reconpresseusa--Cafe Pavlov

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Cafe Pavlov

IF I HAD ONE WISH

If I had one wish, it would be to die in the Kettle of Fish.
Some late night when the Village sleeps and only the Grim Reaper reaps
Whatever he sows as he walks down the rows of houses and through Washington Square
Where late at night no one dare go except to the Kettle of Fish
To die someday if I had one wish.

If I had one wish, it would be to die in the Kettle of Fish
As the moon sinks over the Village west, that's where to lay my soul to rest.
Out in the dark, at the Square park, underneath Washington Arch, drums beating a funeral march
As life goes on in the Kettle of Fish, there I'll die someday I wish.

If I had one wish, it would be to die in the Kettle of Fish as fog diminishes the view outside,
So no one there would know I died, except for a few, maybe one or two who might have known why I was there;
And if they had one minute to spare, grant me that single wish and let me die in the Kettle of Fish.

BEFORE I'M OLD AND GRAY

Keeping with tradition of protest and sedition, I examined my condition working for the man all day.
A task that never varied as I struggled and I tarried with the burden that I carried, all this for little pay.

The alarm on the clock made me jump and walk, it was useless to talk, for I had nothing to say.
One foggy morning and with great forlorning, I gave not a warning and I quit and ran away.

I had nothing to take, there was no one to forsake, no promises to break, no one asked me to stay.
I set my destination and my launch defenestration was to cross this mighty nation hoping that I would not stray.

I would travel west to east loaded down with the least so not taken for a beast that need be held at bay.
I would travel through a blizzard perhaps mistaken for a wizard and would sacrifice my gizzard if I didn't have to pray.

And not return again to places I had been or to find the next of kin in a town along the way.
No one need to take pity for I'll be sitting pretty when I reach New York City before I'm old and gray.

Bury Me on Hill 861

Bury me on Hill 861, up near the town of Khe Sanh
Where the mortars are a blazin', some Hell we'll be raisin'
Shootin' NVA and Viet Cong.

Don't want to go back to the world, got a Dear John letter from my girl
Right now I'm feelin' partial 'bout goin' back to Camp Marshall
Sign me up for another whirl.

Up there on the DMZ, that's where they can bury me.
I'll take all my lumps away from stateside chumps back in the Land of the Free.

Bury me in the town of Fubai, mine is not to wonder, do or die.
I'll take with me some Commies, we'll all have weeping mommies,
Mine is not to wonder, Semper Fi.

When rockets will be fallin' on DaNang; in my heart, I know I'll feel a pang,
For girls who sent no letter, the ones who think they're better
And my telephone it never rang.

Bury me on Hill 861, put a cross on it when you're done.
And if it ain't no bother, send a letter to my mother
And tell her where you buried her son.

Burning Bridges

The DMZ
The remoteness of it all; remote, moat; isolation, and of course, the committee.
War lords and peace lovers, always peace lovers. The meeting is called to order.
Argument and agreement but never understanding.

A delegate speaks of dissent:dissent, present. Here tomorrow, lost today at this folly through reason and confusion. Non-existent existentees, the foe. Warriors coagulate, veins clogged in hate, and I return to the Earth.

Made of Sand

In the Cold

The cloud I gazed upon through crystal pendulum of thought
Keeps me on the threshhold of what's right and what is not.
Rotating weary fingers on expressing strands of gold,
Countenance growing tearful at a life yet untold.
Or a way to discover what tragedy behold
In the cloud and the wind and the cold.

There is no barren soil that has not seen a fire
Flames from deep within the Earth can show minute desire.
To tell a tale of woe a man must speak experience,
Sadness has no preference to the poor or to the rich.
To fill your mind with misery or fears of growing old
Can make the warmest sunlight frigid cold.

No cloud or wind or cold can take my mind under control,
The atmosphere around me will always be as free.
As free as the clouds or the wind in my face,
It travels everywhere at varied pace.

With this advice one cannot fail or trip on petty thought,
Exist or be or live or die really matters not.
But while I breathe I'll sing this song and once I die I won't,
For time just matters when you face the cold.

Old Faces

Old faces go, new ones show, people move away, just as many stay,
The world doesn't end when you lose a friend but the hardest to forget is the one you never met.

Old faces fade when new friends are made; in the blink of an eye all the memories die
The heartache goes away with each fleeting day, the good times that were not and the kiss you never got.

Old faces never stay with you forever; the sadness and the pain washed away by the rain,
The one you didn't please who vanished in the breeze, only time erases, all the old faces.

Old faces fade, old faces fade.
Old faces fade, fade, fade away.

Always One More Thing

Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend,
Always one more letter that I forgot to send.
Never any time to do the things I want to do,
Never seem to get the chance to go to someplace new.

Always getting hung up on one more little task,
Always one more question that I forgot to ask.
Never forget all the bad times in the past,
Never long enough for all the good times to last.

Always someone in the line in front of me,
Always looking for another way to be free.
Never seem to get enough done by day's end,
Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend.

Never have enough of the things I really need,
Never anything in the newspaper to read.
Never seem to get the point across that I intend,
Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend.
Always getting caught at another traffic light,
Always having trouble separating wrong from right.
Never getting any of my bills paid on time,
Never want to take that step over into crime.

Always hoping that my true love will come along,
Always looking for better lyrics to a song.
Never have enough money in my pocket to spend,
Always one more thing that's waiting around the bend.

.
.

early morning newsgirl with your baggy eyes
quit trying to pass off your teleprompted lies.
about grinning politicians or some little girl dead
or who's been sleeping in the president's bed.

baggy eyed newsgirl on the wakeup news
why not go home and take a snooze.

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