Other Songs

Daddy

Daddy, strong and cold,
I lie in awe.
Daddy, can you come home now
or is it me I saw
leaving home
turning the darkness to day
turning the feeling away?

Daddy, I know you hear me.
Why don’t you answer now?
Daddy, was there ever a memory
you care to miss and how.
Are you happy now
to suffer from joy
like a little boy?

It’s so depressing to see
so much feeling
out of what just can’t be.
I’m sick to death of shouting
and trying to get through;
so there’s nothing I can do.

Daddy, why don’t you ever change.
Daddy, why don’t you ever change.
Why don’t you change
your mind about me…

Elizabeth

Elizabeth, can’t you find the time for sleep;
so busy loving the world and all you’ve got.
That’s not too much, but you’ve had a lot.
You gave it all away, yesterday.

Elizabeth, you’re a queen in the salvation army
and so proud to show the velvet over tattered clothes.
so much tenderness on an air of faded perfume
in a gone-away, lonely and suffered-in room.

Can’t you find the time for rest?
Can’t you find your way to happiness,
Elizabeth?

Elizabeth, you’re so many things that can be.
When I look at you, sometimes I see
all the things that I could be.
Let me know you before you’re set free.

Elizabeth, someday I’ll know you for sure.
They’ll see what you tried to stand for.
So misunderstood a woman in time,
you’ve chosen the highest mountain to climb.

The Making of a Thrill (Dylan’s Clothes)

The train rushed me onward to Chelsea.
The day rushed me on words I can’t say.
So let me sink to the drink,
give in to the drug.
Let me pave one road or another.
Or I’ll be sane in a mad world,
mad in a sane world.
Sane in a mad world,
mad in a sane world.

Overdosed on man and myth
taken for granted my gift.
Eating lambs and kings in bed
just as Dylan Thomas said.
He said.

His head smoke-circled poetess
excess, obsess, regress, confess.

Who will measure my success?
and if I’m sounding too wanton
send me a picture of the train you’re on.
I kiss his mouth and aptitude
till all my mind is black and blue’d.
Come learning pen, be my villain.
Wrap your soul around me, Dylan.

The Rainforest is Crying

The rainforest is crying.
It’s sad for all the world.
It takes the brunt of all humanity,
(and) forgives us with its tears (dry them all).

So take the time to give.
Do your share
so future generations may live
breathing clean air, with the snow.
Drink in clean water
and the glow of the morning sun.

The rainforest is dying.
We’ve cut it down,
only to rob our own clean air.
It’s true, we are the species that knows.
Sad irony.  Because of our wisdom, everything goes.

The rainforest is sighing.
It’s tired and wants to go to sleep.

Moments

There is sadness when the colour bar limits our kaleidoscope.
Purity when complements dominate my fear and hope.
I wash the play of coloured light.
Can’t be colour blind!
To capture moments with my paint – just small fragments of time.
These moments, precious moments.

I paint the passing moments as sudden flashes fade.
It’s all in black and white – like day and night.
I am in love with these moments, precious moments.
I am in love with these moments to remain.

Madness and mystery, crimson and grey
My imagination’s flight moves me toward the Light.
It’s a visionary sight.
I see red and I sing the blues —

Valued dark in the light portraying pain of night.
On seven steps, I meditate.  Chromatics vari’egate.
The sound of truth is radiant in the eyes of the innocent.
Moments clash in harmony (as) perfect as the blackbody.
These moments, moments to relive
in time.

I sing the blues.

Black Heaven

(I’m) lost— in the forest, in the shadow of sin.
(I) weep— in the wind, fall in delirium.
And step by step I’m pushing on, condemned to an icy hell!

The RED HAND— pushes me.
RED HAND— pushing me
down, down, down, down, down…

When the moon’s eclipse and the howling dogs
and faces that people the blankness
are the nightmare visions of my eyes—
Mirror all the lies—
I approach— horizons— of silence where forgotten Masters dream
They’ll never understand!

Now— I’m in a trance of shadows where the
larks— are woven golden suns in me.
and silver moons and shining starlight.
No! I’m not the Luck-Child, a puppet in grips.
Tails-trailing stars shine from my lips.

Black skies of night! (dead to a black heaven)
Circle of the self-soul! (black heaven, white hell)
Uncertainty! (black— black— fear)

Free Man’s Mind [from "Acceptance" rock opera]

Every child is a creator
until he’s told he’s not.
Everyone’s a great creation
until it’s taken from him.

Free man’s mind, free man’s mind
Free man’s spirit, free all of mankind

We’ve been told about religion
so do we really believe
There are no fathers and no heroes
it’s just a possibility.

Gretchen’s Dream

Walk the coloured lane
Pouring purple rain
All the fields are fair
With flowers ev’rywhere

[You and me, we and he, ah--
You can breathe with me
We'll be free with no care
With flowers ev'rywhere]

The trees are old at last
and all the cars drive past
Trails of perfect smoke
of ordinary folk

Ev’ry headline reads
“Love will fill our needs”
The sky is blue today
We’ve not much more to say.

Guerrillas’ Dance

Silence…
Land mine explosion
Two nuns were killed, a third wounded…
Lost a lot… lost a lot of blood…
Panama’s freedom.
Nicaragua’s revolution.
Oust Noriega!
Punish all evildoers.
Oust Ghadaffi!
Ceausescu’s dead – convicted of genocide and other grave crimes.
Romania is free
Tear down the Berlin wall in minds of many.
Give women back their choice.
Free Tiananmen Square!

Warhol’s Melee

(I) thought I saw someone I knew
though there were only pages.
Pages and pages of all the sinister people.
Drinking, sinking, seductive, deductive
intrusions of the beat.

They’re rumours of peace.
A painter of flowers and pillows.
A player plays in boldness.
Their hair droops forth in poses
and they wear the shirt and roses.
The sculpture’s pave in rudeness.
A small mind cries in one corner
of a dirty room where no one hears.
They drain the joys and drown the fears
and made addictive settlements
and seconol relieves the way
and builds the thoughts to overtake.

Those of them who were not clad
they’ve been losers from the start.

Life is Fighting

It’s no use, no use
in standing your ground
when there’s no one around
to believe you, believe in you.
You’ll feel homeless and far,
still won’t know where you are.
Life is fighting, not inviting.

It’s no use, no use
in pretending this way
when the things that they say
will surpass you, are surpassing you.
When the young leave their home
and have no place to roam,
it’s a war out there,
confusion everywhere.
Life is fighting, harsh and biting.

Mountain Dream

I awoke from inner peace
and found the story not complete.
I took a walk back through my life
and I was followed by a man
on a quiet mountain side.
There were people in the air
and mist of color everywhere.

I’m on a mountain dream
and I turn to see his face
and I find that there is
peace– peace– peace–

On that quiet mountain side
in a cold and drifting tide
was the doorway of my life
and it seemed there was no use.
My golden calf had walked away.
He lived in another day.
No more silence can I say, can I say–

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