE SHADE OF YOUR EYES; I THINK YOU GET THAT FROM ME.

North beach sparkles brighter with you on my arm, but I keep thinking back to those dizzy days before you were born. Crawling from bar to bar with one-night friends whose names I can’t recall and waking up on dirty floors, my head lost in the fog. and Spilling out of vesuvio after beating some retreat, dancing in jack kerouac alley because there was music in the street. Some girl played accordion, some boy stomped on a box to keep the beat. And I was sure I was running out of miles to go before I’d sleep. I thought I was running out of miles to go before I’d sleep.

and I remember that corner in the haight where I slept in the car, and that patch of grass in the presidio where I lay with my guitar, and the audacity to hope for days like this just seemed a bridge too far. So I just sang about my own hard luck, my ever-broken heart.

I want to be sixteen again, and feel like you do, when the days don’t seem so fleeting, and the city still feels new, and the men don’t seem like monsters and bad days just won’t do. when the whole wide world is waiting, and it feels like waiting just for you.

I know every father with a daughter is in for tragedy. And I can already feel you slipping away as you get closer to me. So if I only have one moment, one truth I can make you see, believe me when I promise you: you can be anything. Promise me you understand: you can be anything.

Sons

The day I learned it had been a son, gone before he had a name, I memorized the map before me. I carved out space to hold the pain. ANd all your plans are just sand castles: the flood arrives, you watch them drown. And you can pray for their revival or you can learn to live without.

So can you make room, some place in your heart, for the things you didn’t ask for, the things you didn’t want? Can you make room, some available space for the sudden unexpected despite the plans you made?

ONe headlong rush into the future, a dozen trips around the sun. A hand is reaching out to touch me, because he knows I am the one. AND EVERYTHING HAS AN INVERSION, AND PAIN CAN FLOW THE OTHER WAY. IT DOESN’T VANISH, BUT IT WEAKENS. I FEEL IT DYING EVERY DAY.

So can you make room, IN YOUR WOUNDED heart, for the ONES YOU DIDN’T COUNT ON, YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU’D want? Can you make room, A WELCOMING space for the sudden unexpected despite the plans you made?

YOU CURSE THE UNIVERSE FOR CRUELTY. YOU THANK THE UNIVERSE FOR LUCK. YOU LEARN IT HAS A SENSE OF HUMOR. YOU HAVE A LAUGH AND BUCKLE UP.

So you make room, IN YOUR HEALING heart, for the ONES YOU TOOK FOR GRANTED, THAT YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU’D want. AND SO YOU make room, A WELCOMING space for the sudden unexpected despite the plans you made. AND SO YOU MAKE ROOM.

I’D BE LYING IF I TOLD YOU THE TRUTH

MAYBE NOW I’M PAST THE AGE OF WONDER. I TALLIED UP TOO MANY HOPES’ DEMISE. I JUST LISTEN FOR THE SOUND OF MY BREATHING SLOWING DOWN. HERE ON SOLID GROUND, I’M PAST THE AGE OF SKY. FOUND MY FOOTING, SO I’M FINISHED TRYING TO FLY.

BUT I REMEMBER RIDING ON THAT HIGHWAY. I REMEMBER JUMPING IN THE FIRE. BUT THAT TALE IS OFTEN TOLD, SO THE STORY’S GOTTEN OLD. NOW IT’S LESS THAN BOLD, NOW I’M PREACHING TO THE CHOIR. BUT I’D RATHER BE A BORE THAN BE A LIAR.

AND THE TROUBADOURS KEEP STEPPING ON THE STAGES. POETS KEEP ON STRIVING FOR THE MUSE. SO IT’S RIGHTEOUS TO REFUSE WHEN I GOT SO MUCH TO LOSE. I’D BE LYING IF I TOLD YOU THE TRUTH. I’D BE LYING, SO I FIGURE: WHAT’S THE USE?

NOW I THINK I’VE GROWN TOO WEAK FOR FIGHTING. NOW I THINK I’VE GROWN TOO OLD FOR RAGE. I GOT THESE QUESTIONS FOR THE CLOUDS, THE KIND YOU NEVER SPEAK OUT LOUD. NOW THERE’S TOO MUCH DOUBT, I FINALLY ACT MY AGE. NOW I’VE GROWN TOO OLD TO TRY TO TURN THE PAGE.

BUT I REMEMBER WAKING UP IN THAT HOUSE. I REMEMBER RUNNING ON THE BEACH. AND I HAD SAND AND SEA ON THE WET CUFFS OF MY JEANS AND THE WEIGHT OF YEARS WAS ROLLING OFF OF ME. I FELT THE WEIGHT OF YEARS JUST ROLLING OFF OF ME.

HONESTY IS JUST A MAN’S PERSPECTIVE. HISTORY’S JUST A STORY YOU PRODUCE. IF YOU THINK I’D TELL A LIE JUST TO HELP ME TO GET BY, A LIE IS JUST MY STORY YOU DISPUTE. SO I’D BE LYING IF I TOLD YOU THE TRUTH.

LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE

TIME TO CUT YOUR LOSSES. MAKE A SHOW OF IT. YOU CAN GET REVENGE OR JUST GET OVER IT. YOU’LL SHOW THEM. ALL THIS STORMY WEATHER, STARING AT THE SKY. LOOKING DARK AS EVER, BUT TIME IS ON YOUR SIDE. THERE’S NO HERO WALKING THROUGH THAT DOOR. YOU GOT TO BE THE ONE TO CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE AND SHOW THEM.

LET THEM HAVE THEIR TANTRUM. LET THEM SCREAM AND SHOUT. LET THEM RAISE THEIR VOICES, YOU’RE GONNA DROWN THEM OUT. ALL THAT STORMY WEATHER, WE CAN MAKE IT THROUGH. SONS, THEY LOOK TO FATHERS, BUT IT’S ALL ON YOU. YOU’LL SHOW THEM. THERE’S NO HERO WALKING THROUGH THAT DOOR. YOU GOT TO BE THE ONE TO CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE AND SHOW THEM.

THERE’S NO HERO WALKING THROUGH THAT DOOR. YOU GOT TO BE THE ONE TO CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE. CATCH THAT LIGHTNING IN A BOTTLE AND SHOW THEM.

bEHIND THE DOOR

HERE I STAND, BEFORE A DOOR, CLOSED TO ME FOR NOW. SHAFTS OF LIGHT CREEP BENEATH. YOUR PACING FEET MAKE SHADOWS. SO I WAIT, AND I WAIT.

I CAN FEEL YOU WHEN YOU’RE KNOCKING. CAN YOU HEAR ME WHEN I SPEAK? I CAN’T SEE YOU BUT I KNOW YOU’RE JUST BEHIND THE DOOR, JUST BEHIND THE DOOR.

HERE I STAND, BEFORE A DOOR, KNOWING SOON IT WILL OPEN. KNOWING I WILL SPEND MY LIFE LOVING YOU FOR ALWAYS. SO I WAIT, AND I WAIT.

I CAN FEEL YOU WHEN YOU’RE KNOCKING. CAN YOU HEAR ME WHEN I SPEAK? AND I KNOW YOU’RE RIGHT THERE WAITING JUST BEHIND THE DOOR, JUST BEHIND THE DOOR.

Daughters and Sons

(Released on june 4, 2021)

1. My Heart Leaving

2. This Much Is True

3. My Girl’s

4. Ess Eff

5. Sons

6. I’d be Lying if I told You the Truth

7. Lightning in a Bottle

8. behind the door

Foster Falls

Hey Corinne, you pretty thing, won’t you come get lost round Foster Falls with me? These city streets are sweltering. I can feel that cold, cold water beckoning.

The truth is, life ain’t like those country tunes we always turn up loud, stuck here all day pouring other people’s drinks. And you’re the only reason I’m still kickin’ round this tourist town, but I’ll clear out of here right now, just come with me. Let’s go find ourselves a sweeter melody.

Hey Corinne. Miss Tennessee. Second Avenue is baking in the heat. Let’s go walk under that canopy of leaves. Because I’m tired of being just a prop in someone else’s scene and I’m sick of hearing all the useless talk. But they say underneath that waterfall, you can’t hear a thing, just the thunder as it splashes off the rocks. As you feel my arms around you in the dark.

So let’s cash out and make a run, south down Highway 41. They won’t even know we’re gone til morning comes. 

no one gets out alive

Get a bottle out. Put a record on. Make it something in three, in a minor key and we’ll sing along. And there’s a mason jar, on the highest shelf. It tastes evil and sweet, just for times these, when it hurts like hell. 

When the hurricane arrives, you bend like the trees. When you’re struggling to survive, you dig in deep. But no one gets out alive, so let’s get flooded out tonight and tomorrow, we’ll recede eventually. 

March that second line on the tabletop. And we’ll drown out the sound, until the lights go down and the spinning stops.

When the hurricane arrives, you bend like the trees. When you’re struggling to survive, you dig in deep. But no one gets out alive, so let’s blow away tonight and we’ll come washing up eventually.

When the hurricane arrives, you bend like the trees. When you’re struggling to survive, you dig in deep. But no one gets out alive, so let’s sink to the bottom tonight and we’ll come floating up eventually.

The dog life

Another genesis over, another exodus begins. I left the last joint smoldering, now I’m lighting up again. I don’t go in for dogma; can’t care about karma; a stretch of highway’s all I need to absolve me of my sins. I’ll run to the capital town, that Athens of the South, meet a songbird/waitress who keeps the bed turned down. She’ll be an angel when she smiles but holy hell when she frowns. And my friends will take me in once she kicks me out.

Another day defeated, another view of the abyss. Another rock on a hillside, another Sisyphus. So stop asking, “why?” Just laugh til you cry. And til the day you die, trust the whole thing is a myth. I make for the Mississippi to take what I can get. Land me some Memphis belle with sophisticated wit. Her southern charm goes missing, when she sees I can’t commit but my friends will take me in when it all goes to shit.

Well I’ll stick with underdogging and causes that are lost every time. I ain’t hounding after love, I’m just trying to raise my quantity of life. Creeping off to the Crescent, who knows what’s in store? Gotta find myself a comfy spot to lay down, like before. I ain’t trying to live better; I’m just trying to live more. And my friends will take me in, when she shows me the door.

Goldbricker

You live for nighttime in this honky-tonk town, cruising for suckers you can try to shakedown, another creature of the dark, cranking the noise up loud. Rubbing shoulders with the opulent class, you get that lizard thrill, leeching their cash. I saw you down at the brickyard, with your gold paint, building your stash.

You cut the figure of a smashing success. Big rented houses never fail to impress. Make cameras shoot you from above, so you can hide that double chin. “You gotta fake it til you make it,” they say, but that implies you’re gonna make it one day. I saw you down at the brickyard, with your gold paint, trying to get paid.

Manipulation is your spectator sport and you love nothing more than holding court. Lay on that snake oil smile, bust out that hustler charm. You talked another waitress home from the bar. Probably convinced her that you’d make her a star. But I saw you at the brickyard, with your gold paint. I know what you are.

Now you’ve overplayed your hand. You’re gonna need a grander plan, once the confidence is lost in the confidence man. 

The grifter tricks are going to fail you in time. Crafting your legend ain’t a victimless crime.           Now there’s a crowd that’s getting larger that you need to avoid. You never think about the things you destroy. Now all the repo men are after your toys. I saw you at the brickyard, with your gold paint, you black-eyed boy.

threnody

I thought you’d made it past that dead man’s curve, and though so many fell, you would endure, and those contagious blues had failed, because you had found the cure.  I thought you’d shaken off that poet’s curse, that you could stand up to the same old verse, and if you felt that fatal hook, you’d simply change the words.

I thought if you weren’t through it all, at least you were through the worst. I really thought you’d made it past that dead man’s curve.

I thought you’d made it through that fire unburnt, that exaltation could outweigh hurt. I thought you’d want to ride it out, enjoy the life you’d earned.

And in every tragedy, there’s a lesson to be learned, but I really thought you’d made it past that dead man’s curve.

And I hope you found the peace and quiet you deserve, but I really wish you’d made it past that dead man’s curve.

Black leather

She said her perfect man had to have one: a black leather jacket, well worn and scuffed up, so I picked you out in a rush, slung you on my shoulders and tried to look tough. Yeah your price was sky high, and I don't ride a bike. Hell, I don't even drive at high speed. But if you made me perfect to her, you were perfect for me. 

Before long, I'd say you earned your keep. All those college house-parties and street corner leans with a Marlboro between my teeth. We were one pretty picture of rebel physique. And I don't know if she ever marveled at how we embodied that rock-star mystique. But if you helped me stand out to her, you were priceless to me.

You were the uniform I’d always choose, in all the band photographs, the video shoots. Yeah, you and I, we couldn’t lose, catching every girl’s eye, with the boots and tattoos. And she met a guy, and they seemed to get on, though I couldn’t say to what degree, but I guess if he’s good to her, then he’s okay with me.

We ain’t looking so tough as before: all the scuffmarks and stiches and unsettled scores. No we don’t go out much no more. You just hunch on a chair like some veteran of war. And I heard they got married in a big Nashville church, and the next year, the baby made three, so I’m sure life’s as perfect for her as she knew it would be.

st. anthony blues

I took a beaten leather journal from the shelf above my bed and went sifting through the fragments of the former lives I’ve led in the years that stretch behind me like a roughly beaten path, all the hours, minutes, seconds that passed. Every time I chose a right or left the other road remained, like a softly curving question mark of pleasure or of pain, in the choose-your-own-adventure of my years upon this earth. Who knows what those turns were worth?

So I sing a hymn for what’s been lost, all the treasures and what they cost. Oh my god, what a ride. With the temerity to trade all the decisions I have made, I couldn’t say if I’d be on the losing side.

Well my knowledge ain’t that carnal and my memory’s obsolete. I’ve got two minds going sideways, and they can’t help but compete. I’m never bad enough to push things as far they can go, but I’m not good enough to leave them alone. So I got great at crossing borders but remained in no man’s land. I went all-in holding nothing and I folded winning hands, but I’d like to think I minimized the damage here and there. Just don’t make me say where.

So I sing a hymn for what’s been missed, all the sordid secret trysts. Oh my god, what the hell. As if I’d turn into a joke every song I ever wrote because it might put a few more notches in my belt.

I spent years on raspy poetry and thumping my guitar in the ivy-covered colleges and Music City bars. And the money-men were circling always just a room away, keeping better ideas at bay. Well, they never offered anything that I could not refuse. I guess we always disagreed on whether I had much to lose. So I shook the meager promises of glitterati fame and I shouldered all the blame.

So we sing a hymn for bullets dodged and whatever lay behind that façade. Oh my god, what a relief. I’ll not go kicking with a scream into the jaws of mediocrity, forever flashing cameramen my teeth.

When you reunite with secrets then you’re walking on a wire, so make peace with some exposure, or make peace with being a liar. Open portals at your peril. Keep in mind what rules apply. Always ask the question, “Why?”

So you can weep for all the enemies who started off as friends, weep for all the places that you’ll never see again. You can weep for all the certainty you lost throughout the years, but no one’s going to dry your tears.

ballast

I would have given up the gunny sack and headed for New Orleans. I would have loaded up my shotgun shack with whatever let the noise in. I would have let the arrows find their mark. I would have let the muses do their part. I would have poured it all into the art, if not for you.

I would have lived in Bywater bars with the painters and the poets. I would have stared at the girl with the invisible scars and made sure to let her know it. I would have stood up at the parlor front. I would have slayed them all with what I’d brought. I would have tied them all in double knots, if not for you.

I would have left that bitter scene behind, to the vampires and the songbirds. I would have saved some of my precious time, started building something stronger. I would have let the haters get my goat. I would have torn up every page I wrote. I would have realized I’m just a joke, if not for you.

I would have run my car right off the road, and flipped into the gutter. I would have bruised my face and broke my nose, started calling for my mother. I would have bent that fucker like a nail. I would have barely lived to tell the tale. I would have probably found my ass in jail, if not for you.

I would have sat there while my world collapsed. I would have wept for all the other paths. I would have never stood the slightest chance, if not for you.

the last party

Here’s another sad rocker too obsessed with death, time slipping through your hands while your fingers fret. Go from Duluth to the Delta for the things you lack, but don’t talk to the dead because they won’t talk back.

And this is the last party that you’ll ever attend; we ain’t all gonna meet next week to run it back again. This is the last party, so stay as long as you can. This is the last; this is the last; this is the end.

Change your life; change your wife; change your paradigm. Shove your stuff in a truck, move to Mountain time. And paint in any shade you like until it fades to black, but don’t talk to the dead cause they won’t talk back.

Yeah this is the last party, so tell your stories now. It’s a one-way trip on this ship, no turnaround. This is the last party, stay as long as you can. This is the last, this is the last, this is the end. Yeah this is the end.

 It was three days later when I made it through. You were a stitched-wrist crumple in the ICU. And your daughter was crying for the horrible mess, knowing everybody dies, whether cursed or blessed, but darkness wins faster when we acquiesce.

And this is the last party that you’ll ever attend. We ain’t all gonna meet next week to run it back again. This is the last party, stay as long as you can. This is the last, this is the last, this is the end. This is the end.

Dead Messengers

(Releasing on March 20, 2020)

1. Foster Falls

2. No One Gets out Alive

3. The dog life

4. goldbricker

5. threnody

6. black leather

7. st. anthony blues

8. ballast

9. the last party

The Train and the Tunnel

Spring on the plains. It’s looking like rain. I’m trying to reach you. But you’re out on the coast with some holy ghost. That’s where it keeps you. So I might catch a ride on a jet out west and come pick you up, and we can remember the best of times, when we felt alive. Because you got lost somewhere out there and it broke your heart when things fell apart. So you shut your eyes.

But how do I say: that light at the end of the tunnel, it ain’t some saving grace. It’s a freight train racing fast, and it’s going to knock you flat. That line that gives you hope, it ain’t some rescue rope. There’s poison in its teeth. You gotta wake from this dream.

The gods inspire. Faith lights a fire. It overtakes you. But gods betray: they giveth, they taketh away, and fathers can fail you. So why don’t I gather the old gang together for one more show, and we can play all your favorite songs, because it’s been too long. You got lost somewhere out there and we need you back, with your soul intact, not some empty shell.

But how do I say: that light at the end of the tunnel, it ain’t some saving grace. It’s a freight train racing fast, and it’s going to knock you flat. That line that gives you hope, it ain’t some rescue rope. There’s poison in its teeth. You gotta wake up from this dream. You gotta wake from this dream.

 Fake Constellations

Nothing feels like seventeen, riding round with the music loud like a high school punk-rock queen, but all the stars you’re wishing on are really just bulbs on a string and what you think you want so bad really doesn’t mean anything.

I never should have walked you home. I never should have walked you home. You’d have been better off alone. I never should have walked you home.    

Back then everything was a game. To be young is to suffer and yet never really feel any pain. No, that comes later, when you realize it’s never the same. And all the stars above your bed are just plastic and double-stick tape.

I never should have walked you home. I never should have walked you home. You’d have been better off alone. I never should have walked you home. When you think of how one thing leads to another, you can’t help but wonder - if you’d gone a different road… I never should have walked you home.

Yeah, I was your high school punk-rock king, but all the things we thought were true didn’t mean anything, and the stars we were wishing on were really just bulbs on a string.

 Ode to Disaster

Praise the lord for his disasters: all the agony and dread. And those things you can’t imagine: if they came along and happened, they just might be for the best. I’m not tethered to a monster. I’m not drowning in the red. And no matter how depressing, I should be down counting blessings on my knees beside my bed.

Tattoo roses for the living. Tattoo black stars for the dead. And there ain’t no use crying now. Be a fortunate son somehow.  Praise the lord for his disasters, hit the floor beside your bed, hush the voices in your head.

I go back to California. It still feels a lot like home. But that knife that keeps on twisting: when I hold my brothers’ children, I can’t help thinking of my own.

Tattoo roses for the living. Write the other two an ode. And there ain’t no use crying now.  Be a fortunate son somehow.  Praise the lord for his disasters, keep on carrying the load. You’re a lucky one, you know.

Tattoo roses for the living; don’t forget the others, though. And there ain’t no use crying now. Be a fortunate son somehow.  Praise the lord for his disasters. You’re a lucky one, you know. Keep on rolling up that stone.

 The Trouble with Sinking

She corners you as you leave the party, pulls you by your belt to her body, lets you know she’s onto your weakness, lets you have a taste of her secrets, shows you where you can sink your teeth in.

Now your life is like a blue movie. On the floor, says “Do it to me.” Now you lose your way in all your hunger, every rolling wave, you’re diving under, paddling out to where it gets deeper. From the shoreline you’re just a black blur, courting danger out on the water. And all your friends say you’re disappearing, but out to sea, it’s not like you’re hearing talking heads with all their opinions, drifting further into the distance, unaware you’re already sinking.

And all of the fog thins out by noon. And all of the grey soon burns off to blue. When the layers are lifted, what’s left of you?

The old crowd moved on to new cities. They’re scattered now, the ghosts of your history. You can’t recall the moment when it hit you: you realize they already missed you. You’ve been lost to them since the beginning, ever since she sent your head spinning, ever since you first started sinking.

The House in the Canyon

I dreamed I was young, in a top-down convertible under the sun, snaking up serpentine curves to the hilltops above. Perfumed air in my lungs, a lucky American son, resting on laurels for what little things I had done, enjoying the spoils from a battle that I hadn’t won.

There’s a house in the canyon with the boys in your band, and 4,000 square feet of open floor plan, and a deep blue pool surrounded by tropical plants. And a softly lit room and a girl by your bed, and a way that she bends as she slips off her dress, and a thundering fear that you’ll wake up before what comes next.

Every mile that I drove, another new staggering vista arose, the impossible blue of the sky and the valley below. Like a dream, but I know, hidden somewhere behind the tableau: the unshakeable feeling that all of it’s only on loan, and soon someone might come in a truck, pack it up and then go.

There’s a house in the canyon where the money gets spent, and you sell your guitars but you still can’t make rent. You used to write songs but now you throw parties instead. There are holes in the ceiling where rain pours in, and rooms full of her junk where your friends used to live, and the deep dirty pool, yeah you’d have to be mad to jump in.

And when everything’s slipping away, you tighten your grip, and you try to hold on to the girl, but she doesn’t exist. Once the role has been played out, only the actress is left.

I dreamed I was old. In the grey light of evening, I walked down a road, staring off into the distance through light falling snow. It was quiet, I was cold, and deep in my soul, I knew I was alone. And in that same instant, I felt myself turning to stone.

There’s a house in the canyon where it all comes undone, and the storm breaks above you and blocks out the sun, and everything you used to care for gets lost in the flood. There’s no phrase to be turned now, no tale to be spun. Your words melt to nothing as the ink starts to run. No staunching the wound now, no clotting the blood. No path to redemption, the damage is done.

 Shimmering Mirage

I remember pink light and sweet smells and spilling to the sidewalk after they rang last call. Yeah I remember every last detail: the way you walked up the Boulevard, smiled, and took my arm. And it was long past three AM, but you and me, it was all just beginning.

Hey, the mirage might fade, but in the pre-dawn shimmer, this city’s a sight to see. Yeah the mirage might fade, but we don’t stop believing cause it feels so good to believe.

I remember red lips and blue eyes and trying not to stare at the glow of your moonlight skin. Yeah I remember joking about star signs and the way that you cradled my face when you leaned in. And it was long past time to wake, but you and me, we never started sleeping.

Hey, the mirage might fade, and we ain’t even 21, but we’re drunk on all our dreams.

Yeah, the mirage might fade, but we don’t stop believing cause it feels so good to believe.

And one day I’ll see my name in lights, and one day you’ll start that jewelry line, and one day we’ll stick to what we love, yeah one day there’s gonna be enough, and you can quit dancing in that club, and I can quit trying to act so tough, always stopping short of what I want to say.

Yeah, the mirage might fade, but in the predawn shimmer, you’re such a sight to see.

Yeah, the mirage might fade, but we don’t stop believing cause it feels so good to believe. Yeah we won’t stop believing cause it feels so good to believe. No I won’t stop believing cause it feels so good to believe.

 Perspective

Went down to the gallery show one night: a skinny band playing shrug-rock under the lights, with a chorus in every song, something clever and we nod along, another crowded in-crowd kind of night.

I was never a cool kid; I just joined in and went for a ride. But you could open doors then, so if I stayed close, I could follow inside.

Went down to the gallery show one night: all the splattered canvas under the lights. And there’s a million different scenes, it all depends what you want to see. You point out yours and I’ll point out mine.

I was never the picture of what it is you think you need, but from a certain angle, I could seem like a masterpiece.

I was never the picture of what it is you think you need, but from a certain angle, I could be a masterpiece. It’s all about perspective, because things are never what they seem and whether it’s fantastic all depends on what you believe.

A Story Worth Repeating

You had to be drunk tonight and calling me late, from your diner table, your Belgian waffles, you’re sitting alone. Because a song made you nostalgic: it’s devouring you whole. And nothing is fantastic. You tell me, “Nothing is fantastic.”

So you chalk it up to whiskey and you chalk it up to bad light.  You blame it all on boredom, yeah just blame it all on Friday night. But me, I’m just an impulse-buy, like I caught your eye while you waited in line. So you gave me a try.

Because I’ll always take your phone call and I’ll always hear you whisper. If the truth be told, I’d still walk all the night-streets just to sit there, and soak up all your moonlight, every ounce that I can capture, but this feeling I’ve been missing is the one that leaves me shattered.

I wasn’t lost tonight until I picked up my phone and you opened up that door a crack, inviting me in. Because I’ve always been a sucker for going back where I’ve been. And nothing’s ever over. It seems like nothing’s ever over.

And I think about the first time, when we felt two halves of something, and I lay inside you trembling and it felt like life beginning. But now I’m just shot you take at a fragile moment to silence the ache. So you call me up. 

Because you’re feeling awfully reckless and you know I’m always willing. If the truth be told, I’d still burn all the bridges I’ve been building, to taste the old sensation that I hate myself for needing, because the feeling I’ve been missing is the one that leaves me bleeding.

So I hear the pregnant pauses, and I fumble with responses, and I wish that you’d remember all the other times we’ve done this, and I want it all to matter like the songs that I’ve been singing. I want it all to seem like it’s a story worth repeating.  And I bottle all the frenzy, and I focus on my breathing, and I try to shake the memories, and I dare to keep believing: your epiphany is coming, and your apathy is ending, but I’ll think about this later and I’ll know you were pretending, but I’ll come over, I’ll come over, I’ll come over, I’ll come over.

Apples Off the Trees

It was you and me, eating apples off the trees on a cool foggy morning, New England in autumn, all red and gold leaves. And I knew right away we’d look back on it someday like a polaroid photo, over-exposed, and I’d use it to say: Even though our love may be crumbling, even though our life got tough, even when our love was a foolish thing, I remember that it was enough.

It was me and you in that circular room, slow dancing to “Sparks,” high above the park, by the light of the moon. And it’s easy to forget all the best things we said when our blood’s gone to boiling, our patience is worn, and we give up instead.

Even though our love may be crumbling, even though our love got rough, even though our love may be slumbering, that just means we can still wake it up.

Merry Xmas 2009

Christmas night and I was on the couch in an empty million-dollar house. Got a key from a friend for a place to go if I needed shelter just up the road from the mess of my poison life, the cramped apartment, the hateful wife, and I didn’t even bother turning on the lights. No joy to the world, just silent night.

And I was staring off into empty space, thinking how we misplace our faith, thinking how devoted and blind we get, thinking how it always ends in regret, and the East Coast is three hours ahead, but I needed to say it out loud instead, so I found your number, made the call. And I tried to say it all.

For every wrong turn that came to be, I made my apology, because I was sick with a fever dream, couldn’t see right in front of me. And the first casualty was you, and the band, and the house in the canyon too, and I wish that it wasn’t true. I wish I’d saved a thing or two. And I know you tried to talk me down when my head was stuck in the clouds. But how do you drag a friend to the ground? I’m still wondering that now.

Christmas night and I was on the couch in an empty million-dollar house. I didn’t bother to turn on the lights. No joy to the world, just silent night. Merry Christmas, 2009. Maybe next year, I’ll be all right. Maybe next year, I’ll be fine.  

Nothing is Fantastic

(Released March 21, 2017)

1. The Train and the Tunnel

2. Fake Constellations

3. Ode to Disaster

4. The Trouble with Sinking

5. The House in the Canyon

6. Shimmering Mirage

7. Perspective

8. A Story Worth Repeating

9. Apples Off the Trees

10. Merry Xmas, 2009

If I Stop Singing, Check My Pulse

I left Los Angeles, that cloud of dust, knowing I won’t live a day unless I beg or busk, so if I stop singing now, you better check my pulse. I left Los Angeles and headed east, for miles of two-lane blacktop and unknown city streets, and no one to rely on but the people that I meet. Sweet charity.  So now I’ve quit that graveyard shift, and now I’ve sold my birthday gifts. And in this beat-up car, I might not get too far, but I might go find the girl I love.

All these years of distance haven’t cured me of her yet, and sure, I made a mess of things but I’ll fix them if I can, and she don’t pick up my calls yet, but she always writes me back. And I can picture her through the miles of cold, waiting patiently in silence, in a fire’s glow, with a big old dog in a big old house, buried under snow. That’s where I’ll go. So now I smoke them down to the filter, and now I’m probably skipping dinner.  So I count my change in the pouring rain, and dream about the girl I love. Yeah I keep dreaming ‘bout the girl I love.

And every night, another microphone stand, and a dark room full of strangers saying, “Please me if you can.” So I beat this old guitar until I’m bleeding from my hands and sing out again. So here’s the one about the rock band that never made a sound. Here’s the one about the actress, sleeping all over town. Here’s the one about the poetess, cause she’s still got the crown. Are you pleased now? I see the bar, where they’re all drinking: long rows of bottles, like arms to sleep in. And if that bloody thirst doesn’t kill me first, I just might get back the girl I love. Yeah I might get back the girl I love.

I got good memories from plenty of towns, I’m sure I’d learn to love them if I’d stop and settle down. But “home” is just another four-letter word to throw around. I can’t stop now.  Because now my gaslight keeps on blinking. I gotta find a safe spot to sleep in. Now it’s coming clear: I might die out here or I might get back the girl I love. Yeah I might get back the girl I love.

Still Running

I’m heading back from New Orleans, got a bootleg on the stereo that a buddy made for me, but last night I had the strangest dream: I kept chasing after something that was always out of reach. But I think I can get through the night - if that Louisiana girl with those eyes like diamonds - if I can see her in my mind, I think I’ll get through all right.

We crossed into Texas yesterday, now we’re snaking through the hills ‘cause Benny wants to see Townes’ grave and pour some whiskey where he lay. Yeah, when you’re running on blind faith, we all got our patron saints. But me, I’ll get through the night; if that Louisiana girl - with those eyes like diamonds - if I could set her in my sights, I think I’d get through all right.

Hey where’s that place that makes me make sense? Because I’ve been out 10,000 miles and I ain’t found it yet. So I hold on to everything I get: even a handshake or a smile or a pair of sparkling eyes. I think I’ll get through the night; if that Louisiana girl with those eyes like diamonds - if I could just keep her in sight, I think I’d get through all right. I think I’ll get through tonight; if that Louisiana girl with those blue eyes like diamonds - if I could see her face tonight, I think I’d get through all right.

The Long List of Names

All the vitamins, guidebooks, science, and myth, all the calendar-counting, it adds up to this: radio silence in a hospital gown and night coming fast as the light dies down. So we tangle like a knot at the foot of the bed and cry until morning comes shuffling in. And this house will never be the same one we left, where nothing can ever seem happy again.

So I might stay off the ground and circle like a sea bird, always looking skyward and never make a sound.

In the face of disaster, two roads diverge and no one gets home without blood on their shirt, from the differences now that you just can’t ignore like the long list of names, buried deep in a drawer. Because you’ll carry these things now wherever you go, they’ll follow your footsteps, unwelcome ghosts, forever a little more weight to tow, and somehow you’d rather just pull it alone.

So I might stay off the ground and circle like a sea bird, always looking skyward, and never make a sound, alone and feeling fine. Maybe in a future life, in a future life.

Off a highway stop in the south and west, I lay on the table and laid bare my chest to the needle’s rough buzz and the skin flooding dark, as it scratched an ink-black star over my heart, so in my reflection I might see the grief until it’s one more common-place scar on me, just a new tooth you tongue til it’s part of the scene and you give up on figuring out what it all means.

So I might stay off the ground and circle like a sea bird, always looking skyward, and never make a sound, alone and feeling fine, maybe in another life.

The Wedding Party

We creep away from the party, to an alley just out of sight. I light your skinny cigarette, then do the same to mine. You say you really be will quitting soon, it’s just been a hell of a week. But me, I’m trying to stay away from promises I can’t keep.

You ask: how’s it working out for me, a different city every night? I skip the stuff about loneliness, just tell you it’s all right. You say you wish that you could have many lives, different boys and different towns, and you could live them one by one, flee the scene or hang around. I say I like the sound of that, don’t let no one tie you down.

And it’s a strange routine to follow, to keep circling on your own, when “forever” is on the lips of everyone you know. And if you burn me with those blue flame eyes, I almost have to turn away, or I’ll be dreaming about that look on your face for days.

If wishes really came true, and all we had was time, with all the lives we’d get to live, I’d make you one of mine. But I got 300 miles in the morning, and you got an early class. So we stomp out the cigarettes, you straighten out your dress, and we creep back to the crowd, just like we’d never left.

No Show Tonight

There’s no show tonight. There’s nothing to see here, folks. No homeless traveler jokes, no sheepish open hand.  You’ve got nothing planned, but the weather’s growing cold. Can’t be sleeping by the road like you did a week ago. So you crash with a high school friend that you haven’t seen in years but he just wants to drink some beers and confide: he’s been cheating on his wife. There’s no show tonight. There’s no show tonight. There’s no…

There’s no show tonight, no chance to see what’s next, no wreck to rubber-neck before you go moving on your way. Just another lonesome day where you try to force routine, some half-familiar scene might convince you you’re okay. So you kill time in cafés just trying to write a tune, maybe the one that breaks you through, or just another dead end. But it’s all you got left. It’s all you got left. It’s all…

There’s adoring crowds in videos and plush hotels on TV shows. There’s highway love in pop songs. But you’ve never written those. There’s dancing crowds in videos and backstage lust on TV shows. There’s careless love in pop songs, but you’ve never written those.

Yeah, there’s blinding light in videos and story arcs on TV shows. There’s catchy hooks in pop songs but you’ve never written those. There’s adoring crowds in videos, they sing the words on TV shows. There’s dreams for sale in pop songs, but you’ve never written those. Yeah he gets the girl in videos, the baby’s born on TV shows. There’s happiness in pop songs, but you’ve never written those.

That’s Yours, This is Mine

That’s mine, and this is yours: bare bookshelves and empty drawers, and the standard legal forms that we sign. That one’s yours, this one’s mine. So get your cardboard boxes out before the tenth, and leave the “Thank You” cards, I’ll fill out all the ones we left unsent.

That’s yours, and this is mine, so we separate our lives. And a stirring in the throat: that sour taste. Same old failure, different day. Take your new history, you can tell it like a joke, and leave your old dreams - like photographs set fire, they’re soon up in smoke.

So take your new start, consider it a gift. Take your love, whatever you’ve got left. Take the albatross hanging round your neck, and go forth.

Tender Venom

So here you are: exorcising demons, thinking up new schemes and swallowing them whole, that currency so cold. You know how you can spend it. All the tender venom, poison down your throat, careful you don’t choke.

So here you are, the impossible vacation: looking for salvation, everywhere you go, that holy-moment glow. So you run like heaven’s waiting, you run like hell is chasing, your wander-lusting soul, careful where you go.

You been caught out in the rain too many times, and you’re never getting dry, no you just can’t keep your eyes in front of you. You been caught with all the wrong ones at your side, and you’re just not getting by, no, you just can’t keep the past behind.

So there you are, retreating to addiction: there’s always some new victim, another girl to meet, new ground beneath your feet. I know you still love California, but don’t say I didn’t warn you, don’t say I didn’t plead. Don’t say I didn’t plead.

You been caught out in the rain too many times, and you’re never getting dry, no you just can’t keep your eyes in front of you. You been caught with all wrong ones at your side, and you’re just not getting by. No, you just can’t keep the past behind.

You’ll Never Work in This Town Again 

Maybe I’m just ink and hollow bones, trying to get off of the ground. But I got stories that I call my own, got a voice to sing them out. “You gotta be someone to be in this town,” said the Worm behind the bar, “Self-deception makes the world go round, so keep telling lies, it’s a lovely sound.  Just speak in lies; what lovely sound.”

Went to the shop, I tried to pawn my songs, but the Worm behind the counter shook his head. He said, “There’s just no value with you keeping on, but they’re priceless if you’re dead.” So I apologize to the ones I love and make my peace with the sky above and walk the L.A. river hoping to drown or pray for a flood that’ll wipe me out, just pray for a flood that’ll wipe me out.

I got bored, so I swam to shore and went to read the writing on the wall. And plead my case to the ones that reign and raise some hell about it all. “Off with his head, now, off with his head!” said the Worm upon the throne, “Off with his head, now, off with his head! You’ll never work in this town again, no, you’ll never work in this town again.”

I got souvenirs from all those years, postcards of the sunset melting west. I got a list of all the things I miss and a longer list of the regrets. So I’ll write my poetry on bathroom stalls, become a wanderer with wings for arms, and maybe I’m just ink and hollow bones, but I’ll say it now, I feel I’m more at home. So I shot from a cannon into outer space, been getting bruised from the ricochets and maybe I’m just ink and hollow bones, but I’ll say it now, at least I’m less alone. Even now, I feel I’m less alone.

Elizabeth Murphy & the Albatross

Oh Elizabeth Murphy, you pale cotton cloud, in the hour of my longing, you rain in my mouth, but I give you no warning of when I’ll come back around. Yeah I leave you waiting for me patiently, with our concrete city etched in my memory, to the glass and the money and the magic I seek, to the liminal light and the rippling blue sea. I’ll come home to you one day with stars where my eyes should be. Yeah I’ll be the albatross, you be the sturdy tree. You be the lighthouse and I’ll see you flickering.

In the houses in hills I can make my own destiny, with the names from the radio, gods of the silver screen. So I learn all my lessons, like the rest of the crowd: don’t shake hands with heroes, they’ll just let you down, fall off their pedestals, fracture their fragile crowns. So I lay out the table with those who worship me, and I give the performance, the one they expect to see. And all the cold melodies, sung through my teeth, fall earthward like icicles down at their feet, and add to the infinite list of forgotten things. Yeah I’ll be the biter and they’ll be the hand that feeds. I’ll just keep guzzling and they’ll just keep pouring drinks.

But scratching in books just don’t do the trick anymore, so I’m panicking like I never have before. So I make my escape under cover of night, just as broken and foolish as when I arrived, to turn up at your door in the city I left behind. I’ll be the swirling dust, you be the beam of light. I’ll be the crying child, you be the lullaby.

But that was just another fantasy, because you weren’t there to wait around for me.

When your car crash came, you flew from your seat, shot straight through the windshield and into the street, and your body lay still as you closed your eyes to sleep. And the sky swelled up with the siren melodies. And the gathering crowd exhaled their silent grief. And you died like all of my foolish childhood dreams.

The Road Home

On a sparkling desert morning, with a thousand miles ahead, before I stepped out the door, my father sat me down and said, “There’s no shame in happiness, no guilt in growing old. And all that outlaw behavior will just leave you broke. I know you’ve been kicked when you were down too many times and you’ve found no bright solution for the darkness in your mind, but self-destruction is for cowards. You got to survive. Now you’re blessed with a second chance, so you gotta try to stay alive.”

It’s true I’d set out to run aground; be buried by the burden I’d become. But what comes unexpectedly can change your plans soon after they’ve begun. And I got nothing but sincerity for all those ears, for all these years I’ve sung. So I learned when to say when and what’s done is done.

In a dusty western city, Benny sat across the way and he dared me then to look my desperation in the face. So we set off empty bellied, looking for the great escape. And what he gave to me that day, I can’t repay.

So I did that movie-montage dance: yellow hatches flying beneath the car, and a hundred dark and smoky rooms and waking in the driver’s seat at dawn. And somehow all my dizzy, foolish dreams snuck up on me and came true after all. Because that bird I chased ten years, I finally caught. 

And there’s a smile in every city now, a story to relive in every town. And I’ve shed pieces of my soul, like feathers fallen, everywhere that I touched down. And my ghosts will never leave me, but I’m all right as long as she’s around. No, I may not make sense, but I’m okay for now.

It’s been a sad story. But it ends happily. It’s been a sad story, but it ends happily.

And Benny’s still alive and kicking in New Orleans. We’ve got journeys yet to take. And that Louisiana girl has graduated; she’s got other hearts to break. And I know “home” ain’t just a four-letter word, it’s a saving grace. No, I may not make sense, but I’ve found my place. No, I may not make sense, but I’ve found my place.

No I’ll never make sense, but I’ve found my place.

Albatross

(Released February 25, 2014)

1. If I Stop Singing, Check My Pulse
2. Still Running
3. The Long List of Names
4. The Wedding Party
5. No Show Tonight
6. That's Mine, This is Yours
7. Tender Venom
8. You'll Never Work in This Town Again
9. Elizabeth Murphy & the Albatross
10. The Road Home

Typewriter

When the daylight broke, it stirred me from a dream, and I woke up at home with you lying next to me, and I had places to go, but instead I stayed to sit and watch you sleep.  I had a tune in my head that I didn’t want to leave.  So I sat up in bed and I pulled you close to me, and I hummed every note into your ear, into your memory to keep. 

So sing, please sing those sad songs with me.  When you do, my heart beats slow and evenly.  When you do, I swear that fragile harmony is all I need.

In the night, a spell was broken, and tore me from a dream.  And I woke up alone, no one lying next to me.  And I had nowhere to go, but I still got up, ‘cause these days I can’t sleep.  So I pulled out the old typewriter, the one you gave to me.  And I wrote another song about our bitter history.  And all the words we have spoken became melodies when I pressed down the keys.  So will you still sing, please sing that sad song with me.  When you do, my heart beats hard and rapidly.  When you do, and I hear that fragile harmony, I almost believe it’s the only thing I need.

The Rest of My Life

I still got a bag packed in the car from the trip we didn’t take, and the song I wrote for you is in my head, too fresh for me to shake. The bed’s not made, and every day, I find another long blond hair clinging to my pillowcase. And though I try not to be surprised that you’re suddenly out of my life, I’m not ready to get over you tonight.

You must be the deepest darkest shadow to ever cross my path, yeah, you must be the palest ghost, still fogging up my past. But this won’t last, this too will pass, and I will lose my appetite for always looking back, and I will try, when the time is right, to get on with the rest of my life, but I’m not ready to get over you tonight.

And maybe once it gets to be too much, I’ll stop licking all my wounds and decide enough’s enough, yeah I will try, when the time is right, to get on with the rest of my life, but I’m not ready to get over you tonight. 

Oh Lily

Oh Lily, turn off the American news.  We need to go somewhere soon.  The weight’s piling on and I think I’m breaking down.  Yeah, my knees are giving out.  We need to go somewhere now, where some window light comes slicing through the room. 

Oh Lily, the world’s moving faster now, and California’s got me spinning like a carousel.  I need an anchor to keep me from blowing away.  Oh Lily, I don’t mean to seem sudden, but I got a bruise on my heart that I need you to touch. So touch me, Lily don’t turn me away.  Say something.  Smile. Now, save me.

Oh Lily, I’m burned right down to the end.  I’m punch-drunk and stumbling.  Yeah, the pressure’s on and I think I’m going to crack.  Yeah, the shakes are coming back.  We need to go somewhere fast, where there’s plenty of darkness for me to wallow in. 

Oh Lily, my grip’s getting looser now, and California’s got me swinging like a man in a noose.  I need an anchor to keep me from blowing away.  Oh Lily, I don’t mean to seem sudden, but I’m getting scared that I haven’t got anything left.  I need you in my bloodstream, don’t make me wait. Say something. Smile. Now, save me.

I need to know the answers, need to sing these anthems.  This junky crawl is for you.

Oh Lily, my grip’s getting looser now, and California’s got me swinging like a man in a noose. Oh Lily, there’s nothing more I can do.  Oh Lily, I don’t mean to seem sudden, but I’m getting scared that I haven’t got anything left. Oh Lily, this junky crawl is for you.

Song For E

The night that she made her escape, you stood there soaking in the rain to show what’s permanent. You found the tree from that July where you put fireworks in the sky and knifed the letters in. You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again.

You sent her off to see it through, convinced her what she had to do, you foolish gentleman. She fled back to her actor’s arms. No growing up, no moving on, just keep on twirling. You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again.

And maybe one day she will see those letters carved into that tree and remember how to breathe.  You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again. You give your love away, give your heart away, give her everything and she dances off again.

Snowflake

Welcome to the bitter end, I’m falling off the floor again, repeating routine tragedy.  Side by side it has to be: the mad-high of possibility and the feeling when I hit the street.  So I’ll put all my thickest armor on, icy cold, cause I don’t need anyone, til I melt like I snowflake on your tongue.

So welcome to my chosen rung: the dangerous place I dangle from, a melancholy music stave, and piano wire: a copper cage, and nooses out of guitar strings, and the saddest songs I’ll ever sing. Now I’ve chosen whose side I am on, and I’ll swear that I don’t need anyone, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue.

So I sing, til the air all leaves my lungs, shut my eyes, cause I don’t need anyone, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue, til I melt like a snowflake on your tongue.

Understudy 

She’s a doomed thing, darling, a song in minor key, foreign and cold, floating off the balcony. And she doesn’t have your voice, she doesn’t have your sound, but she’s the only one around. Her skin feels different, and she doesn’t have your taste, but when I move my mouth, she shakes like an earthquake.  And she doesn’t get me high, but at least I’m off the ground, and she’s the only one around.

Every day another piece - the polaroids and poetry: I phase them out with new routines. No, I won’t learn to love her but I can learn to love deceit.

I’m not out for revenge; I just like healing quickly.  And I’m grateful for all the pretty things that stepped on me. And these are the thoughts that no one wants to speak out loud. But it’s not like you’re around.

Need A Hero

You’re counting up your woes, one by one.  You’ve dug a hole, you’re reaching up. And I’m the branches that you climb; your exit out.  And I won’t every fall down.  You’re rising now.  But it’s out of my hands, it’s out of my heart. I know you need help, I’ve known from the start.  But I know you don’t hear, I know you don’t heed my warning.

You can cry for me, I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m no hero.  You can cry for me, and I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m not him.  I’m not him.

You’re taking off your clothes, one by one, and shivering cold, and reaching up.  And I’m the sun in your face to warm you up.  And I won’t ever burn out: I’m summer now. But it’s out of my hands, it’s out of my heart. I know you need help, I’ve known from the start.  But I know you don’t hear, I know you don’t heed my warning.

You can cry for me, I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m no hero.  You can cry for me, and I’ll come running, but you need a hero, and I’m not him.  I’m not him.

Safe in Here

Come rolling to the middle, wrap your arms around me, and if you’re not asleep yet,

tell me another story about how the walls went up, brick by brick, high around the city where you live. You might say you love me. You might even mean it, even put a ring on, even have my children, but if the walls go up, it comes undone faster than we built it. So if it’s all the same to you, let’s pretend that we are young again, undamaged by the cold, wide-eyed children like before, never fearing for our little lives, feeling whole once more.  Ease up, now. It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. It’s safe in here.

Let’s gather up the pieces and put you back in order. We’ll learn to see the bright side

of the darkness you have spoken, or compare you to a beam of light: bent but never broken. So if it’s all the same to you, let’s admit we’ve never done this right, we’ve never had a clue.  But I’ll have all the answers soon, and when I do I promise to tell you, so you have them too. Ease up, now.  It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. You’re safe in here.

So if it’s all the same to you, let’s go hide somewhere that’s hard to find, some snowy quiet room. And I will smash all my guitars, we can use them all for firewood, and burn away the gloom. Ease up, now. It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. You’re safe in here. Ease up now.  It’s safe in here. Ease up, now. You’re safe in here.

Baby I’m Okay

We were sitting on the couch, watching the fire burn down, while on the stereo: six months of the saddest stories I have ever told.  And when it all was over, you turned and stared at me with the sweetest sympathy.  But I have learned: there is beauty in this sorrow, and the girl who doesn’t love me is a song I’ll write tomorrow.  And it may take me half a year for these things to come clear, but I can say, “Baby, I’m okay.”

Then we walked outside the house to watch the stars come out and you couldn’t help but ask if all the pain had past, or was it just as bad as it was back then.  Now that we’re just friends, how does the story end?  And I said, “There’s this method I have mastered: if I quit while I’m ahead I just might avert disaster.”  And if she’s a friend instead of lover, she’ll design my record cover and I can say, “Baby, I’m OK.”

And if I make her understand, she might even quit my band, and I can say, “I promise it’s OK.”  Then I can say, “Baby, I’m OK.”

Bullet

I’ve got one bullet left in this gun, and it don’t seem like much, but I’m sure it’s enough, if I find myself needing to get the job done: I’ve got one bullet left in this gun.  I’ve been punching the same wall for so many years, just singing songs hoping somebody hears, and maybe thinks I’ve got a story to tell.  I’ve got one shot of ink in my pen.  I’ve got just enough black to cross out every sin, to try and come clean, and slip out this skin.  I’ve got one shot of ink in my pen.  Because it’s hard to believe that you’ll still be a star when you’re falling asleep on a stool at the bar, wondering if you deserve anything more.  Like one last chance to be something.  Just one last chance to be something.

I’ve got one great song in me yet.  I’ve got one little tune spinning ‘round in my head, and I’ll use it to say all that I’ve never said. I’ve got one searing song in my head.  So I’ll stop all the world and I’ll fall to my knees and you can turn on the cameras so everyone sees what becomes of me.  When I’m given one last chance to be something.  Just one last chance to be something.  I just need one last chance to be something.

God Forbid

She says, “I love my man. Love him forever. Forever and ever. I love my man.  But God forbid: if something should happen.  Don’t look at me like that.”

She says, “I love my man. Love him forever.  Forever and ever. Ever and ever.  But God forbid: if something should happen. If something should happen, I’d be at your door.  If God forbid, if God forbid, I’d be at your door.”

“Don’t look at me like that.  Don’t look at me like that.  If something should happen… Don’t look at me like that.”

Anthems

(Released March 6, 2012)

1. Typewriter
2. The Rest of My Life
3. Snowflake
4. Understudy
5. Song for E
6. Oh Lily
7. Baby I'm OK
8. Safe
9. Need a Hero
10. God Forbid

Australian Girls

In the twenty-fifth year of my wandering, I crossed equators and datelines still chasing the dream, got a room on an island with a view of the sea, and six weeks committed to memory. But of all of these things I can’t forget, there’s the Australian girl that I kissed on the lips who said to me, “Always keep your promises. If you lie to me, I’ll know it.” 

We lay on our backs in the salty dark, and before the sunrise we saw three shooting stars, and then a rainbow the size of the St. Louis Arch. Everything in its place. I got out my guitar and I tuned a bit, then I played her “Twilight” by Elliott Smith, but I don’t think that I got away with it. 

It seemed for a while we’d part happily, but she cried once she thought I had fallen asleep. And when I opened my eyes, she just ran down the beach. I didn’t follow. I just picked up a stone in my trembling hand, and I bent down and carved out my name in the sand, but the ocean just washed it away again.

Waltz Beneath a Balcony

The big teddy bear flies through air, three stories down to the street, something so sweet, soon a moth-eaten memory. And I’m trying my best, as you throw down the rest, to not just give up and run. But I may duck for cover whenever the TV comes. 

I have to admit that I failed you occasionally, and I never did dance, but I always could sing you to sleep. And sometimes when my voice would hit just the right notes, you’d crawl over and silence me, and we had thin walls, so the neighbors heard everything. 

But that’s in the past, I know the luster’s faded. And that couldn’t last, but maybe there’s something worth saving. So if you’re not the cure and I’m not the cure, then instead of just letting it fall, let’s just admit that there ain’t no cure at all. 

I’m still standing my ground with our things all around on the street, trying to sing a waltz beneath a balcony, so I’ll tell you a joke, and it’s a little baroque, but at the risk of being ignored: it’s the one where I knock and then you unlock the door.

Passenger Seat

I'm trying to take us somewhere, baby, but I don't always know the way. But if I could hold your hand a while I promise no mistakes, because we're going very fast now and you're riding next to me and if I follow your directions maybe one day you can fall asleep in the passenger seat. 

I've been called much worse than reckless, I've got danger in my face, but I could turn and see you there, I promise that I've changed. Because I'm tired of all the silence, tired of all the empty space. Maybe one day you can close your eyes and know that you'll be safe, fast asleep in the passenger seat. 

You've had plenty of collisions, you've got scars that I can see, but I'll help you to forget them if you do the same for me. You may think that you are broken but you fit me perfectly, so believe in this, believe in me, believe that you can fall asleep in the passenger seat.

Baby, I'm Okay

We were sitting on the couch, watching the fire burn down, while on the stereo: six months of the saddest stories I have ever told. And when it all was over, you turned and stared at me with the sweetest sympathy. But I have learned: there is beauty in this sorrow, and the girl who doesn’t love me is a song I’ll write tomorrow. And it may take me half a year for these things to come clear, but I can say, “Baby, I’m okay.” 

Then we walked outside the house to watch the stars come out and you couldn’t help but ask if all the pain had past, or was it just as bad as it was back then. Now that we’re just friends, how does the story end? And I said, “There’s this method I have mastered: if I quit while I’m ahead I just might avert disaster.” And if she’s a friend instead of lover, she’ll design my record cover and I can say, “Baby, I’m okay.” 

And if I make her understand, she might even join my band, and I can say, “I promise it’s okay.” Then I can say, “Baby, I’m okay.”

Love and the Line

When it all works out for us, and all the music come to an end, and you ain’t got any poems left in your pen, sure there’ll be some things that I miss, but I will learn to love your silence instead and you will learn to love my hand at rest, no ink on my fingers, no song on my lips. And I’ll feel like I’m on track again. And you’ll feel you can’t go back again. Love and the line, even another hundred times, still we won’t know the half of it. 

We can learn a few new tricks. And we won’t talk about when I’m leaving next. No, we’ll just talk about the books we’ve read, and where we’ve been. I won’t promise you the moon. But maybe I can make the small dreams come true. Yeah, maybe I can scratch your back for you. All the little things you need, darling, I’ll do. And improvise the rest of it. And try not to make a mess of it. Love and the line, let’s cross it one more time, and we’ll just make the best of it. 

We’ll just make the best of it. And try not to make a mess of it. Love and the line, let’s cross it one more time, and just improvise the rest of it.

The Blue-Eyed King of Manhattan

Before it all started to happen, I felt like the blue-eyed king of Manhattan. I had the whole damn world at my feet. 

Then you flew across the sea for your fashion - flash-bulbs flashing and men with accents - but you couldn't do it all on your own, no no. So you pulled a little trick that was classic: walked high-heeled out into traffic, and the half that didn't crash were wrapping themselves around you, so... To say that you kicked me around is a little misleading. It's more like you kicked me when I was down. 

Dream big, love hard, fly high, fall far, there ain't no way around it. When the place that you live ain't a place that forgives, stand up and be counted with the other broken bricks. 

Meanwhile back in the city of sadness, banished to Brooklyn with an old guitar and a mattress, I'm the greyest street corner around, wondering how: with the rattle and hum still seeping in my skin, can I wash it out and start over again, with your 40-foot billboard frowning down upon me, now...To say that I'm feeling low is a little misleading. How much longer can I go? 

Dream big, love hard, fly high, fall far, there ain't no way around it. When the place that you live ain't a place that forgives, stand up and be counted. Stand up and be counted with the other broken bricks. 

I was with an old friend in a Park Slope cafe, debating whether God = Love when a thought occurred to me: if you were The One, we would survived those petty fight and long nights so I should feel better about the whole damn thing. 

Dream big, love hard, fly high, fall far, there ain't no way around it. When the place that you live ain't a place that forgives, stand up and be counted. Stand up and be counted. Stand up and be counted.

Bullet

I’ve got one bullet left in this gun, and it don’t seem like much, but I’m sure it’s enough, if I find myself needing to get the job done. I’ve got one bullet left in this gun. I’ve been punching the same wall for so many years, just singing songs hoping somebody hears, and maybe thinks I’ve got a story to tell. 

I’ve got one shot of ink in my pen. I’ve got just enough black to cross out every sin, to try and come clean, and slip out this skin. I’ve got one shot of ink in my pen. Because it’s hard to believe that you’ll still be a star when you’re falling asleep on a stool at the bar, wondering if you deserve anything more. Like one last chance to be something. Just one last chance to be something. 

I’ve got one great song in me yet. I’ve got one little tune spinning ‘round in my head, and I’ll use it to say all that I’ve never said. I’ve got one searing song in my head. So I’ll stop all the world and I’ll fall to my knees and you can turn on the cameras so everyone sees what becomes of me. When I’m given one last chance to be something. Just one last chance to be something. I just need one more chance to be something.

The Night I Swore I'd Leave You

On the night I swore I'd leave you, I go out driving in my car, running circles for an hour round an empty parking lot. And I know you're back home sleeping, with the television on, but I just sit here, wide-awake, wondering if you'll even call. But you won't call. And I'm done trying with you, and lying to you, because I know the truth, it's not all right. On the night. 

On the night I swore I'd leave you, I think about when we began - how a single day away from you was more than I could stand. Now I'm contemplating history and what it means to be a man, feeling weaker every moment, with the future in my hands. And I'm through pleading with you and bleeding for you when I what I need is the truth: can we make this right? On the night. 

On the night I swore I'd leave you, I think about a brand new start. And someone else to pull me close and melt the splinter in my heart. Maybe the bird who brings me bottles, or the green-eyed girl on stage, someone unaware of all the stupid choices that I've made. And I'm through pleading with you and bleeding with you, because I know the truth, we won't survive. 

No we can't survive. We ain't gonna survive. You do this one more night, and I'll leave you next time. I swear I'll leave you next time. I'll swear I'll leave you next time. Some other night.

Me and My Friends

Me and my friends, we’re starting a band. Yeah me and my friends, we’re getting a van 

And we’ll drive round and round, with the stereo loud and the lights down low. We’ll drive round and round with the windows down until someone tells us where to go. 

Me and my friends, we’re going on tour, because we just can’t sit still anymore, and I’ll get a girl with me, singing harmony in a polka-dot dress, and I’ll get down on one knee, three times a week, but no matter what she won’t say yes. 

And I’ll document my fears, for the whole wide world to hear, I will, I will, I will. And escape the same old spin, find something to believe in, I will, I will, I will. 

Me and my friends, we’re learning to see: a year just ain’t what it used to be, so we’ll ring the bells at the cheap motels in the dead-end towns, and we’ll knock back shots in the parking lot and run ourselves into the ground. 

Break a bone in every state, and be dead by twenty-eight, I will, I will, I will. Find something to believe in and never go home again, I will, I will, I will. 

I’m trying like hell to believe in something.

Ten Years Down the Road

We were down in a basement the night that we met, and so young we didn’t smoke cigarettes yet, but I knew right away: something inside of me changed. They kept playing the same song on the stereo and I asked you dance, but you told me no, and I thought about leaving, but I decided to stay. I was never much good at giving up anyway. 

Then I moved away and I started a band and a dated some girls who could never understand: I was never more happy than when I came to visit you. And I’d knock on your door and you’d let me in, and I’d kiss your mouth, and the room would start to spin and when I went back to them, I could never tell them the truth. Because I knew how perfect it could be with you lying next to me. Ten years down the road, I still wouldn’t disagree. 

Then you dropped out of school and I smashed some guitars and you took lots of pills and I cut up my arms, but no matter how bad, we had each other to save. And that one winter night I was scared to death, but you were telling me to take baby steps, because I was only fifteen but I didn’t have time to waste. It was a step I had to take. But you promised I’d be okay. Ten years down the road, I still haven’t lost my way. 

I went all across the country trying to find myself, but staying home you were just as well. You know, loving each other doesn’t mean that we’re the same. I thought maybe next spring I’d see you again, maybe next fall but I couldn’t say when, because I was running down a dream that didn’t leave any space. And it’s hard to keep a thing alive when one year turns to five. Ten years down the road, I’m just happy we survived. 

I’ve done the strangest things, looking for fame, but now a whole lot of people, they know my name, and I’m still trying to decide if I did things the proper way. When I’m standing backstage, just a few minutes left, and you’re holding my hand because I’m scared to death about having everyone’s attention and nothing to say. Well this life has its ups and downs, but I’m happy to have found. Ten years down the road, I’m still chasing you around.

Blessing in Disguise

You pack your backs and slam the trunk and hit the gas like you were in a race. And you don’t bother looking back; this happy home was just another fleeting phase. So paint your face, and dry your eyes, because it’s a blessing in disguise, you are free, you are free to make your mistakes. 

So you forget who stood beside you, only go where lights are shining bright. Just hanging in the corridors, passing blank looks back and forth to pass the time. And by and by, you get confused and take the junk they say as gospel truth.You are free, you are free to believe those lies. 

The bad ones got you figured out: you’re the type that just can’t get enough. And you can’t afford to think about if mom and dad could see you now, would they judge? Because it’s too much fun, the role you chose: to be some grotto girl with a frozen nose. You are free, you are free to lease out your love. 

But Hollywood’s no storybook, your phone ain’t ringing off the hook no more. And the best days you don’t think about how you won every battle but still lost the war. But now I’m sure, since I got wise, it was all a blessing in disguise. Now I am free, I am free to not mourn you anymore.

Beneath a Balcony

(Released August 4, 2009)

1. Australian Girls

2. Waltz Beneath a Balcony

3. Passenger Seat

4. Baby, I'm Okay

5. Love and the Line

6. The Blue-Eyed King of Manhattan

7. Bullet

8. The Night I Swore I'd Leave You

9. Me and My Friends

10. Ten Years Down the Road

11. Blessing in Disguise

Run Like Hell

Go to the place that makes you make sense. You can leave your friends behind; they won’t pay you any mind.  And when you’re gone, you’ll realize that things have changed.  The old neighborhood may fall apart, but deep inside that’s what you want.  So run, run like hell, run from the stupid things you’ve done.  Run for your life, run for your love, run, run, run.

Go to the place where you can breathe in deep.  No more tearing at the throat, no more choking on the smoke.  And when you leave, you’ll see you left an iron lung.  It’s one black cloud from dusk ‘til dawn. It’s amazing you survived this long. So run, run like hell, run from every lie you told.  Run for your life, run for your soul, run, run, run.

And in your new locale, you’ll fill books every day.  All the poet suicides, you will bring them back to life.  And when you sleep, you’ll just dream about the place you are, where no one ever talks, just sings, and telephones don’t ever ring.  So run, run like hell, run from every lie you told.  Run for your life, run for your soul, run, run, run.  Run, run like hell, run from the mutilated world, the poison sky, the mercenary I.  Run, run for your life.

Foreign Movie

Come over baby. Come sit on the couch and crack your knuckles with me.  We don’t have to kiss, we’ll just watch a foreign movie where everyone’s in love but there’s no happy ending.  I haven’t disappointed you yet, but give me time.  ‘Cause you’ve still got some hope left, and I’d hate to change your mind, and let you know I’m not all right.  Then you’d know I’m not all right.  All right.

Come over baby.  And play that brand new song you wanted to show me about how nothing’s worse than feeling lonely, but somehow it’s the only way we know how to be.  I haven’t disappointed you yet, but give me time.  ‘Cause we both get secrets kept; sometimes I’m dying to tell you mine, but then you’d know I’m not all right.  Then you’d know I’m not all right.  Yeah, soon you’ll know I’m not all right.  I haven’t disappointed you yet, but give me time.  Give me time.

Lonely, Lonely

You’re the picture of uncertainty: sad as a bruise in your big black boots.   So chalk it up to poetry, get another tattoo, embrace whatever’s hurting you.  Or just write it in a line, sing it with a rhyme, but don’t deny that it’s the truth: you chose a lonely, lonely way to spend your time. So add it up and decide: are all the words in the world going to keep you satisfied, or do you need more out of life?  Or do you need more out of life?

You’re the poster-child for misery: you sulk and you brood. Oh, how it makes them swoon.  But you can’t commit to anything. You’ve always got one in the wings, waiting for you to make your move.  And someday you might see, but for now you’d rather be the boy who’s always got the blues.  You chose a lonely, lonely way to spend your time.  So add it up and decide: are all the words in the world going to keep you satisfied, or do you need more out of life?  Or do you need more out of life? 

You’re allergic to stability, refusing love, thinking you can’t risk enough.  But the danger swallows everything.  It’s a song you only meant to sing, words you meant to write, but never meant to be your life. You chose a lonely, lonely way to spend your time.  So add it up and decide: are all the words in the world going to keep you satisfied, or do you need more out of life?  Or do you need more out of life?

I Can’t Fix It

You wonder what I’m doing: these days I’m always cleaning house, moving things around.  And trying to forget the day you first moved in, when everything was sparkling and life was for the opening.  And the cat, her belly to the floor, eyeing every doorway, unsure of what lay ahead.  But all that fades eventually.  You learn the geography and there’s no mystery left.  Forgive me: you didn’t need this stuttering, this scratching at the scab, but the cuts still itch so bad and I can’t fix it.  I’m sorry: you didn’t need this elegy, this salt rubbed in the wounds, but there’s nothing I can do.  I can’t fix it.

You wonder where I’m going: I’m spending much more time on the road, going it alone.  And I’m supposed to be improving, but I still close my eyes at every single show.  I hide inside a poem.  Forgive me: you didn’t need this stuttering, this salt rubbed in the wounds, but there’s nothing I can do.  I can’t fix it.  I seem all right, but I lie awake at night, hedging all my bets and fending off regret. Can I risk it?  And the face you have in photographs, well, it may sell the clothes, but I know it’s just a pose.  You crack between the clicks.

Chiaroscuro

I’m suffering through one of your off-days.  I know, I know, you’ve got so many calls to make.  I know, I know, you’ve got so many pills to take.  Well I never wrote a poem entitled “Chiaroscuro” but I know a thing or two about the dark and the light.  Your eyes get red and misty and that’s when you say, “Kiss me.” And I think how much you’ll miss me when I up and die.

I’m rocket-riding through one of your good days, climbing higher in the sky with every plan we make.  And I know just how dangerous it can be; I do it anyway.  And I never wrote a poem entitled “Chiaroscuro” but I know a thing or two about the dark and the light.  Your movements all get shifty, and that’s when you hit me.  But I’ll keep these head wounds with me, if I can just stay alive.

Porcelain

Reaching out with a porcelain hand, she’s wanting to go where nobody knows her face, the bad intentions.  Swallowing hard down her porcelain throat, she’s known it before.  She opens the door, goes outside, sings her song.  And if you fall, I won’t let you, I won’t let you slip through the cracks. I won’t let you, I won’t let you slip through the cracks.

She’s not all right, so porcelain white. She’s light as a feather, so easily broken every time.  And if you fall, I won’t let you, I won’t let you slip through the cracks.  I won’t let you, I won’t let you slip through the cracks. I won’t let you, I won’t let you slip through the cracks.

We

I was a ghost you heard on the radio a thousand miles from home, a dream you had ten years ago.  An audible crash, a brilliant flash of light that woke you up at night until you went to sleep and let it go.  But we used to have something that seemed worth dreaming about.  And people liked to listen so we often just dreamed out loud.  And they say there thinking that we had it all figured out.

And years down the road, you duck into a show and hear the songs you know, and you’re right back at the start.  And after a laugh, you get my autograph, ‘cause I’ll sign anything, I’m so desperate to leave my mark.  But we used to have something that seemed worth singing about.  And people liked to listen so we always sang it loud.  And we sat there thinking that we had it all figured out.

But we were just two seeds sprouting their first leaves deep underground.  We were just two sweaty teens in a basement, fooling around.  We were just two lost souls trying to find what can’t be found.  We were just two wallflowers at the big dance, scoping things out.  Yeah we were just two sweaty teens in a basement fooling around. We were just two lost souls trying to find what can’t be found.  We were just two wallflowers at the big dance scoping things out.  We were just two seeds sprouting their first leaves deep underground.  And I was on my way up, you were on your way up, we were on our way down.  I was on my way up, you were on your way up, we were on our way out.  I was on my way up, you were on your way up, we were on our way down.  I was on my way up. You were on your way up.  But we were on our way down.

Complete

The city lights blink out.  My hands are shaking, and I’m still outside your house waiting for you to come out.  It’s getting colder: L.A. shutting down.  This city’s foggy and forlorn.  Sky-scrapers disappear up past the fifteenth floor.  And I’m always wanting more.  But I just settle for what everyone settles for.  If you turn out to be just what I need, could we ever come out clean, or are we lost?  Is that the cost of being complete?

The city lights blink out. And I’m getting high tonight, the only way I know how.  But it doesn’t matter now.  God, it’s getting hotter and we won’t get out.  If I turn out to be just what you need, could we ever come out clean, or are we lost?  Is that the cost?  If you turn out to be just what I need, could we ever come out clean, or are we lost?  Is that the cost of being complete?

Incurable Blues

I came west from Boston, Mass., another punk you met in class. We spun our stories one by one, bragged about the drugs we’d done.  And real people do exist, they just don’t live in Los Angeles.  But then you hear someone sing, and it just changes everything. 

So we load our words like gattling guns and fire off the rounds for fun, but now and then you hit someone and cause a fatal wound.  It came to pass: you hit me square, but I was equally prepared to hit you back and so we shared a dangerous month or two.  Sometimes you really ought to turn and run and but still you stay. 

Well I know exactly where we were when I started thinking you were the cure.  It may have cost some mystery, but you showed me your history – there were shoeboxes full of photographs, and notes you passed in English class, folded like envelopes with tabs that opened when I pulled, and all your teenage poems spilled out, cursive soft and crimson loud, they stained my fingers reddish brown where they touched the words. 

Well, a burden’s lighter when it’s shared, so it’s no surprise that you got scared when the weight came tumbling down on you – there wasn’t much that you could do.  You tried like hell to keep away, and I tried like hell to make you stay.  Neither of us got our way, it sort of changed from day to day.  Sometimes I’d think I’d won the fight, but your conscience kept you up at night so I kept these things to myself, hoping maybe that would help.  Sometimes you try to bottle something up and it just explodes. 

Well, you finally struck out on your own, moved into another home – I took the tour and now I know: there isn’t room for me.  And I guess I never aimed too high, trying to be your consolation prize, but I’m happy just to know I tried to make you see.  But I never say just what I mean, I never keep my language clean, I never ever flee the scene of where I commit the crime.  Sometimes the hardest thing to say out loud is easy to sing.  What if I love you?  What if I love you?  Would it ruin everything?

This Won’t Last

This won’t last and you know it. We’re tumbling toward the precipice and we can’t do a single thing to slow it.  You’re hoping for some solid ground, but everything is slipping down.  Don’t you know me by now?  This won’t last and you know it.  We’re tumbling toward the precipice and you can’t do a single thing to slow it.  And you can try to shut my mouth, but still these words are coming out.  Don’t you know me by now?

Welcome to the Danger Show

(Released March 27, 2007)

1. Run Like Hell
2. Foreign Movie
3. Lonely, Lonely
4. I Can't Fix It
5. Chiaroscuro
6. Porcelain
7. We
8. Complete
9. Incurable Blues
10. This Won't Last