When the World was Young
When the world was young.
She moved like a goddess, Nay; she was a goddess; of fields and fortunes yet unmined, I was her unborn lover; striving and straining to fill the scheme of her being with a need for me, And she was all wet leaves and naked flesh; a garden of untraveled distance, Longing for the blank verse of touch she softly peeled the fruit of the Earth.
When the world was young.
The desert was the trapped heat of the motion she spent forging the treasures of love, The chaos of creation stilled and cultivated a pearl into the palm of her hand, As the mountains sunk into the setting; sea level rose to the rivers of passage, Her myth began to melt into the lava and fossilize into the readings of wonder.
When the world was young.
She was the messenger of that clutching desire that lips still can only groan to express, She moved the ghost behind my nubile molecules to fetch the bride of their making, The unknown depth of ages gleamed at the bottom of the sea of her eyes, And the destiny of every direction called forth the motion of her clock of seasons.
When the world was young.
And then there she was in garments of sun and rain waiting for the moon of my praise, And I just some savage of left over parts incapable of the song of her beauty stuttered rhythmic static, But slowly the pulse over eons of measures fell into a slow cadence and sense of melody, And the birth I burned for found its mother and delivered her to her child.
Dec. 99
She moved like a goddess, Nay; she was a goddess; of fields and fortunes yet unmined, I was her unborn lover; striving and straining to fill the scheme of her being with a need for me, And she was all wet leaves and naked flesh; a garden of untraveled distance, Longing for the blank verse of touch she softly peeled the fruit of the Earth.
When the world was young.
The desert was the trapped heat of the motion she spent forging the treasures of love, The chaos of creation stilled and cultivated a pearl into the palm of her hand, As the mountains sunk into the setting; sea level rose to the rivers of passage, Her myth began to melt into the lava and fossilize into the readings of wonder.
When the world was young.
She was the messenger of that clutching desire that lips still can only groan to express, She moved the ghost behind my nubile molecules to fetch the bride of their making, The unknown depth of ages gleamed at the bottom of the sea of her eyes, And the destiny of every direction called forth the motion of her clock of seasons.
When the world was young.
And then there she was in garments of sun and rain waiting for the moon of my praise, And I just some savage of left over parts incapable of the song of her beauty stuttered rhythmic static, But slowly the pulse over eons of measures fell into a slow cadence and sense of melody, And the birth I burned for found its mother and delivered her to her child.
Dec. 99
The Birds and the Money Bees
The first time I looked into her eyes I knew two and two was four, These days I spend all my time searching for the numerical value of more, It’s a dirty business; making money out of all your time, What you thought was the land of the law was the scene of the crime.Cross the neon desert for the holy grail of a natural blond, She use to play the being of your chemistry; you just wave your magic wand, Those primal urges you learn to control; become polite euphemisms you can’t deny, Living a life that allows no wonder but the wonder of why.
All the beauty of a pristine early summer day, Is not part of the contract of the soulless grind for two weeks of pay, When you curse the oracle's fate they just say - that’s life, You just marry some fucking job and go to work on your wife.
You go to school to learn all about the birds and bees, And grow up to find nothing matters but making money, The draft of her perfume use to make you weak in the knees.
Now the birds sing top forty soundtrack in a world driven by the pulse of automated ethics that turn Heaven into another gray area; that turns the law into lawyers and sends every wild thing left afoot clawing at the asphalt for a morsel of innocence long ago surrendered to the dirt underneath; and the money bees buzz; build and belch for the brewing of artificial honey.
Jan. 00
Alpha Centauri
The light that is not symbol, That is the fuel of vision burning, The hungry atmosphere, Protective prism; school of yearning, Star-lit light bulb charged, Particles pumping desire, Alone in a crowd of undoing, Charred bones of a leftover fire, As lonely as a telescope, Pointed at the desert of stars, A vacant gold rush bank, The highway's art of abandon cars, Illustrated meaning of nowhere, The vapor trail of a dream, The shadows are a guide, Where the light is a theme.It’s like a thought you can see reflected in the eyes of a stranger who passes you on the street like a window in the architecture, The wind of Heaven's ride pollinates the cracks in the sidewalk and the dirty distance but forsakes the meaning's pulp, Lonely puppet empire of habit stands for the ovation as the actor playing a doctor points the finger at the moon, Something; (possible everything) teases the reach of an astrophysicist who can’t seem to get his mind off something his wife said about occult diet, It’s all like some out of focus photograph that looks more interesting for its flaws than its subject in perfection could ever fawn, Extinct colors pour a boneless rainbow on a region of the sky that has only known the unsolicited pout of impotent rain, A sign that we're getting closer to something that is so far away that the closer we get the further away we are, And the exhaust of invention fogs the lens of destiny and the stranded survivors glance suspiciously at each others motive heart.
This is our monument to what we can only deconstruct in dream, The light from the nearest star is just the spent treasure of unrequited steam, On this cloudless night a man looks up into the weathered darkness of the sky, And he can’t even tell it’s a cloudless night so he doesn’t even begin to wonder why, Just one thought ago a chaos was born thru the silent-center-fault, Now a ghost lights palatial foundations where the god of corners is not found but ever sought, We calculate the meaning of our motion with the stacked math of destiny, This light we chase can’t even give us heat yet we think it will help us see.
Jan. 00
Experimental Weather
Altering the blameless sky, Chemical perception, Diagnosed parameters of why, Selfless deception, The pulpit's liar heals, Godless placebo, How the rage of quietness feels, Painless libido.That’s how the rain dance longs for the rainbow, The side-effects of the knowledge of what we can’t know.
The ghost of the doctor, Haunts the mind of the world, They have over-clocked her, Nesting serpent coiled, That cloud is shaped like morning, Psychosomatic syncopation, A stock tip taken like a warning, Cinematic adaptation.
And that’s how the cure is put to trail for the cause, And that’s how the lawyer suffers for the laws.
In the corporate-minded history of self-defense, The ego's Armageddon is just an expense, This engine only knows reverse for now, Thrives on the ethic of someway; somehow.
And the mood just runs its fingers thru her hair, Fondling the numbness till you just don’t care, Now she’s just another hard-wired bimbo, Trying to live with her head in Heaven and her feet in limbo.
Nov. 99
Junglehead
Detailed noise; ambitious fatigue, Woman; slit dress; exposed need, Draining the core; angel-nest, dirty ambience; purified pest.Man who smells like he hasn’t bathed in three weeks; combs his hair to perfection in reflection of restaurant window.
Got the jungle in my head, Got the jungle in my head, The living wrecks; the petty dead, Got the jungle in my head.
Business stomach; asphalt digest soul, Casual impatience; high heels; manhole, Corrupt integrity; symbolic structure yield, Erotic friction; day work build.
Woman in a designer dress stumbles out of towering office building; crying out loud, Tears freely falling, people pretend not to notice.
Got the jungle in my head, Got the jungle in my head, The living wrecks; the petty dead, Got the jungle in my head.
Just where is the shape of my being, In the schematics of this accident, I feel like a ghost nobody’s scared of, I move thru this scene of oblivion and light, I am focused like a shadow on its source, With nothing in my head that feels like me.
Venomous pity; brick-laid plans, Reason's rush automated; epic lunch, Parking lot paradox; suicide drop, Titans; Predators; game en masse.
A sound; at first puzzling then recognized, Saxophone, Man plays from in front of bank plaza the sound; incongruous; adds some kind of undeserved dignity to the dirty ambience, I look into his face as I drive slowly past, He is not like me; he is not one of us.
Aug. 99
A Teller's Tale
He stepped into the bank; wiped his feet on the word trust, He noticed right away she handled her bills with a particular lust, He went straight up to her because her window was marked deposits only, She was the prop of a merger; he was the puppet of the lonely, She said hello how are you; he said-I can’t help it; there’s just something about your eyes; they're like UFO’s, The minute I saw you I felt like I had been given to much change back, Now there’s a renegade future out there that I need you to invest in, And our capital gains will spawn institutions that will renumber the map, And if the push comes to an opposite and equal shove; we’ll sleep in the vault, And I will count your pennies and you can calculate the potential numbness of absolute zero.
She offered to buy him lunch but like a fool he had already eaten, Before she even closed her window he caught her cheating, She said I’ve always loved you and he looked down at his watch, When he looked up again she was staring at the proposal in his crotch.
Seven years latter at dinner she didn’t finish her dessert, She said she thought she may have to go to the doctor; her mutual-fund-gland was starting to hurt, He convinced himself that his hurt too because he liked the medicine's taste, Like starving vultures at a bounty of waste.
Two hours later she said we’ve been practicing theory, When I look into your piggy-bank eyes I just feel weary, All the romance has gone out of our account I need other thieves to rob, Now he’s a bankrupt-bone-digger and she’s looking for a new job.
Nov. 99
Underground Heaven
It’s all the roman passions trapped in the rusted chain link of suburbia, An angel equipped with the common limbs of erotica, Thump of a bass drum picks up the pulse of her unlabeled parts, She plays for the erected tower of a man; behind a mask; behind the motor of hearts.Who has just met a girl on the internet, Who says her modem is always wet, Whose secrets he would love to pet, The shadow of his smile is met.
His redemption as big as god; forgiving the smallness of her life, Lost in the fluid hands of Lethe; no ones mother or wife, In this feast of flesh and abstract touch and feel, Thought and time collapse on themselves and sensation is the measure of the real.
Tonight the club meets at midnight, She thinks as she sits at the traffic light, Aroused by the touch of her memory’s sight, Can’t wait to melt into the moonlight.
The dogma of his nature; the lust for the wives of Cain, He craves the unloaded caress of a storm that breaks some new lover's rain, La fiesta; the sense of sound; drown in the depth of music-wild, In this orgy of wine wedded lovers; egos are parked where bodies are piled.
Tonight we bring home the nearest star, Underground to the core to heal the scar, Of the life that has kept you from who you are, The light that never travels this far.
Jan. 00
Debtors' Prison
It comes in the mail; a curse in disguise, Promise you a leading role with a script of lies,You see a nouveau world for sale, An installment plan like a wishing well.
It takes money to make money but it doesn’t take money to spend money.
And it’s a crime you just pay someone else’s bills and accumulate debt, They put the bullet in the gun and the credit in the card while you play debtors' roulette.
Now you're theoretically rich and technically poor, Can’t afford what you have; can’t afford not to buy more, You're doing time for money; you’ll be serving life, And you’ll be completely under their thumb when they get you under the knife, Enough insurance to pay the doctor; not enough to pay the doctor bills, Go on the cheap with your groceries and ten percent down for thrills, But if you're willing to swallow fifty cents worth of pride for every dollar you sigh, It’s a twenty eight percent interest rate worth of truth and a zero down same as cash lie.
It’s not a crime to be a criminal these days, As long as you wave your pirate's flag by the book; this crime pays, And they can play an angel to their conscience by acting like they’re doing you a favor, A good credit report is a dish they can truly savior, Meanwhile the only way up is to dive in deeper, Refinance your troubles; take a lien on your cure; bread and water don’t get any cheaper, And now you're finally so broke you can’t even afford to ask why, You sell your right to own to pursue your need to buy.
And if you feel cheated; well you're right, You owe it all to the merchants of light, It takes your money to make their money, They make you think it’s as natural as a bee making honey.
Dec. 99-Jan. 00
Barbarians at the Gates
After everyone sat at the table and had their fill, They sat around some more fighting over who pays the bill, Now we could split it three ways or skip out and let the waitress pay, Or let the barbarians at the gates come in and save the day, But come on we can’t get anywhere with all this anti-trust, Leave it in the rain too long; even gold will rust, Hey we all want the same thing we just want to pay for our meal, But the barbarians at the gates are trying to force a deal.On the instant replay it didn’t seem like such a big mistake, Giving the enemy everything that we had to take, They're not jealous of what you had; you know that couldn’t be it, Can’t figure out how to make you lose so they’ll make you quit, But you couldn’t fight fire with fair so that’s the breaks, But you shouldn’t judge a millionaire by how much he makes, So if you’ll scratch my back I’ll pull the knife out of yours, And we’ll build a landmark on the spot and give fifty cent tours.
They want me to believe they did it all for me, I guess they think I’m ten times dumber than I am free, But I know who pays the bill; but I wonder who left the tip, It hurts to take the kiss of death when you’ve got a fat lip, Now you're paying for a free lunch but you feel lucky to have eaten at all, What goes on under the table is the only thing above the law.
He’s got a micro-soft-on; guard at the door while he masturbates, Spectacle to the voyeurism of the barbarians at the gates.
Jan. 00
Rain in the Ocean
All the mysterious money of a dreamer's debt, Spent in pursuit of rain that isn’t wet, From the garden of Eden to apocalypse drawn and drained, Jealous millionaires count the drops every time it rained, And pointless fortunes raise the sea level's ego, And she follows mocking direction which ever way we go, The meaning of light consumed in the definition of darkness, Like a ghost fits the frame of an ideal carcass.The mothers milk of the babies cry, The heartbeat of Heaven pumps the blood of the sky, A window to the soul of superficial saviors, The ruins of payday where paradise labors, It’s the difference between a fix and an overdose in a junkie's vein,
- It’s how a cradle of clouds turns into an ocean of rain -
Brush is just the body; color the soul of the paint, Yet we worship the deeds of this superfluous saint, In that crucifixion of sleep where the dream gets a little to real, And we lip sync the alphabet and kiss becomes kill.
The clock of an idea spends the time of money, Rain is the spice of the watered down honey.
And monuments of rain spread the ocean’s cancer, It’s a hungry destiny draped in the weather's disguise, It’s a dream of a question and a dictionary of an answer, The axis dislocated; the whole plot turns weather-wise, Tomorrow puts up with the petty demands of today, In a transfusion of sterility means become a whore to the end, Will has been sacrificed to the way, But this new weather pattern is just following the radar’s trend, While the history of banks brilliantly told in subway hieroglyphics, The code of all fortunes lie in the market flux of the rain, And the teller she fondles the hands on clash of specifics, And makes plans for her spiritual-tax-exempt-merger with Cain.
A cloud is feeding its thirst over the ocean, Crystals of essence divine and fortunes unfolded, The wind fills its kitchen and confers its stirring motion, And the god of tides is summoned and metamorphicly molded.
From a beach a teller's eyes sees the waste of rain in the ocean, But a dreamer sees the difference between the debt and the loan.
Dec. 99
Merchants of Light
Seeking proof that you can’t buy a thrill, I moved into my mansion on the hill, I put a second mortgage on my soul to cover the cost, The meaning; the only thing that has been lost, But the sacrifice is altered by the ceremony's seed, This pageant of desire is necessity's feed, When the medicine-man comes with cancers; cures and debt, Everything you own is the only safe bet.Eat twice as much and still lose weight on this miracle diet, You can sell light but you can’t buy it.
What the salesman tells us is all we know of truth, You get no sells receipt on corrupted youth, An impulse buy takes years of concentration, Anyone can feel pity for the victim of overt temptation, We all sleep in our budget dreaming of that best buy, Making payments to the guru of how; because we can’t put a price on why, And I’m no better than the man I’d like to be, But they’ll show you what to look at; they’ll even show you what to see.
You don’t even have to really want it; all you have to do is try it, You can sell light but you can’t buy it.
I cracked open my life and found a salesman inside, He said; "god is the question that your answers cannot hide".
And all of us are just dying proof of the will to live, Selling what we don’t know how to give, But it doesn’t mean anything deeper than the gloss of the paint, We want the flesh of a tycoon and the soul of a saint, And the value of our emotions radiates to the pulp of our possessions, So the mechanics of our greed drives the junk of our obsessions, And the world is a kiosk for the merchants of light, Market prices based on the petty differential of wrong and right.
We don’t really know the truth we just lie it, You can sell light but you can’t buy it.
Nov. 99
Released May 1, 2000
All Songs Composed, Performed and Recorded by M.M.
