ALL SONGS COPYRIGHTED 1991-2004
Long blue shadows on the highway, distant mountains purple in the haze. I could pull the pin out of it all so quick. I'm the president of the Benighted States.
A metastatic vacuum disturbance, a glimmer on the periphery. Some things real some things imagined, I can't seeeeeeeeee the lines. On the freeway driving, going blind.
Profits of doom spelled P.R.O.F.I.T. If I ever wanted to be wrong about anything it's this. But righteousness is it's own reward when you're on a crash course with the Lord. Four horseman riding herd on a shrinking world and all the fish and birds and trees will nevermore be seen -- P.R.O.F.I.T. Profits of doom.
The glass ain't half full it ain't half empty it's been smashed. There is no glass and I'm parched -- this world of ours was too good to last.
Profits of doom spelled P.R.O.F.I.T. If I ever wanted to be wrong about anything it's this. But righteousness is it's own reward when you're on a crash course with the Lord. Four horseman riding herd on a shrinking world and all the fish and birds and trees will nevermore be seen -- P.R.O.F.I.T. Profits of doom.
Here comes Daddy Warbucks I can smell his breath from here. He's a convicted opportunist and a Wall Street racketeer. He wouldn't give you ice in winter but he fucks your kids for free. If he and his kine were to fall behind it'd be awright with me.
Hungry young republicans are Warbuck's favorite squeeze. Their disasterous courtship defies human need. Sucking up the fruits of life and burning the seeds. Selling off the future for shit that nobody needs.
Profits of doom spelled P.R.O.F.I.T. If I ever wanted to be wrong about anything it's this. But righteousness is it's own reward when you're on a crash course with the Lord. Four horseman riding herd on a shrinking world and all the fish and birds and trees will nevermore be seen -- P.R.O.F.I.T. Profits of doom.
A nameless blond in evening straps is propping up a penguin talkin' pre sales on a red phone. She's got an ultrabrite smile. (Expect her to rate high with that smile.)
The Lord of Beepers' feet of clay three little pigs bull market epiphany. Integrity. House
Chase the carrot watch the hook don't wish what you should plan. Send a package leave a message learn to talk fast. House.
If birds fly from a basket would you conclude to creep into that same basket like the famous ape you leap and plummet down from a house?
That's Shakespeare, Hamlet, Act three, scene eight. Hey College boy! Stick around. You might learn something.
The market analyst got a new machine that plots the audiences' EKG. He could carve a turkey out of VanGosh's dreams. It's about ticket sales, man! Butts on seats! It's about HOUSE! Yeah! It's about HOUSE!
You got your shared ideas and your best-laid plans get you back-end deal get in the can. Jack Be Nimble Jack Be Quick Humpty Dumpty House of Spit.
If birds fly from a basket would you conclude to creep into that same basket like the famous ape you leap and plummet down from a house of spit?
Our words are on bridges built sideways and what I want to tell you is downstream.
I reached out to touch you across a distance unthinking and you leaned in too.
Can you feel it? Pulling like the moon? The tides under the skin? And a coldness at our backs pushing us in? Can you feel it?
There's no center to the room. Just an arc against the sky. And every ocean rising to meet it. Can you feel it?
When I have my lips against the margin of our silence I'll send the words back to the furnace to be worked on.
As you name your favorite places on my body with your fingers I lean into it.
Can you feel it? Pulling like the moon? The tides under the skin? And a coldness at our backs pushing us in? Can you feel it?
Conversation was a river deep and wide through dinner and late into the evening and every word was brand new. Shopping for blankets we bought houseplants and trinkets. We painted out bedroom sky blue.
But I been figuring my losses. An old insurance man told me, he said, "Four moves is equal to a fire." I've moved six time and I can still remember, I can't lose the memories of our laughter or the way you moved your hands when you talked.
You had small hands.
You took the table from the kitchen, you took the mirror from the bedroom, you took my heart and left the pictures for me. And as I packed up our lives I cried -- til' I could barely see the road in front of me.
And I got your last postcard par avion. You said you missed me, you're married, you had a baby and all your new friends speak german which you're learning. I'm sure your small hands are working overtime.
Small hands keeping time. There's an art to saying goodbye. And a peice of my heart took a hold of my mind between your hands, so graceful, like two birds between us.
Your cat turned fourteen and she's fine. She sleeps under my arm. And both of us have decided to forgive you.
But, as my lines get deeper, sometimes I wonder if your absence has made my heart fonder or just harder -- if time is grinding diamonds to dust.
Small hands keeping time. There's an art to saying goodbye. And a peice of my heart took a hold of my mind between your hands, so graceful, like two birds between us.