Last night we tried to watch Manchester by the Sea
For the second time we tried to watch it, we fell asleep
But last week, we watched Palo Alto starring James Franco
We got through it, now that was a good one
Today is my day of listening
Today is my day of not speaking
Today is my day of writing
Today is my day of reading
Today is my day of reflecting
Today is my day of silently thinking
My quiet meditative day
My cat is on her green quilt on the coffee table looking over the bay
And the rain pours and it pours and it pours
It’s a season of rain
But now it’s a new night
But now it’s another night
And I’m back to work singing
While the musicians are bringing
Lovely music to my singing
And at the parts where I am speaking
Player setting for me, it’s beautiful automatically
How can it not be?
How can it not be?
Eeney meeney miney moe
Catch a tiger by its toe
If he hollers, let him go Eeney meeney miney moe
And now begins my time of quiet
Now is my time to let the music do the talking
To let the piano and the drums and the hollow-bodied guitar do everything
It’s time for me to pause and to just breathe, to let the music be Now I feel it’s time to be singing
The same good thoughts to sing, before they heal
To wish for all countries to stop bombing
To wish for the starving to be eating
To remember being young and catching snakes in the field
I walked to North Beach and back silently
Grossly, where nobody knows me Where nobody stops me Over the Trieste to get an iced tea
Where nobody knows me Well I wasn’t there, the world turned without me Nobody knows me A girl walks into Trieste, all curvy
Every guy’s head turns, she’s got a big ass
She walks away and an old guy says
«We'll see if those jeans still fit her in ten years»
Guys with guitars were playing «Hotel California»
When I got to Trieste, the corner of Grant and Vallejo
By my own eyes I got the last sweet roll of villo
And I listened to them play as I took the sandwich from the bag
It was sitting on my lap
It was beautiful and I don’t even like the Eagles
They remind me of the most painful and boring corners of suburban life
Backseat of my mom’s car, bored crazy crazy bored
On the way to my aunt and uncle’s house
They killed my pet pig out there
They said they didn’t know he was my pet pig
They said they cooked him up They said they didn’t know the pig was my pet Topo Gigio
They cooked him up with the farmhouse
And I cried and I cried and I cried like a baby at my aunt and uncle’s farmhouse
If you’re a songwriter and you’re having dry spell
I don’t want to hear about writer’s block, that sounds like a living hell
If you can’t find the poetry, I suggest you walk around the block
If you can’t find it, then write about when you were a kid and you got the
chicken pox
If you grow marijuana, then write about your marijuana crop
If you like animals, then write about the ocelot
And if it’s raining outside, then write about the raindrops
I still smell the Ohio farm pig smell melding with the smell of the corn crops
I’m a person who, knock on wood, hasn’t suffered a lot of writer’s block
For better, for worse, this is my lot in life
I’m not afraid to lose my spot in the cafeteria
With the Tiffanys and the jocks
Were you afraid to sit alone in the cafeteria?
I’m not, for to be an artist is to not be a conformist
That is the meaning for me, of being a true artist
I’m a sparrow fluttering around, unafraid of the bows and arrows darting around
I’m a sparrow, not afraid to take an arrow
And to bleed like Pablo Picasso
Did Lou Reed care what people thought?
Did Muhammad Ali care about what lessons
The United States thought he needed to be taught?
I look at the cactus in the coffee shop
I look at the succulents in the Spanish clay pot
That cactus might have more left in it that I got
I walk around around around around around around around the block
I see poetry in the trash in the parking lot
I see the strip club and I see the neon signs all lit up I see young girls hanging outside with their juicy thick butts
I ain’t no deadbeat pup
And these guys playing guitar, piano, and drums sure are not
Listen to them play, listen to them play
Now is my time to stop singing
To let the piano and the guitar and the drums do the talking
And now me, myself, and I and me Are going to jump into this bacchanal with some vocal harmony
Okay, now it’s time for me to start talking again
Because 59 Tomahawk missiles just launched to Syria
And the mother of all missiles just went down in Afghanistan
And North Korea and the USA are making a stand
The tension is escalating, the tension is escalating
Watch out leaders, how you know one of your own
Isn’t going to sneak up behind you with a wire
And choke you out, and choke you out
And choke you out, and choke you out
And choke you out, and choke you out
And choke you out, and choke you out
And choke you out, and choke you out
And stomp you out, and stomp you out
And pull you out, and pull you out
This is the sound of chaos, this is the sound of war
This is the sound of the wounded and the suffering
And the buildings burning and collapsing
And the cities being bombed
And the men, women, and children are being tortured
And leaders will be assassinated
This is the sound of war, this is the sound of war