soggy cities with
smoke blue trains
pumping like veins
between sagging streets
and between drum beats
I haven't heard since I was seventeen.
I haven't seen puddles reflecting
snow heavy evergreens
since I was seventeen.
I used to rock Frank Sinatra
but mine wasn't a very good year.
I stood here
feeling 33 in Hollywood years
thinkin about how to get the fuck out of
those soggy cities
with smoke blue trains.
Where the people are strange
and constantly misbehave
drinking cheap American beer
and they never shave.
Rain drips in
along the window pane
into and old iron pail.
And the strange people here
never cut their fingernails.
They climb aboard
the smoke blue night time trains,
riding the rails through
rain soaked cities
where black mascara tears
run down the faces of all the dames
and their whiskey comes all aflame.
It burns going in
and it burns going down
and it burns when you inevitably
puke your guts out.
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2 comments:
All of 'em. Bring all of 'em. You'll have time on stage to read most of what you have here...and the minstrel part of the performance...you want a little more...what? OK not romantic but maybe a little less puking your guts out?
Maybe.
Good work though. Hard to say what my favorite is. It's like I told a songwriter friend of mine. "My favorite song of yours it the last one I heard".
And Himmler...had something similar...and Goebels had noballs at all.
I understood you wanted to know which to bring to be a troubadour... since people will be eating, this one is a no go. Puking and eating don't go together. Well, unless you're bulemic.
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