Mean old sway

“Let’s Spend the Night Together”
I remember the first time we sat under the sky in the parking lot of the baseball field. We were young and had no idea what the hell we were doing there. Well, you did, I didn't, I thought I did. Years later you're running around with rock stars and having pictures drawn all over your body. I surprised you that time, and we went to your apartment in the ghetto and talked all night while I wondered what you saw in what the hell you were doing. I wonder now if you're even alive at this point. We never dated, we never even kissed, but we always had something going at one point or another. It's been so long I don't even remember your middle name, even though you probably told me on the phone in the middle of the night 16 times. Those phone calls. I haven't had that in my life for so long now. Everyone wants off the phone immediately nowadays. I am a busy person, how can I help you? Am I a customer, or an old friend from your past? How many times did I fall asleep on you on the phone? It wasn't because you were boring me, it's because it felt like you were right next to me in the bed.
“You Can’t Always Get What You Want”
There's been all sorts of shit flying by me every day lately, little creatures, or shadows of things following me around. They never make any noise, yet they follow me, they were out with me tonight, and they fly around whenever I'm on here. Like they know I'm not paying attention to them. I see them though. Perhaps they will follow me on the trip to the mirror. The mirror is 3 feet by 6 feet, and is on a lovely mahogany table. It fit perfect on there after I sanded it down and everything. The wind feels cool out the windows. "If you open the correct windows you get an amazing cross breeze" she told me once. I've tried every single combination possible, but I'm yet to find the correct one. She was obviously lying at the time. Why so much fucking lying with everyone. You can't really trust anyone really. Making plans is such an easy thing to do, but you have to lie and make shit difficult. I have nothing good to say to you I guess. Remember the discussions on Cranes Beach about Lyme disease and getting lost in the woods. You ate so much that day I almost wanted to stop you from getting a greasy mouth. Greasy looking and messy lipstick so more words came pouring out. More complete bullshit. Why do I feel like I'm on the Johnny Carson show when I'm with you? I'm on the stand to answer your questions about myself. I thought y'all wanted us to be interested in you? You never gave me a chance to get to know you, because I couldn't get a word in edgewise. I'll call you Friday pick you up at 8:45pm.

“Loving Cup”
I swear I know how to open doors for you. You seem like…like you seem like someone that would enjoy my cooking. I’m still picturing a wave goodbye. I swear I will make phone calls to get to the bottom of this. I swear. I swear I would never swear at you. I can’t think of anything better I’d want to do. Hold on a minute, I think I should have stayed out longer and stronger tonight. This was no reason to come home. I have to tell you just how I feel I won’t share you with another boy. Let me tell you one thing, I’m not in this for the gold, or the ego. I’m not in this for selfishness. I’m not in this for a quick fix like a crack head on the corner in Atlantic City that I gave 49 cents to. I’m here so that I can drive you to New Mexico and talk about how beautiful the mountains are. But actually fuck the mountains, fuck the trees and sand castles and glass sculptures. Fuck all of that. Look at how you sit there full of content and smiles. Look at how I can’t keep my eyes off you. Swerving from lane to lane, because I am more interested in your eyes than where the road is leading us. I feel like this is the end of that road. Let me just park this car and we’ll get out and look at that together. Do you want to just look at me instead? Canyons come around every day. I need to get back into my car so I can swerve all over the place and hit you with myself. I won’t do that. I’m going to just go to bed, and hopefully I’ll know exactly what all of this is in the morning still.
“19th Nervous Breakdown”
I feel this need to stay up to avoid dreams now. I feel the need to stay up and try to fit in. I feel the need to burn things up. I’m the fool right now. There’s a song, well I’m not going to get into that right now. It’s a slow night at the bar. Only two redheads came in tonight. One was alone sitting at a table drinking wine looking at her watch. She got up at 11:20. I would gladly have chased her down and said “Yeah Hello, I’m lonely, what’s your name?”. I saw one two nights in a row. Guys tell me secrets immediately. Girls tell them months later. Guys have eyes. I hear so many secrets I feel like a soap opera writer. The redhead with the two night stand has awful fashion sense. Some sort of ”safari type” look to her. Some sort of catalog I wouldn’t want to look through. Some dude drinks punch bowls full of liquor and yellow stuff and gets hugs. Some guy who looks at women as I look at a piece of steak gets to draw pictures on the wall and trade brushes and eye contact. My phone ends up ringing all night because of earth signs and fire signs. I stare and glare into the table across the room and wonder what the hell is sitting in front of me. Oh wait, there’s nothing sitting in front of me but a candle and an ashtray. There’s no person in front of you, there’s an illusion of what you thought held the key. There’s no key anywhere you’re visiting though. There’s no girl there with a big shit eating grin on her face waiting to take you in. The guy that has the biggest collection of tales of debauchery and sloppy blow jobs from amateur girls from down the table gets the big fluffy pillow and the sun beams. The guy with all of the words, the best words gets to sit in bed. The guy with the responsibility and the brown eyes gets to eat alone and share a drink with the leather seat across from him. This guy gets to go home every night to nightmares and fantasy scenes and surreal Fellini dreams. I never tell anyone how loud my guitar is and how it’s a chick magnet. My guitar and rock and roll stays home. My guitar and rock and roll is not my selling point. I have a few more things to offer than songs tongue piercings and windmills guitar moves. I have this room that brings me out. I have these ideas in my head that need to get out. They’re not allowed to come out though. They get to stay in. Punished. Punished for taking the wrong turn. I don’t get any champagne and candle wax poured all over me tonight I get Miles Davis and a headache. The phone has been as quiet as a mouse on Christmas Eve. Ring hello. Yes, my head aches and my bones are broken now. What do you suggest?
“Sympathy for the Devil”
I am a naturally suspicious person. I am a nosey person, not anymore though. Now I try to not know anything. The whole truth and nothing but it always lets me down so I avoid it like the plague. The world though, they are nosey. Sometimes I set traps for them and they read about me in the newspaper about things I did, not knowing they are reading a comic book. A fictional novel. I don’t have evil bones inside me anymore. I have been looking for a warm living room for years now. Maybe a coffee table we can put our books on and fall asleep on the couch listening to records. This yellow living room though it’s warm and friendly late at night, no secrets floating in the air above anyone. No traps being set to test people. No ideas put into heads. The novel was in the romance section not espionage or mystery.

“Star Star”
This big building we walked into. This abandoned building with smashed out black windows. No bars on the windows. We walked through the litter and glass and found all sorts of artifacts that we collected in a cloth bag she had with her. I took her hand and brought her upstairs. “This is the cool area” It was scary as hell in there. Knowing some of the things that went on in there was pretty creepy indeed. At the top of the stairs we saw a ghost. I didn’t believe in ghosts, still don’t. I told her it was just a real human being, probably a homeless guy. We kept walking and saw another ghost, and yet another. One by one there were ghosts all around us. They apparently didn’t want us in their home. Hell, we kids had no business going in there. It was all my idea to take photos in there. Some sort of gothic photo shoot in an abandoned mental hospital. I told her if she wanted to leave she could leave. The stairs were on the left. She left and went to the car. I sat in this pitch-black room, as she took the flashlight with her. I sat in there until my eyes adjusted to the darkness in the room and I could make out writing on the wall and figures walking in front of me. I felt good. Not scared anymore. Nothing could scare me. I lay on the floor and waited for her to come and get me. For once in our relationship, I wanted her to rescue me. At nearly five in the morning I walked out to the car and started it up. She was sleeping under my jacket in the back seat. “Hi” she said to me through her cigarette stained throat. “Good morning then” I said to her. The drive home was pleasant. I played The Rolling Stones “Goat’s Head Soup” on the tape deck and she lightly snored in the back seat having nightmares about ghosts. The morning mist always looks so much better when you’ve seen ghosts the night before.