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Tag: relationships

Burning Down

Published on February 15, 2007

If you ain’t got your thing together, what is it that you want with mine?
If you ain’t got your thing together, what is it that you’ll do with mine?
We’re running ’round in circles, and you’re running out of time.

If you don’t know where you’re headed, why do you keep me hangin’ ’round?
If you’re not sure where you’re headed, why just keep me ‘hangin ’round?
Our time is growing shorter, and your candle’s burning down.

I don’t mind coming on for the ride, babe,
but I’ve got my own life left to lead;
and I don’t have the time to mess around here,
just ’cause you wanna waste your time on me.

If you don’t know who you’re looking for, why is it that you call my name?
If you don’t know who you’re looking for, why do you go and call my name?
Our candle’s growing shorter, and you’re burning out the flame.

If you don’t know what you want, girl, what makes you think that you want me?
If you don’t know what you want now, why in the world do you want me?
I’m tired of wasting precious time; our fire has become history.

I don’t mind just traveling along, babe,
but I’ve got problems of my own;
and I don’t have the time to sit and wait here,
’cause you don’t want to be alone.

If you don’t know what it is, girl, how do you know you’ll find it here?
If you don’t know what it is, girl, how do you know I’ve got it here?
We’re running ’round in circles, baby, and our time is drawing near.

If you ain’t got your thing together, baby, what you gonna do with mine?
If you ain’t got your thing together, why should I trust you with mine?
We’re running ’round in circles, darling, and just running out of time.

1996

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No point in calling it

Published on December 27, 2006

No point in calling it a cryin’ shame
Suffering in darkness for want of a flame
New boss or old boss, pretty much the same
Only thing different is a brand new name

No point in wallowing in might have beens
Pretending enemies are long lost friends
One signal receives, and the other sends
The means still leave their mark on how it ends

Float me down river, on to New Orleans
Fix me a plate of dirty rice and beans
What water doesn’t wash away, it cleans
How it works out in the end depends upon the means

27 DEC 2006

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See You There

Published on December 12, 2006

If you listen to the chatter
they’ll convince you it don’t matter, more or less;
as long as your wallet’s fatter,
never mind those ‘neath the ladder of success.
There’s no need to feel an instant of distress,
or a sense of guilt for stepping past the mess.

In the growing of confusion,
they’ll lead to you to same conclusion, wait and see;
as we suffer from delusion
that we’re guiltless of collusion, you and me.
There’s no need to speak up if you disagree,
or be wary of the threat to liberty.

Bow your head and learn your lesson:
better start to count your blessings, while you can.
There’s another world tomorrow
filled with all the pain and sorrow you can stand.
If you think it won’t come calling,
that your high flying ain’t falling, best beware:
there’s another side to living,
balance between taking and giving…
see you there.

If you mind the paranoia
you’ll believe they can destroy you, if they try;
so you trust in any ploy,
become the wicked world’s new play toy, by and by.
There’s no point in any struggle, so don’t cry;
besides, we must keep the mechanism dry.

Bow your head and learn your lesson:
better start to count your blessings, while you can.
There’s another world tomorrow
filled with all the pain and sorrow you can stand.
If you think it won’t come calling,
that your high flying’s not falling, best beware:
there’s another side to living,
balance between taking and giving…
see you there.

13 DEC 2006

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Elizabethtown

Published on September 19, 2006

Some kinds of closure only come
in story books and movies;
real life rarely turns out quite
so neat and clean:
with one door neatly sliding open
as another firmly shuts;
such coincidence is rare
and far between.

To compress the waiting lifetime
in a moment on the screen,
or a couple hurried pages
seems obscene;
or at least, over optimistic
that the lessons to be learnt
are so obvious
as to be what they seem.

That a random chance encounter
on the escalator down
could result in an epiphany,
is rich;
just more pablum for the masses
who believe in self-help classes
and still fail to understand
that life’s a bitch.

Or that centuries of training
can be quickly overcome,
unspoken prejudice and hatred
swept aside;
just as likely as a fear
of heights or sense of isolation
can be vanquished
by a kiss, or airplane ride.

Some kinds of closure never come
at all, except in bits
and pieces you pick up
each new day:
once you learn your profound losses
are the only thing you own,
and you wouldn’t have it
any other way.

19 SEP 2006

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The Devil’s Daughter

Published on September 1, 2006

Thinking for some reason of this song I wrote and recorded probably 15 years ago, during my “Elvis Costello” period…

I used to dream with my eyes wide open
I would sing songs for the deaf and paint pictures for the blind.
I spent my life destroying
every good thing I could find.

I fell in love with a bad idea;
I could look in the mirror and tell myself lies.
It was easy to believe
that there was nothing left inside.

Spent my life looking for the Devil’s daughter
and now all I’ve got left is some wine that used to be water

I used to think through my mental blinders
that the worst thing you could do is learn someone’s last name.
I could never be tied down;
just kept shooting the horses when their legs went lame.

I used to think it would all be ending:
we could dance down to the river and sing songs with the king;
but now looks like the castle’s empty
and it ain’t guarding anything.

Spent my life searching for the Devil’s daughter
and now all I’ve got left is some wine that I wish was water.

Yes it’s true. Pride can bring you down;
just look at anyone after they fall.
You may have seen a miracle, but when the deed is done
the water’s gone, the wine is gone;
there’s no much left at all.

I’ve spent my life living with the Devil’s daughter
and now I’m waiting for someone to come
and change this wine back to water.

1988

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Cajun Woman

Published on August 2, 2006

for Starlight Dances

Looking for an answer, waiting on a clue,
making myself dizzy thinking up new things to do.
My cup runneth over; now it’s spilled out on the floor.
Making messes, I can do for sure.

Asking more fool questions, needing to know why,
making myself crazy searching for an alibi.
My life’s far from empty. Now, that much is true.
What’s the point in worrying, when all I need is you.

Cajun woman, what’s that cooking? It smells good to me.
Nothing else we need to do, nobody else to see.
All the spice we need in this life is right here at hand;
what else do we need to understand?
Cajun woman, kiss your lover man.

Searching for a guru, wanting some grand scheme,
making myself nervous somewhere unknown in between.
My front lawn needs mowing, that I guarantee;
What else right now could my purpose be?

Wanting ever after, somehow cheating death,
giving myself indigestion trying to hold my breath.
Who cares what might happen when my time is through?
Right now, baby, all I need is you.

Cajun woman, what’s that cooking in your bright red pot?
What do we care what the world thinks of the things we’ve got?
Everything we’ll ever need is right here in our hands;
what else do we need to understand?
Cajun woman, kiss your lover man.

02 AUG 2006

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You Don’t Know Me

Published on June 26, 2006

We exchange pleasantries online or on the town;
you’ve read my poetry and perhaps you have found
some similarity between yourself and me,
but you don’t know me.

We talk of politics or turns that life may make;
something I say perhaps prevents a new mistake;
but nonetheless it’s wrong, because you’ve heard my song
to think you know me.

How could you know unless you’ve felt my pain,
from a life that is not your own?
All that you have is your experience;
not my life – that is mine alone.

We’ve shared a meal or two, maybe a glass of wine;
not quite enough to know just where to draw the line.
I’ve not been in your shoes; you’ve never sung my blues,
so you don’t know me.

Almost acquaintances: that’s all we really are;
I wouldn’t push the definition all that far
without me cheapening what should be deepening:
no, you don’t know me.

How could you know what makes me tick inside
in a day, or brief afternoon?
There’s more to me than shallow “seem-to-be’s”,
that simple melody is not my tune.

We’ve only just begun to plumb the hidden depths;
as far as I’m concerned sometimes, it seems we’ve barely met.
There’s so much I don’t know about you, and I know
that you don’t know me.

My number’s on speed dial, and yours is likewise stored;
but it’s a simple truth, and cannot be ignored:
you want to call me friend, but just “sort of” pretend.
Well, you don’t know me.

26 JUN 2006

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