Tuesday, January 13, 2009


the grass is always greener on the other side
and this is the rhyme that locks me in time
and i spend each day desiring things
but once i obtain them
they're lost like my keys
they've slipped out my fingers
its an old summer fling

"i gotta get outta this town" i say and complain
but i'll say it again next year to the day
because no matter what happens i always get restless
no matter what love or adventures i'm hapless
no matter how great or fantastic the city
no matter what music and voices so pretty
i gotta keep moving, i'm a newborn gypsy

can't hold down a real job 
in anywhere clean
in anyplace fine
in anywhere esteemed
"you're rubbish and weird 
and spastic and mean"

i went to france and i met pierre
he smokes like a chimney 
he's hospitable and kind
he likes to make fun when my french isn't fine
he threw a party, there was an american punk
pierre is much funnier when its late and he's drunk
and he threatens to throw us out on the street
he's only kidding though, he's french but he's sweet

i'm an experience junkie i can't get enough
i want to taste everything 
from yummy and sweet
to bitter and tough

but right now i'm attempting to be thankful for this place
soak in every detail every breeze each open space
and fully envelope each moment that is ordinary
because soon, when i'm gone, this dull moment now,
will seem distant, delicious, extraordinary

on the back porch on a warm summer night
casually driving through the angel city's lights
hearing spanish from the neighbors the tvs on in back
fall is almost here i'm glad my friends are back

i'm always feeling intense at this young important age
as if we've got to figure everything out like some wise old sage
but these words they keep me going, they're dripping from the page
they're dripping from the sky from rainbows burnt with rage

they're flowing out just like the song the paper cup is in my hand
and in my hands i hold my tears the sky seems to understand
and the rain is falling down its not depressing at the start
its sparkling on the pavement and taps the windows of my heart

and hearts in shapes of pupils sees what's invisible to the eye
"l'essentiel es invisible pour les yeux" is the little prince's cry
i really truly believe that though i don't know what it means
i'll learn someday when i'm all grown up and touched a soul of the unseen

well i never feel quite satisfied its a flaw i really hate
its rare my soul is really fed no drug no jeans no date
i wake up each day there's not much i can do
and though i feel defeated and blue

the grass keeps growing
the trees keep stretching
the wind keeps blowing
your looks get more fetching
the sky gets pinker
the days get shorter
the clouds are drifter
someone tips me a quarter
and i keep going
one foot in front of the other.

-august 2007

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