1.
You Were Loving Who You Thought I'd Be
2. Blow Me Over Baby
3. Meeting In
Town Square
4. Washington Square
5. Drained Cups
6. Radios, Pianos, &
Pills
7. Success At A Young Age Is Dangerous
8. One Last Chance
9. A
Romantic Vision Of Saturday Night
10. M. Edgar Roberts YOU WERE LOVING
WHO YOU THOUGHT I'D BE "You're a romantic sort of fellow,"
You said when
you met me,
"You're bright and intellectual
And you spark my curiosity"
That's
right I am quite special
But be clear: you don't know me
You know nothin'
about my intentions
Or my shady history "You're such a joyful fellow,"
You
said when you'd come by
"Why don't you come by more often?
You're such
a mysterious guy" Girl the street is getting wet now
'Cause the rain's decided
to come
I've got to get-a-goin' because
The sport is in the run
If I
should stay to be with you
I'd become too familiar, you see
You weren't
loving me, girl
You were lovin' who you thought I'd be "You're an educated
fellow,"
You said when you knew me better,
"You were raised across the
lake there
By your father and your mother"
That's right I'm only human
I
was stolen from old rhymes
I got flaws and inconsistencies
And I'm vulnerable
at times "You've come from a normal family,"
You said after a while
"You
got a normal view of the world
And a normal kind of smile" "You're a pretty
average fellow
With an average sort of history,"
You said, "You're a nice
fellow
But without much mystery"
I said, "I am the same fellow
That you
asked to stick around
I'm not any sort of cowboy
But I have a mind that's
strong and sound" Girl the street is getting wet now
'Cause the rain's decided
to come
I've got to get-a-goin' because
The sport is in the run
If I
should stay to be with you
I'd become too familiar, you see
You weren't
loving me, girl
You were lovin' who you thought I'd be You were loving your
creation
My appeal has faded
You were loving your creation
My appeal
has faded BLOW ME OVER BABY Got no time for incidents
The streets
turn into coincidence
A woman next to me
Shows me her latest tapestry
Oh,
blow me over baby
I haven't got the patience I arrived on a train
A train's
gonna take me away from the plains
Oh, the woman ridin' next to me
She's
silent and gorgeous as the sea
Oh, blow me over baby
You're as tempting
as the rain Glad tidings you send
I've got enough wounds to mend
And
you're holding onto me
With a certain empathy
Oh, blow me over baby
I'm
like an oak but I'll bend Got a pocketful of sand
And a diamond glass in
hand
We raise a glass and wave a wand
For all the misfits of the land Got
trashed last night
Said things that were wrong and far gone, it ain't right
Sometimes
you don't recognize me
Your porcelain eyes don't receive me
When I'm blowin'
over baby
In the heart of midnight Oh, the flavor of the open flame
Fresh
from the barrels of the wheat and grain
Four hundred years are gone
That's
so long, long, long
Oh, blow me over baby
We're fit to be insane Got a
pocketful of sand
And a diamond glass in hand
We raise it up and wave a
wand
For all the misfits of the land MEETING IN TOWN SQUARE There's
a meeting in town square
Everybody looks hungry with shaggy, long hair
They're
all takin' care of day to day affairs
And yet there's one who's looking meek
and will not stare He's not the average, he's slow not quick
Seems he always
gets the short end of the stick
The peacemaker comes up to him and says, "Dry
your eyes,
I know they get rough at times, that's the way with those guys" I
know you're sick of these wild ones
Who live by the sword
I know you never
seem to get your due reward
I know it seems like those guys
Are out of their
gourd
I think someday they're going to nail you to a board And Alpha, the
leader, he's getting irate
Up on his high haunches like Alexander the Great
He's
hassling the poor meek one, till "Mercy" he begs
Then he walks away with his
tail between his legs And when their attention drifts into rage
That underdog
he's locked like a rat in a cage
Oh, they're on him like a pack of wild wolves
Seems
that those holy ones always lose when the politics unfold I know you're sick
of these wild ones
Who live by the sword
I know you never seem to get your
due reward
I know it seems like those guys
Are out of their gourd
I think
someday they're going to nail you to a board Oh, that poor one has had some
rough days
What'd he ever do to them any ways?
He's been martyred, but
who knows if he'll feel those rays
Shinin' on him, with the landscape all ablaze I
know you're sick of these wild ones
Who live by the sword
I know you never
seem to get your due reward
I know it seems like those guys
Are out of their
gourd
I think someday they're going to nail you to a board AN AFTERNOON
IN WASHINGTON SQUARE It's been a muggy one this summer
The air has been
pressing on my shoulders
Could love an ugly one within the buildings
Of
the West Village, but the air has grown colder And the wind has shaken the village
quite a bit
And there's life in the park now that the air is light
On the
corner sits a man who picks out a merry tune
He's missing chords but to his
small audience, it's all right And in the other there's two twenty-ish kids
They
have the look of minstrels, playing saxophone and guitar
These boys can really
play, they should be at a club today
But they haven't even considered becoming
a star What a glorious day it is, I repeat
With the sun smiling overhead
There
are some street performers doing flips over each other
They've really got the
crowd on their feet In another corner there sits a few pickers
Picking out
old Beatles tunes, seems to me
Their guitars are out of tune and their harmonies
are off
But they're still a warm sight to see And at the corner of Washington
Square
Where McDougal meets the next street
There's plenty of heads being
strained and taxed
As they calculate the next chess move to beatv And me
I'm alone by the fountain
But surrounded by the tourists and locals of the
day
I'm tickled by the sight of rainbow in the fountain
And brush of the
white spray All around me roams a pack of pushers and pimps
And the street
kids and the wafting smell of dope
But they all fit in just nicely on this
temperate day
In this funky part of town And I look up to the East
Past
the fountain and the spray
And I realize I'm moved by the folksy atmosphere
And
the comfort of this beautiful day For some strange reason I feel at peace
Amongst
the filthy pavement and streets
Amid the liars, the lovers, and the cheats
It's
sure a hard scene to beat And I'm waiting for a beauty to appear
She's blonde,
but it changes every half year
She wouldn't show if she was being sincere
But
it doesn't matter to me - I'd rather just sit here And watch the jugglers throw
balls up
And the gymnasts do their stuff
And feels like on the tourists,
I've got one up
But know, in my heart, that life isn't that rough DRAINED
CUPS The wood breaks and the room is humming
There are pine needles on
the floor
The wall shakes, 'cause the riders are coming
I didn't think they
came around here no more And the horn blasts while the oven is churning
The
light draws pictures on the wall
We all come at last, but the fire's still
burning
And there's the dimplet in the hall There's my comrade and his
eyes are blazin'
And his words are piping hot
To see the evening as it isn't
He
takes a sip from his melting pot He says, "Hey friend you think I'm quite dangerous
'Cause
I'm stumbling and small"
I say, "No man, but I'm tendentious
Do I scorn
you? Not at all, man, not at all" 'Cause we're long gone
The cups were tall
and long
Now they're long gone
But we'll roll on
Now there's just drained
cups It's a long night and the smiles are plenty
Rosy cheeks and smoky sentences
Maybe
a fight or a song-burst of the many
Cups full of grog and repentance, yeah There's
confusion and the radio is howling
A fine time around midnight
The cups
are sung and the stomachs are growling
The night sings and the air becomes
tight There's a cup that teeters on the table
'Neath the pale of the oak-room
light
This night has nothing for me, I'm unable
To get myself out of here
and into sight She speaks to me, the brown haired woman
As I drink and try
to touch the dawn
She says, "Why do you sink to the moment?"
I say, "The
brilliance I possess is now long gone" She says, "You're such a romantic sort
of fellow,
Perhaps you feel a bit too much"
I say, "You've nailed it, my
hopes were far from mellow
But they've since scattered and left me with this
drained cup" 'Cause we're long gone
The cups were tall and long
Now they're
long gone
But we'll roll on
Now there's just drained cups RADIOS, PIANOS,
AND PILLS Radios, pianos, organs
Get it out! Get it out!
Radios,
pianos, and pills
Ignore your bills
Get your thrills Saxophones
Hulla
bulloov
Color me blue Radios, pianos, and pills
Ignore your bills
Get
your thrills Trills, frills, and pills
Trills, frills, and pills
Trills,
frills, and pills ONE LAST CHANCE The car pulls up
Monica's jacket
is on her shoulders
Scott takes a stroll up the walkway
He walks like he's
a little older
On the T.V. Bob Dole is squintin'
So many messages of which
he's been hintin'
Monica says, "Take me for a walk before I go crazy"
Scott
says, "I have so many damn songs to play
And I don't understand why the stardom
Doesn't
ever come my way
I guess faith is all that I have
I've got no money and
no fall-back plan
But then money and fame and love are
Just a state of mind,
I guess
We can start saving now
And put enough money away
So we can retire,
in peace, someday
But, man, that sounds so dreadful, babe!
To put my dreams
in a pine box and bury them away
And I know I don't seem like much of anything
I
got poor grades and I rarely win
But I guess I've got as good a chance as anyone
So,
it's not too late to have a little fun And put a name on all of the fears we
ever knew
It's not too late for a dying man
And it's not too late for you
At
some point your perspective does change
See an aging face through the rain
Well,
I don't expect
To give up
For anyone
And I hope you're with me, too" SUCCESS
AT A YOUNG AGE IS DANGEROUS Drums, disease, blood, war, riots
What is
the meaning of poetry?
Who has the right to be a poet?
Who has the right
to be idolized - me? When is death acceptable?
When is drunken behavior
acceptable?
Success at a young age is dangerous If I could walk down by
the docks
With my shirt open in summer
I'd see those docks so brown and
full of growth
Corral, beach, sand and geese and a guitar strummer Water
springs eternal
Life is long and languid
Success at a young age is dangerous Angular
is the water, hot is the sun
I just want to get to the heart of it!
What
is the answer, what is the question?
There will be no answers, no first aid
kit In world where man constantly
Works to create order through civilization
Success
at a young age is dangerous It is difficult to accept that there will be no
orderly solution
To the number one question that you made
It is like taking
a class, writing a paper, and doing assignments
But receiving no actual grade Why
is it acceptable to be a priest?
Why is it not OK to be a drunk?
Success
at a young age is dangerous Bad husband asks, "Why is spousal abuse wrong?"
Poor wife asks, "Why is wrestling televised?"
Wife asks, "Why do the young
attractive girls
Put such a look into husband's eyes?" Why do ideas that
were formed at an early age
Form the basis of how a person lives life into
its autumn?Success at a young age is dangerous What is the place of poetry
In
a secular world?
What is naïve about the question, "Does God exist?"
When
it's asked by a little girl? Whose rules do we adhere to
Is it the better
educated?
Success at a young age is dangerous Who wants to listen to a drunk
in a bar
Speculate about the existence of God?
Why do flowery poems repel
some and attract others
And whose green earth is this when we buy the sod?
Why is the scent of a beautiful woman eternal?
Why are relationships so
difficult?
Success at a young age is dangerous Whose rules influenced ours?
Why is the world so ugly and so beautiful?
And so dark and so light
Where
does the spirit of F. Scott Fitzgerald dwell when the green light goes dull? Does
his work have the same impetus
As Shakespeare, Galileo, or Bruce Lee?
Success
at a young age is dangerous Whose rules did they break?
Success at a young
age is dangerous Why are music and poetry inextricably linked?
Success at
a young age is dangerous Where is Jesus and who creates myths?
Success at
a young age is dangerous Why do these questions haunt me so?
Because success
at a young age is dangerous A ROMANTIC VISION OF SATURDAY NIGHT All
the hitchy, ditchy teens
At the bus stop
Want to get the girls to their
father's houses
When the parents are away They lined up all the cans
And
bottles their friends drank
Carved a message in the tile
Oh, the room stank And
they dreamed of all the girls
Never made it right
But worked on the romantic
vision
Of a Saturday night M. EDGAR ROBERTS M. Edgar Roberts had
a song for every day that he lived
And his mom always loved him
And gave
him all the support she could give
But some things fall apart
You hit the
highway
And you start to skid M. Edgar Roberts feared that he could never
write the ultimate song
He searched for the best way to present it
To make
all the kids sing along
And his magnum opus
Remains unwritten
Maybe
not enough went wrong M. Edgar Roberts is a victim of the politics in force
He
leaves dreams behind
And waffles about the matter of his course
I can see
him contemplating
As slowly, from his dreams
He gets a divorce
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