She quit school when she was seventeen
Senator on TV calls her welfare queen
Used to be daddy's little girl
Now she needs help in this mean ol' world
Buys cassette tapes in the bargain bin
Loves Carlene Carter and Loretta Lynn
Tries to have fun on a Saturday night
Sunday mornin' don't shine too bright
It's that welfare music
Watch the baby dance to the welfare music
Will she ever stand a chance?
Takes two to make three but one ain't here
Still chasin' women and drinkin' beer
Says nobody understands how it feels
But that don't pay them monthly bills
Angry fat man on the radio
Wants to keep his taxes way down low
Says there oughta be a law
Angriest man you ever saw
Welfare music
Watch the baby dance to the welfare music
Will she ever stand a chance?
Baby dance circles on the floor
Round and round just like before
Baby fall down, baby get up
Baby needs a drink from a lovin' cup
And it's welfare music
Watch the baby dance to the welfare music
Will she ever stand a chance?
Welfare music
Watch the baby dance to the welfare music
Will she ever stand a chance?
Did NATO donate the dough me boys, did NATO donate the dough?
Blogger's gotten all squirelly on YouTube, so if that won't play, perhaps then this will:
I actually think the airstrip is more suited to anti-sub warfare in the North Atlantic, especially seeing as how most of the planes that actually ended up taking Qaddafi out flew from Italy..
Still, a song particularly suited to marking my pilgrimage to.. ah, Knock.
Father Horan, from the information desk giftshop:
Poor Old Father Jim's Gone to the Airport in the Sky.. Yet the Msgr.'s Still Very Well Remembered.
And just to clarify, the next field while actually full of rocks, was still quite comfortable. I know because I slept in it.
And on the way back to Dublin we passed by the airport, and while I couldn't get off to take a proper shot of the runway, I did get this:
And it's 88,000 feet!
And that's all I've currently got about that old aerodrome up in Knock. Cheers.
And this may simply be the greatest cover by anyone, of anyone, ever. I here give you all my beloved public International Space Station Canadian Commander Chris Hadfield, covering Bowie's inverse epic Major Tom:
This is my song this week. It's over the top hipster twee, forsure (with an Ira Glass & John Hodgman cameo!) but I cannot care anymore, I abjectly & simply love it. Hope you enjoy it, too:
(It seems Blogger and YouTube are at odds these days, I can't get any embedded videos to play properly here - click on the YouTube icon in the bar at the bottom of the video window here to link to the video there, if it refuses to play.. Or else just click here.)
The Semi-Sensical Quasi-Prophetical Lyrics:
If it'd been my youth would it come to me,
Oh love won’t you bite my eye? I miss the sweet God in men, Baffle a skeleton dry. All they wanted was a villain, a villain, And all they had was me. All they wanted was a villain, a villain, So then they just took me. Hold my county line, get down on my city floor. I will suffer no humans, they've been my habit before. Ah Oh, and how the earth did shake. And tumble and tremble, for what the people do take. And I want in, all over your mind. Cause oh, how we, the common do cry! Ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooo waoohwaoooh..
Ooh waha, aha, aha, Ooh waha, aha, aha Where do you go from me? Ooh aha, aha When I wait for you faithfully? Oh aha, aha And will they take my life in time? Ooh aha, aha I love my girl, will you remind her? Ooh aha, aha And oh how we, the common do cry!
Ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooo waoohwaoooh.. We die, we die, we die until we try. We die, we die, we die until we try. Well I could be yours, you could be mine. Well I could be yours, and you would be mine. If it'd been my youth would have come to me? Oh love won’t you bite my eye? I miss the sweet God in men, Baffle a skeleton dry. All they wanted was a villain, a villain, And all they had was me. All they wanted was a villain, a villain, So then they just took me. Hold my county line, get down on my city floor. I will suffer no humans, they've been my habit before. Ah woah, how we, the common must cry! Ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooo waoohwaoooh..
And oh, how we, the common must cry! Ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooh, ooh ooha, wahooah, ooo waoohwaoooh oohwah..
WBZ CBS News is finally reporting that they got the second suspect - "that knucklehead" (as the main announcer keeps calling him) who committed that bombing at the Boston Marathon on Monday. I'm sitting here, welling with gladness. The tragedies of this week that those two fools perpetrated upon the people of my city have been the catalyst for a minor emotional restoration for me. It's reawakened my dormant sense of passionate attachment to this place, New England, my home. I've been sitting here today thinking how Boston somehow oddly belongs to me, even though I've never lived there. It's like this: when I am away from home, very few people know where Maine is. Hardly anybody's heard of New England. Foreigners tend not to know all that much about the States. I usually have a slight problem when people ask me, as they often do, what part of America I am from. My simple solution: I always tell them I am from Boston. Often that draws a blank, too. At which point I just say that it's sorta like New York, only wicked awesome. That last part's impossible to translate into French or Spanish, so I'll interject the English then fudge translate (bien chouette, demasiado chido, algo y nada como esto..) No way they could possibly understand, it always makes me laugh. Sometimes I'll add another incomprehensible line about Boston being the hub around all known creation radiates (le centre autour qui orbite tout le reste de l'univers connu, el centro acerca todo el resto del universo orbita - just watch the linguistic ginsu master, how I roll).. I get on a slight comedic bend, and crack myself all up while the person who asked stares at me wondering what's wrong with the crazy damn gringo. Anyway, I am somehow actually in fact from Boston. Because as anyone from Maine will tell you, going Down East is coming from Boston. That's how you go to get there from here, across the Gulf of Maine.
What's more, we were once politically - until 1820 - part of Massachusetts. And to this day Boston's teams - the Sox, Patriots, Bruins, Celtics - are our teams. That's called belonging to something in your blood and guts. From the sea and soil. Blood, salt and dirt.. Family. Boston is our town. In my mind's eye I see the skyline of the city shimmering up from the inrushing tarmaced horizon of I 93 flowing toward us, the very first time my dad and mom took my brothers and me into the city back in 1980. We sat in the backseat of the stationwagon, I utterly entranced by the mystical majesty of those two clusters of towers thrusting high into the hazy summer sky. Dad took us to Jacob Wurth's by Tufts, where he hung out in his graduate school days at B.U. The fat white shirted mustachioed German waiters kicking sawdust as they brought us our platonically delectable bratwurst and sauerkraut.. It was a love affair from the very beginning. All the graceful intimacy of the town, colonial class of Fennel Hall and the golden capitol dome, with the Aquarium & Old Ironsides hedging the Harbor throwing off briny mist, to Fenway and the Charles so storied, all democratically regal.. Which is merely to say the horror of the week has been unrolling across terrain I know. Places I often inhabit in my dreams. Boyleston Street. Cambridge. Kenmore Square. I'm still riding this train, see, after all these years.. Florida could never keep me:
Tonight I again find myself patriotically emotional in ways I haven't been in years. The last decade has been very harsh on my patriotic feeling. I'm still ferociously patriotic. This country, this land, is my home. These are my people. My heart's not going anywhere, even if I happen to be physically abroad. But these past years my heart's become pretty well bruised and cynical. The love's intact, but the adolescent magic was gone. I've come to know too much, have been repeatedly disappointed. But now tonight, on Patriot's Day, the anniversary of the shot heard 'round the world, the old ferocious emotion floods back. They finally got that knucklehead. Not even news of Lindsay Grahm spouting the now all too trite quasi- fascist Republican idiocy assaulting our precious constitutional tradition of due process, once again whyping his nasty southern ass with the Bill of Rights, like those jack booted thugs have been compulsively for the past twelve years now can damp my happiness. How was it that I ever allied myself with those assholes, thinking that they were somehow pro-life? Like they actually care about the unborn. Was I an idiot? Was there crack in our water supply back then? Why doesn't Lindsay and the rest of his gibbering cracker horde just succeed again, and leave us Yankees alone? Why was it we fought so damn hard to keep them last time? I have no idea. Whatever. My contempt for them knows no end. They call themselves patriots. Cretinous fuckers. Go fellate some more bankers. Put their plugs in your gobs like good little kept catamites. I have no more patience for your bullshit. The people of Boston just put you all to shame. This week has been a minor epic, I felt like I was watching the boys form up on the green again, staring down Gage's thugs with calm defiance. No pathetic would-be terrorist is going to scare us. They only succeed if they terrorize us. They failed.
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled..
The character of free men is defined in the conquest of fear, see. Two hundred and thirty eight years ago today, on April 19th 1775, the people of New England faced down the forces of a foreign tyrant, and won our freedom. Tonight we triumphed once again. God Bless Boston. God Bless America. ---
I've had this one in rotation off and on for years, but this week it keeps jumping out of my special ski mix that I shook up last week. It captures my mood these days.
What kind of people go to meet people where they can't be heard or seen? I've never been able to figure that one out..
(YouTube has gone and changed their embedding protocol for Blogger, and it isn't working properly at all. Annoying. Click on the YouTube button on the embedded window there on the right if you want to hear the song and it won't play. It'll open the clip in YouTube. )
Wound up drunk again on Robson St. Strange, 'cause we always agreed At the start of every evening That's the last place I wanna be
Coffee drinkers dressed in black with no sugar They don't give me no respect They say: "Look, here comes another one," And I don't know what they mean yet
And I say keep it light enough to travel Don't let it all unravel Keep it light enough to travel
Promise me we won't go into the nightclub I feel so fucked up when I'm in there Can't tell the bouncers from the customers And I don't know which ones I prefer Promise me we won't go into the nightclub I really think that it's obscene What kind of people go to meet people Someplace they can't be heard or seen?
Keep it light enough to travel Don't let it all unravel Keep it light enough to travel
I broke the windows of the logging company Just to get a little release I had to throw down my accordion To get away from the police
Doc died this past week, at 89 years. Here's my tribute to the master. I was torn between "Froggy Went a-Courtin'" which evokes both Frog & Toad and my own so-called love life, and this here, which given the moment is much more apt:
Ita, Doc, te vale et requiescat in pace aeterna cum Padre, et Filio, et Spiritus Sanctus.
These Lyrics:
As I went down in the valley to pray Studyin' about that good old way And who shall wear the starry crown Good Lord, show me the way Oh fathers, let's go down Let's go down, come on down Oh fathers, let's go down Down in the valley to pray
As I went down in the valley to pray Studyin' about that good old way And who shall wear the robe and crown Good Lord, show me the way Oh mothers, let's go down Come on down, don't you wanna go down Come on mothers, and let's go down Down in the valley to pray
As I went down in the valley to pray Studyin' about that good old way And who shall wear the stary crown Good Lord, show me the way Oh brothers, let's go down Let's go down, come on down Come on brothers, and let's go down Down in the valley to pray
As I went down in the valley to pray Studyin' about that good old way And who shall wear the robe and crown Good Lord, show me the way Come on sinners, and let's go down Let's go down oh, come on down Come on sinners, and let's go down Down in the valley to pray
As I went down in the valley to pray Studyin' about that good old way And who shall wear the starry crown Good Lord, show me the way..
Me and Bill there we both come from Georgia Met Hank out in New Mexico We're bound for Duranqo to join Pancho Villa We hear that he's payin' in gold I guess a man's got to do what he's best at Ain't found nothin' better so far Been called mercenaries and men with no country Just soldiers in search of a war
CHORUS And we're bound for the border We're soldiers of fortune And we'll fight for no country but we'll die for good pay Under the flag of of the greenback dollar Or the peso down Mexico way
When this war is over might go back to Georgia And settle down quiet some where I'll most likely pack up and head south for Chile Heard tell there's some trouble down there
This one's of course for Annie Paradis.. As it shall always be for me.
Lyrics (variation off the version above, this being the way I sing it):
Now, it won't be but a week or two, You'll be wantin' someone new lovin' you. It's somethin' you've done a hundred times before. Can't see you I been spreadin' myself thin too (in two)? It's a lonely phase we've been goin' through.. Don't get up, I'll find my own way to the door.
Ah, I can see you are an angel whose wings just won't unfold, Tune up your harp, polish your old halo.. 'Cause the only kind of man that you've ever wanted, Is the one that you knew you'd never hold very long,. Now you're sittin' there cryin' like I'm the first one to go.
You may have thirty lovers behind you, An' I may feel you but sure can't find you.. Seems you'd have found your own self by now. But some nights those old lovers' tears come back, Faces in your dreams, fingers in your back.. Echoes of the memories for cryin' out loud.
Ah, I see you are an angel whose wings just won't unfold, Tune up your harp, polish your old halo.. 'Cause the only kind of man that you've ever wanted, Is the one that you knew you'd never hold very long,. Now you're sittin' there cryin' like I'm the first one to go.
Ah, what a beautiful sight you are in your sleep, I'll be leaving 'cause believing gets me in too deep. That's easy enough for a man to say.. But we'd never agree if we talked all night.. Things get so heavy, I'm traveling light..
Goodbye my jaded lover, my undercover queen for a day.
Ah, I can see you are an angel whose wings just won't unfold, Tune up your harp, polish your old halo.. 'Cause the only kind of man that you've ever wanted, Is the one that you knew you'd never hold very long,. Now you're sittin' there cryin' like I'm the first one to go..
Forty days of fasting past, forty days gladness yet come..
Psalm 40
For the director of music. A psalm of David.
1 I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.
2 He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.
3 And he hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the LORD.
4 Blessed is that man that maketh the LORD his trust, and respecteth not the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies.
5 Many, O LORD my God, are thy wonderful works which thou hast done, and thy thoughts which are to us-ward: they cannot be reckoned up in order unto thee: if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered.
6 Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire; mine ears hast thou opened: burnt offering and sin offering hast thou not required.
7 Then said I, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me,
8 I delight to do thy will, O my God: yea, thy law is within my heart.
9 I have preached righteousness in the great congregation: lo, I have not refrained my lips, O LORD, thou knowest.
10 I have not hid thy righteousness within my heart; I have declared thy faithfulness and thy salvation: I have not concealed thy lovingkindness and thy truth from the great congregation.
11 Withhold not thou thy tender mercies from me, O LORD: let thy lovingkindness and thy truth continually preserve me.
12 For innumerable evils have compassed me about: mine iniquities have taken hold upon me, so that I am not able to look up; they are more than the hairs of mine head: therefore my heart faileth me.
13 Be pleased, O LORD, to deliver me: O LORD, make haste to help me.
14 Let them be ashamed and confounded together that seek after my soul to destroy it; let them be driven backward and put to shame that wish me evil.
15 Let them be desolate for a reward of their shame that say unto me, Aha, aha.
16 Let all those that seek thee rejoice and be glad in thee: let such as love thy salvation say continually, The LORD be magnified.
17 But I am poor and needy; yet the Lord thinketh upon me: thou art my help and my deliverer; make no tarrying, O my God.
If I Have Anymore Faith in this Fu'k'd Up Country, It's Due to the Likes of John Prine..
Them Lyrics:
My heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley,
Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley,
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snow.
I heard sirens on the train track, howl naked gettin' nuder,
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter,
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slow..
You can gaze out the window get mad, gettin' madder,
Throw your hands in the air, sayin' "What does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry,
So help me I know..
For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter..
You become your own prisoner, as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own chain of sorrow..
I been brought down to zero, pulled out and put back there..
I sat on a park bench, kissed the girl with the black hair
And my head shouted down to my heart, "you'd better look out below!"
Hey, it ain't such a long drop don't stammer don't stutter,
From the diamonds in the sidewalk to the dirt in the gutter,
You'll carry those bruises to remind you wherever you go.
You can gaze out the window get mad, gettin' madder,
Throw your hands in the air, sayin' "What does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry,
So help me I know..
My heart's in the ice house, come hill or come valley,
Like a long ago Sunday when I walked through the alley,
On a cold winter's morning to a church house
Just to shovel some snow.
I heard sirens on the train track, howl naked gettin' nuder,
An altar boy's been hit by a local commuter,
Just from walking with his back turned
To the train that was coming so slow..
You can gaze out the window get mad, gettin' madder,
Throw your hands in the air, sayin' "What does it matter?"
But it don't do no good to get angry,
So help me I know..
For a heart stained in anger grows weak and grows bitter..
You become your own prisoner, as you watch yourself sit there
Wrapped up in a trap of your very own chain of sorrow..
Today is the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. I have not yet posted anything substantial about my visit last month to the shrine, which is in the north of Mexico City, next to a hill called Tepeyac. I'll rectify that stupid omission soon, when I get to Cancun tomorrow. I have an overnight bus ride, and I'll draft a few notes..
The legend is that on the 9th of December 1531 (when in Europe the Reformation was just breaking) a young native woman dressed like an Aztec queen, wearing the traditional dress of both a virgin and a pregnant woman (a putative contradiction) appeared to an Indian on his way to mass named Juan Diego. That day is now his feast day. She told him that she was Mary Queen of Heaven, and to go to the bishop and tell him to build a church dedicated to her there. Little Juan Diego did as she asked, but the bishop refused to believe him, and demanded a sign.
The bishop got his sign. In the form of this icon, painted on Juan Diego's tilma (plant weave) cloak, along with a bouquet of roses, on December 12th, 1531:
She comforted Juan Diego with these words: “ Am I not here, I, who am your Mother? Are you not under my shadow and protection? Am I not the source of your joy? Are you not in the hollow of my mantle, in the crossing of my arms? Do you need anything more? Let nothing else worry you, or disturb you.”
No tengas miedo, n'aie pas peur, be not afraid..
Long story short, that church she requested was built, and is now the most visited Catholic shrine in the world. And she - the Virgin of Gualdalupe - is credited with the final conversion of Latin America to the Faith.
As I say, this week leading up to her feast today has been a blur of processions, explosions and general excitement here.
There's a hymn that the Mexicans sing to la Guadlupana (the little virgin of Guadalupe, patroness of Mexico and the Americas). Someone is playing it out the street right now.
The melody is beautiful, I love it:
This is how it sounds when sung by normal Mexicans, which is how you hear all the time in the streets, as groups of pilgrims walk toward the church of Our Lady of Guadalupe on the hill here. When they get to the church, they usually kneel and make their way down the nave on their knees singing it .. This is a mariachi version, with video of the shrine at Villa de Guadalupe, where some 6 million people (a madhouse) come this week for the fiesta..
Here's a pop version that I like:
These are the Lyrics:
Desde el cielo una hermosa mañana
La Guadalupana
La Guadalupana bajó al Tepeyac
Su llegada llenó de alegría
De paz y armonía
De paz y armonía y de libertad.
Por el monte pasaba Juan Diego
Y acercose luego
Y acercose luego al oir cantar.
Suplicante juntaba las manos
Era mexicana
Era mexicana su porte y su faz.
“Juan Dieguito” la Virgen la dijo
Este cerro elijo
Este cerro elijo para hacer mi altar.
En la tilma entre rosas pintadas
Su imagen amada
Su imagen se digno dejar.
Desde entonces para el mexicano
Ser Guadalupano
Ser Guadalupano es algo esencial.
En sus penas se postra de hinojos
Y eleva sus ojos
Y eleva sus ojos hacia el Tepeyac.
Madrecita de los mexicanos
Que estás en el cielo
Que estás en el cielo ruega a Dios por nos.
Desde el cielo una hermosa mañana...
===
Translation:
From heaven a beautiful morning breaks The Guadalupana The Guadalupana comes down to Tepeyac
Her arrival brings joy Peace and happiness Peace, happiness and freedom
Up the hill came Juan Diego
As he drew close As he drew close, he heard singing
Pleading, she clasped her hands
She was Mexican She was Mexican, both her face and appearance
"Little Juan Diego" the Virgin called
This hill I choose This hill I choose for my altar to be built
On his cloak surrounded by painted roses
Her adored image Her image she left us
From then on for all Mexicans
To believe in the Guadalupana
To believe the Guadalupana is to be Mexican
In sorrow prostrate on their knees They lift their eyes They raise their eyes to Tepeyac
Little Mother of all Mexicans
Thou who art in Heaven Thou who art in Heaven, pray to God for us
"This song is about the price blind faith, and refusing to give up your illusions extracts.."
Yeah. That's not what I hear in these lyrics, Bruce. But then the singer no longer owns the song, once it's fled his lips:
Seen a man standin' over a dead dog lyin' by the highway in a ditch He's lookin' down kinda puzzled pokin' that dog with a stick Got his car door flung open he's standin' out on Highway 31 Like if he stood there long enough that dog'd get up and run Struck me kinda funny seem kinda funny sir to me At the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe Now Mary Lou loved Johnny with a love mean and true She said "Baby I'll work for you every day and bring my money home to you" One day he up and left her and ever since that She waits down at the end of that dirt road for young Johnny to come back Struck me kinda funny seemed kind of funny sir to me How at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe Take a baby to the river Kyle William they called him Wash the baby in the water take away little Kyle's sin In a whitewash shotgun shack an old man passes away Take his body to the graveyard and over him they pray Lord won't you tell us tell us what does it mean Still at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe Congregation gathers down by the riverside Preacher stands with his Bible groom stands waitin' for his bride Congregation gone and the sun sets behind a weepin' willow tree Groom stands alone and watches the river rush on so effortlessly Lord and he's wonderin' where can his baby be Still at the end of every hard earned day people find some reason to believe
===
Bonus. My sloppy harp rendition, an off the cuff interpretation:
I've already posted this as a song of the day once before, but in anticipation of my imminent return a los Chingados Estados Unidos Gringositos, I feel re-compelled to share it. Disfrute:
Lyrics:
(Chip:)
Yes we can talk it out,
Tell me what it's all about,
But don't speak in English.
You can just let it flow,
Tell it right from your soul,
But don't say words I understand.
Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.
(Carrie:)
You can tell me where to go,
Tell me what I don't know,
But don't speak in English.
You can talk politics,
Get your political fix,
But don't say words that I understand.
Because I've had enough
Of that kind of stuff,
For a long, long time.
You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.
I am not a receiver.
You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old John Prine will do..)
And we'll just talk for a while.
You can let the telephone ring,
But don't pass me that thing.
I am not a receiver.
You can play the music you choose,
Western swing or Delta blues
(Where the wasted words are few,
And Old Van Zandt will do, maybe two..)
And we'll just talk for a while.
And when we can talk it out,
You tell me what it's all about..
Just don't speak in English.
If you get it in your head
That you want to take me to bed,
Just don't say words that I understand..
'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long time..
'Cause I've enough of that kind of stuff
For a long, long, long, long time..
How fickle my heart and how woozy my eyes I struggle to find any truth in your lies And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know This weakness I feel I must finally show
Lend me your hand and we'll conquer them all But lend me your heart and I'll just let you fall Lend me your eyes I can change what you see But your soul you must keep, totally free Har har, har har, har har, har har
In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die Where you invest your love, you invest your life In these bodies we will live, in these bodies we will die Where you invest your love, you invest your life
Awake my soul, awake my soul Awake my soul You were made to meet your maker Awake my soul, awake my soul Awake my soul You were made to meet your maker You were made to meet your maker
I saw a man, he's a well-dressed man
He had a tan from the Yucatan
He had a car, he looked like a star
I said, Hey, don't I know who you are
But when he glanced into my eyes
I saw yes I saw was such a big surprise
He was afraid that he's just a bum
Someday when all his stuff is gone and he's left without a dime
Time ain't money when all ya got is time
And you can see him standin on the corner with a nine-day beard and bright red eyes
I know a guy, he's a pal of mine
I say, hey. He say, I'm doin fine
I'm movin up the ladder, rung rung rung
I'm gonna get my million while I am still young
But at night when he's had a few
His eyes say different than his tongue
They say I'm afraid that I'm just a bum
Someday when all my stuff is gone and I'm left without a dime
Time ain't money when all ya got is time
And I can see me standin on the corner with my nine-day beard and my bright red eyes
Goin hey, hey hey hey hey, come on and listen to my story, hey, hey hey hey hey, ah hey
Some people live to work, work to live
Any little tremble and the earth might give
Ya can't hide it in a Volvo or a London Fog
Can't hide it in a mansion with an imported dog
No matter how we plan and rehearse, we're at pink slip's mercy in a paper universe
And we're afraid that we're just a bum
Someday when all our stuff is gone and we're left without a dime
Time ain't money when all ya got is time
And we can see us standin on the corner with our nine-day beards and our bright red eyes
Goin, hey hey hey hey hey hey hey
Hey hey hey hey, come on and listen to my story man hey, hey hey hey hey, ah hey
The man of sorrow's acquainted with grief
Stands in line waiting for relief
He will tell ya it wasn't always this way
One bad little thing happened one bad little day
Heartbreak has bad teeth and a sour smell and lives when he can in a cheap hotel
And he's afraid that he's just a bum
Someday when all his stuff is gone and he's left without a dime
Time ain't money when all ya got is time
And you can see him standin on the corner with a nine-day beard and bright red eyes
Goin, hey hey hey hey hey hey hey
Hey hey hey hey, come on and listen to my story man hey, hey hey hey hey, ah hey
(this poem has been flitting in and about the verges of my mind today.. images of Matt, Rich, Sedef and that 7' American dude from Harlem who was playing Turkish professional basketball for Izmir and lived in Bostanli.. We met him on the crossbay one night, he carrying his basketball.. )
We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable—
But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
We lay on a hill-top underneath the moon;
And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
We were very tired, we were very merry—
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
We were very tired, we were very merry,
We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
We hailed "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
And we gave her all our money but our subway fares..
