Angels in the Graveyard
They are waiting there with arms full of Heaven's junk, They are preaching the gospel of treasure, The newly dead with heads full of useless memories, Confused by this new aching pleasure, They rise shaky and uncertain, From the world of sense into the Shadowlands, The angels move in hoping for a whiff of fresh earth, They come forward slowly wringing their hands.
And they will trade you caviar for toothpaste, Give you a thousand dollars just to touch your hair, In a matter of moments they're your closest friends, They’ll tell you all about the world when they were there.
Some have been here before history began, Some used to know you, All they want to do is gossip about the Earthly Paradise, And what they used to do, And you are in wonder, As you trade your socks for Monet’s newest work, You slowly realize your place and a head full of questions, Where is god and why is this angel such a jerk.
Am I dead I don’t remember dying, The angels wanna know what was my last meal, What kind of car did I drive, And what’s the last thing I did feel.
You feel frustrated 'cause you don’t know what to do next, And these angels are no help at all, You're full of the resurrection, And they’re just muttering about the fall, And then a newly woken memory sits up, And the angels rush over and leave you alone, And as they're reborn through their vicarious interview, You begin to miss the weight of flesh and bone.
And you don’t want to be just another dead angel, Lost in the loss of some life, But you're attracted to the story line, And walk up just as the new angel is telling everyone about his wife.
July 97
Lear's Fool
As man works his intricate folly, I revel in the chase, And I the only one wise enough, To laugh in his face, I’ve made a life on the error of your ways, But I can’t live on the meager sum it pays.
He who sees the truth as a mirror, Is as false as the glass is true, No matter what you're looking for, All you see is you, And don’t give someone too much they’ll just want more, Nothing is about all you can do.
How right do you have to be to satisfy justice, Follow the leader off the ledge, Wise enough to know better than you, Wise enough but still a fool.
Like wonder spent on the moon, You can’t return your useless days, God is deaf in his right ear, One must stand to the left when he prays, When you can’t find a good reason to do what’s right, Just find a good excuse to start a fight.
Bleed the leach for the meaning, Put the cradle in the grave, See world class ambition, Dress the master like a slave, Trying to determine love with your sense of pride, Using a dull razor for a suicide shave.
How dumb do you have to be to qualify forgiveness, Push the leader off the ledge, Or does my conscience bother you, Wise enough but still a fool.
And so the stars just chase the comets tails, Money’s the soul of the rich, The odds say Heaven’s architect, Was born to die in a ditch, It can seem to good to be true when the truth is fixed, I’ll show you the grail where the water and wine are mixed.
So in your infinite stupidity, You trip over a grain of wisdom’s sand, And end up as impotent as a judge, On the witness stand, And I will be your prosecutor, Until the map of god is unmanned.
How wrong do you have to be to instigate pity, Join hands with the leader off the ledge, A clever man will always blame his tool, Wise enough to be a fool.
Aug 97
Hungry Blue Heat
The heat is like some kind of pressing demon, And it takes away even more than I have to give, My hands look like they're three lifetimes old, And I mostly die everyday so that I can barely live, I dream of cool waters and freedom, From rolling this stone everyday, And when I see a keyhole of light I’m going to blow, And I pity anyone in my way.I wanna pay it off but the debt just grows, A man's only worth what he owes, Don’t wanna end up being another victim of the street, Sweating in the hungry blue heat.
When opportunity knocks I just get suspicious, I mean why would it want to kick in the door, With paranoia on my breath I sharpen the night, Till I’ve had just enough to want a little more, I’m a victim but I’ve got a killer's pride, And I’ll get even with a sailor's luck, And you; you're just dressed up garbage, You’ve done worse than me just to make a buck.
The best man is the one who keeps his mouth shut, Or you wind up in the ally with your throat cut, So you just learn to play the loser if you get beat, You can’t stay cool in this hungry blue heat.
The best you can hope for is understanding, The worst you can get is forgiveness, But you can bath in the agony of your sins, Until you're clean and painless, And sorrow is the price you pay, For believing anything is free, Just turn your head the other way, If you're the type that believes everything you see.
It will turn you into something you didn’t know you were, You’ll loose her love and then you’ll loose her, And you’ll revel in your past and thrive on your defeat, If you get burned by the hungry blue heat.
You come to the intersection and you just can’t stop, You blame it on the bankrupt electronics of some traffic light, And there’s music; angels and omens in the air, But that just makes it easier for wrong to feel right, And at the center of the spin of indifference, You wait an eternal instant for clarity, You want the hangman’s faith; the judge’s proof, But you have to try to make it on random bits of charity.
You see I just couldn’t find a way to make the little things matter, I wanted to eat my words off a silver platter, From a sacred cow to just another piece of meat, Swallowed by the hungry blue heat.
July 97
The Day Before I Die
I guess it could be today; for all I know, The way I feel right now I’d be glad to go, Down through the well of souls, Where forever lost; forever goes, Costume sync and dumb shows, God’s alibi’s all full of holes.Death is the ultimate humiliation, Life’s simplest feat and deepest complication, (the) Grave; all silence and flowers, Given to the sphere of savage powers, Consummated in the unclocked hours, Where light leaks and darkness showers.
I wonder will I be thinking about my life; will I be wondering why, Will I be alive at all the day before I die.
Sometimes I can feel the strain of balance keeping, And the dreams of creation sleeping, Unlocked fugitive grief, The unknowable transposed in belief, Warlord and gentle little thief, Slow falling October leaf.
I wonder who is supposed to be amused, Inspired; intoxicated or merely confused, Cities of painted dirt, Filth factories pump out hurt, Legendary politicians flirt, Friday tries on its new shirt.
The ennui sends out a soulful and trivial sigh, I wonder if I’ll be wasting time the day before I die.
As our orbit passes thorough the comet's tail, I feel the hopelessness of a man in jail, Where the cancer feels like cure, The pollution is so pure, Caught in limbo’s lure, Only doubt feels sure.
This hardwired fact feels more like a fiction, Written in someone else’s book; someone else’s diction, The heritage of a starless birth, Miners of dubious worth, Farmers of the cosmic dearth, Carpenters of soulless mirth.
It’s the thought that puts the weight into my body, It's the action of; that makes this life seem so shoddy.
And I wonder will I be drowning in this, I wonder some kind of torturing bliss, Will I wallow in regrets and self defeat, Will I feel like I’ve been thoroughly beat, Will it be expected or will it be a surprise, Will I feel like truth or will I think like lies.
I wonder if I’ll understand my life or if I’ll even try, Will I have a life worth keeping; the day before I die.
July-Aug. 97
Indoor Worlds
The air conditioner kicks on with its gentle hum, The cooling winds of kingdom come, And the mercy of the electric weather key, Can’t amend the tyranny of electricity.The study of inevitable collision, Has given rise to this cult of indecision, Living by the poetry of specifications, The static bliss in between the stations.
And the wind kisses the trees and they sway to and fro, And an ulcer takes its root where a flower should grow.
Of bathtub drains and whirling worlds; the menu please, Or perhaps another virgin to feed the mythologies, TVs glow paints surreal after-shapes, And fortifies the ideals that mankind apes.
As the daily pace gives way to a violent peace, The outlaw’s ghost and the memory police, And dreams that can’t sleep at night, By morning have no strength left to fight.
And the moon shines sweetly on the river's flow, And there’s a headache where really a tree should grow.
Blinds that keep the sunlight out and the electric light in, Nature's shameless display and artificial sin, Boneless mechanisms; memorize your soul, Soft surgery of desire puts the doctor in control.
The sinews of the body politic beast, Pour the honey in the horns of the feast, For the insurance man another heartbreak's claim, Made a prison of their shelter for their fifteen minutes of fame.
Half mooned and hawk driven the beautiful nighttime sky, And where the truth should blossom the soil can only seed a lie.
In the church of some manmade god, What is holy cannot penetrate the facade, The world of worries rebuilds the world of wonders, But the foundation shakes every time it thunders.
In effigy on the walls of will, Brush strokes sabotage the color of real, Photosynthesis and capitalism, The nature of the beast lost in this schism
It’s a beautiful world but we look at it thru a window, Living what we believe; ignoring what we know.
Aug. 97
Traffic
Strapped in the pulpit got my foot on the trigger, It drains the speed from the street as the engines get bigger, Pulled up to the busy stop light in my ego machine, Blocked a guy in at the parking lot cause I felt mean, But it made me feel guilty all day long, It’s just traffic etiquette it wasn’t all that wrong, I’m rushing to get somewhere that I don’t wanna go, And the slogan before me says just say no.Caught in the pursuit of some shifting destination, Radio waves babble the code of some lost tongue's communication, I turn it up but it’s all just blues in code, I wonder if god’s good ear can hear it and thinks it’s some kind of curious ode, I stop and look and make a wrong turn on red, I’m a little out of pace with the traffic in my head, The horn only knows one thing you're in my way, Move or I’ll run over you have a nice day.
I move on; never hear an end to the engine’s woe, Street sign wisdom tells me all I really need to know, The hissing of the serpent; vehicle of means, I am motive and driven across the facade of shapeless scenes, Fueled by the I-will-get-there-first-ethics of Cain, And of the blood that’s spilled the pavement will soak up the stain, Rush hour ad infinitum; time is a traffic jam, Tires and thoughts and glimpses of the half-priced-wholesale-scam.
Sirens sing down alleys and bind this odyssey to its fate, Doesn’t matter if we never get there as long as we're not late, Wrapped in the freshest roadkill an hypothesis is curled, Down serpentine sidestreets that slither off the end of the world, My conscience (is) a traffic cop; my appetite illegally parked, I’m on the side of town where the lanes are not clearly marked, And I don’t remember how I got this far down the road, Slipping thur the maze in a daze humming blues in code.
Now the vultures are circling ‘cause the traffic is stopped, And upon the windshield of my faith the answer to a prayer is dropped, I feel the mystic engine; the traffic and I are one, And now another petty miracle is forgotten; another useless job is done, And I’m back in the prophecy of the machine; I recalibrate the faults, I head toward some fantasy of home; traveling tires and thoughts, Someone else tied to the circuit offers to let me out; just a headlight not a face, I wave ‘cause I thought they were being nice but they just wanted my place.
Aug. 97
Champion of Nobodies
We could all live together in the same house, The leading man free to be his inner mouse, Where the wine would flow like mud and the wit like wine, And if you just wanna be left alone you’ll have to wait in line, And I know where we can get a place real cheap, Where we can blow just what we reap, I will be each and everything you need, And I will hold the cup as you bleed.And don’t try to sing me songs from nowhere, Just tell me where your going and I’ll already be there, I’m not like you but I am somebody, I am the champion of nobodies.
See the young man strut the streets like a Malthusian ghost, I’ll be his patron saint; be his heartbreak host, Like Bruce Cockburn singing; the true tear of a witness stinging his eye, And you know if he had a rocket launcher some son of a bitch really would die, I’m trying to decide which is closer tomorrow or yesterday, But silence is only a virtue when you don’t have anything to say, And I’ve got enough words to fill a bible, And just enough nerve left to preach at the revival.
And don’t try to tell me I’m just another dreamer, ‘Cause the man with the littlest scheme is the biggest schemer, I don’t wanna be like you; I am somebody, I’m the champion of nobodies.
We will build a shrine for future generations, An ode to all the unsensed sensations, And we’ll build a school on the ironies of indifference, And we can make easy jokes about all this trivial significance, And I will find a blanket big enough to sleep us all, And we will watch the cities rise with knowledge of the fall, I will live my mystery among sympathetic minds, We will search the jungle everyday for anyone tangled in the vines.
And don’t try to tell me I’m just another wanna be, ‘Cause I’m just blind enough to see what I wanna see, It’s the only way to be myself and be somebody, The champion of nobodies.
But who am I to think I could ever mean anything, Just clawing at the dirt for this fool's gold, And as my story tells me, I try so hard to remain untold.
July 97
Dumb Blind Blues Singer
He struggles against the sleep that feeds his dreams, To face the light he hasn’t seen in years, His mouth full of desperation with no tongue, His eyes only good for the tears, As a senseless world tries to force some sense upon him, He can only hear the static of blues in code, He used to be a traveler of direction specific, Now he can’t tell the pavement from the road.He prepares himself for another black day, Wraps his body in its dress, Fumbles thru the uselessly beautiful morning, And to his corner to confess.
He’s trying to say something, But he doesn’t know how, He just knows how to try, He’s trying to mean something, He doesn’t know what, Doesn’t know why.
He used to be younger than anybody had ever been, But the same trick of time that turns the grape into the wine, Never found the ripeness in him, And his eyes lost their vision straining for a sign, As his desperation out paced his demise, He just plunged headlong into his dire straits, And when the world seem to strut its indifference, He tossed his future to the fates.
He finally lost the faith in himself, That he had lost in everyone else a long time ago, And now with a stranger's vow of silence, A tongue can’t ask what it would know.
He’s trying to say something, But he doesn’t know how, He just knows how to try, He’s trying to mean something, He doesn’t know what, Doesn’t know why.
He gets to his street corner and finds his place, The hungry heat feeds upon his skin, The only proof left of the light, Is burning off the dross of his sin, He sits above a puddle; blind Narcissus, He forgives the rain with his gently tapping toe, And the people hurry by and splash this leftover ocean, But a few stop to witness this woe, Six strings of music attack the air, The way a honeymoon reaches for his wife, He plays the wonder; he only knows one song, It’s a song about a man that forgot to live his life.
Aug. 97
Released February 1, 1998 All Songs Composed, Performed and Recorded by M.M.
