tallyman

 praise be to the tallyman        who sells us back our shirts       and keeps our children hungry      for the sake of democracy        the nation’s books are balanced        on our broken backs        we make believe while making do       that we hang on in together       and he provides the glue

tonic

 I waited up all night          by the telephone         when you eventually called       I said I wasn’t home         I’m sorry for that now       coz baby I need your prayers         I need your readies too        there’s been a blues revival       I’ve been chemically castrated      stitched into my blankets    and left out in the rain        maybe something I desired      crossed that invisible line     I offered my contrition          they stoned me just the same         and left me still        yet still       conflicted bruised and torn     subject to the tender mercies       of the compassionately numb          save me from do gooders           who would save me from myself        I just need a tonic       to improve my mental health      

the taj mahal

when I get low     I get high       I’m not gambling for salvation       indifference is my prize       when the sun sets on the good and clean       the geeks and freaks and junkies      join the medicine show      our bankrupt ideals      and crooked jungle rules     weave loathsome pinprick tapestries     that stain us to the soul           and the wonders of the world      dissolve on our dirty spoons     to be regurgitated     in an idiot geometry      in the catch as catch can        where our flight is stunted       with leaden wings           in another shabby paradise        not the advertised      cool blue nile      or the taj mahal     with the lover of our dreams       but instead the squalid nightmare        of endlessly repetitious junkydom          and the eventual release        of that fatal final dose

 

radio rental

they say everyday is a school day      and that knowledge is power        so why are we ruled by apes?     am I evolving?       being?    becoming?     what the fuck am I becoming?  

I’ve been playing hooky          they say I’m radio rental              but I never burned a book      I’m just a well intentioned idiot       trying to carve   an identity from bars of soap      I’m none the wiser       but at least I’m clean      some of the time        we’re all filthy now       our carbon footprints      lead straight to the gates of hell      

 if we’re lucky we’ll end up in a museum        but no-one here gets lucky        unless by accident      I played the hand they dealt me       it kept me in the game        but I’m on a losing streak       the whole world feels the same       the world has gone radio rental        we’re all of us insane

brown paper bag

 

most ain’t got no freedom         some have just enough        we are all prisoners here      of our own devices       me        I need an outside woman        someone who won’t steal my clothes        I don’t want to play house         just give me something pure        I only want the medicine         I don’t expect a cure         so if she saw my pain        she’d just spoon me out a dose         so wrap me up in clover        stick me in a brown paper bag          we’ll know the party’s over       when the hours begin to drag