rock

Lost this need for pro-creation,
lost this fragile in-security,
but we�ll try to go through it again.

Once there was a sound raining on this city,
and the sound rose up from the street
in an not-so-unintentional sort-of way.

And we were there, inside the warm windows with love,
and the vibe was good.
You drank coffee and smoked your cigarettes
by the light of the loving windows,
and I was there with easy affection given like a gift.

You told me then that sometimes beauty floods this dirty place,
and that the sound rises from our hearts every once and a while.
What I assumed you were trying to ask
was about dancing and blue skies,
only the meaning got lost, and traveled up
with the pale smoke rising from your cigarette.

Lost this feeling of loneliness
lost this sense of I a l o n e .
And yet we�ll try and go through it again.

It�s a new tune, with a cozy sort of vibe,
sung in a room where the vibes are not always good.
Nonetheless, my love, forever is a really long time to be yourself,
and to be myself, and to be open to suggestion,
I suppose I�ll have to admit that you�re not
com-plete-ly to blame.

Today was just a daydream
and as you stood in your own place
the pretty girl sang songs about the world.
I told you �This girl is much too plastic�
You said, �Tell me what that makes us, honey�
It was a funny sort of comment and in a funny sort of way
I thought that maybe you we�re making fun of me again.

So I�ve been to London
and I�ve been to France
and still you�re trying to get into my pants.
It�s a funny sort of feeling,
we�re gonna blow right through the ceiling.
because North Dakota isn�t so far from where we are, right now.

It�s a corduroy explosion,
inadequate at best,
and well, it�s mostly about r-e-s-p-e-c-t.

But that is not what I meant at all,
At all.
So what was it that Eliot said about Prince Hamlet anyway?
(I guess it doesn�t matter too much)
(At least not this morning)

There was something about walking through the puddles with you
that made me really angry.
At you: for multiple reasons, treasons, mad illusions,
and at the puddles, simply for being there.
Injustice at its best, breathing life into these shriveled lungs.

It�s a clever joke that you�re playing,
but the punch-lines are always the same,
and the french fries always taste the same.
The coffee is forever the same, love
(it always tastes burnt)
and it sure ain�t no different today.