My watch audibly clicks
even though I put it
in time-out.

Hidden in my drawer, 
I put it there to store
sluttish Time. 

To muffle the cries
of each second as it dies. 
To watch as it goes up in flames. 
To watch as it slowly melts away. 

But I’m just like that watch—
entombed in a room,
wherein my thoughts and cries
ricochet off the sides
of my container, like a gas. 
But, alas, I’m no complainer. 

If mirrors didn’t exist
neither would Narcissus
nor I.

The time it slips away, 
but only, by the way, 
if you can hear it beat. 

That’s why I eliminate my senses
and supplant augmenting lenses
with which I use to view the world
that spins around like one big tilt-a-whirl. 

But I’m just like that watch:
confused which use—
or if any lens—
is better; I guess it depends
on the foreground,
and I’m stuck in the background. 

But I’m just like that watch:
bound by leather
and confused as to whether
or not
I’ll just go to heaven,
or whether I’ll just fade to black.


I’m going to Italy—
you should come with me!
You can come too—
if you want to. 
We could be free!

Swim in the lagos, we'll run from viragos
who're angry 'cause we stole bread. 
But, if they knew
what we would do: 
go down and feed the swans. 

Arm in arm we would charm
the old men in chairs on the sidewalks. 
They play cards, 
draw the ace of hearts; 
win wine, women, and cheese. 

And then we will laugh
as we get out of the path
of the goats moving down the hill. 
See what we could not have seen,
do what we could not have dreamed,
in this song. So come along
with me to Italy.

Roam Venice. We’ll play tennis
with St. Mark's Square as our tennis court. 
We'll scare pigeons
in to a million divisions
and try to make them poop on people!

Hand in hand we will stand
in the fountain Fellini fell in. 
Our lives will be sweeter
than those in a theater—
because in there they don't allow gelato. 

And then we will run
in to the orange setting sun
as it sinks into the sea. 
See what we could not have seen,
do what we could not have dreamed,
in this song. So come along
with me to Italy.


I'm goin' down to the place I was around about 27 hours ago,
where I met a girl who rocked my world, 
where I met a girl who changed me—
rearranged me.

That's why I'm goin' down to Mexico.

A high hot sky and a big blue sun. Not one word to say.
But we played and played those little love games,
and then she gave me the look—
you might say I read her like a book. 

That’s why I’m goin' down to Mexico. 

So we walked the deck of the ship in to the wee hours of the morn. 
When we reached the highest point on the ship
she tricked me into kissing her—
you might say it easily worked.

That’s why I’m goin' down to Mexico. 
That’s why I’m goin' down to Mexico. 
That’s why I’m goin' back to Mexico.


I’m painfully weak,
but I am strong.
You gotta be strong
to be so weak.
For to find the strength
to keep movin’ on
when you’re so weak,
you gotta be strong.

I said, my heart’s like a scarred old moon—
it’s full of holes, covered in dust.
But she was the heat beneath its crust.
But all that’s gone
and I am too.

I said, my heart’s like a calloused old crab—
it’s got claws, and it’s got legs.
And all I’d do was crawl on the dregs,
but she brought me up
from the sea bed.


I said, my heart’s like a hot air balloon—
one with a hole right twixt the seams though. 
And the hole is where the heat escapes;
and it deflates,
and sinks
like a stone in a dream.

(Chorus x2)


Setting sail in gale force hail,
hoping to find a home.
Nowhere to run.
Nowhere to roam.

I need my little nymphs with me,
to satisfy the imp in me,
to satisfy the beast in me,
to satisfy the man.

So come with me to Arkadia.
Don’t ya know that’s where the gods made ya?
It’s the Amsterdam of the Garden of Eden.
So come on now, honey—let’s make you a heathen.

An effluvial wave of perfume comes my way,
but I ain’t prepared to die.
So believe in me and hopefully I’ll be
off this boat in awhile.

Through a mephitic maze of morose monkeys,
and junkies, and funky things,
I stumble past the brig and take one swig—
one sweet swig—of whiskey.



The lights turned off.
We shut out the cold
and ourselves in our homes.
And we had whiskey to stay warm. 

We walked around
in circles of lightning flashes.
And we watched
the snow as it fell. 

But the wick doesn't need the wax to burn.
It just helps it stand up and burn long.
And the only thing to do at night
was to read by candlelight  and write songs.
It just shows how it goes:
when the power turns off we turn on. 

The trees bowed down
and snapped under the great pressure.
And we successfully
got out of their way. 

The epitome of tranquility
was in the snowy leaves.
And the pines looked so fine
blanketed in white. 


(Chorus x2)