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Boog

by Boog

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1.
SNAV 03:00
Darker fish cleave creamy seas, and all I’m left with is a breeze It doesn’t even reach my knees There’s too much in this world for free They’re always inventing newer, tighter, cleaner skin, but all I’ve got is the one I’m in: rained on, stained, and paper-thin And who knows where I could have been And the most beautiful couple is dancing the tin-can tango Oh signore, ponimi su quel di notte traghetto a napoli Because there’s no place I’d rather be, than in that salty puddle called a sea, with a crazy little wife— a pretty little knife— that would be something like a life for me These sidewalk queens and khaki schemes fill the lining of a vagrant’s dream Stitch-by-stitch, rip out the seams and blow it up with bay barge steam And eventually we will be at home in that den of thieves e le spiagge nere di sorrento non sono lontane da napoli So put your faith in happenstance and join me for this dance We will be a trinity of two my bones belong to you my bones belong to you mie ossa appartengono a tu My crazy little wife, you cut me like a knife, gave me a glimpse of my something-like-a-life to be
2.
The recruiters want to know why you don’t do what they do They want to know where you’re going and how you’ve been They cling to me so loosely, I just want to scrape them off like dead skin Rebel Jenny says, ‘Leave me alone for a little while, John. Times are hard, I’m all charged up–hey, man, I’ve got a battle to win!’ But she’s told, ‘This battle is unwinnable, this goal is unattainable, and the fight ain’t worth half what you put in. ‘So, you’ve got a pole through your nose, and a poem in your hand. Well, tell me, who’s that going to save?’ She’s coming to you straight from the grave with a lighter for your cigarettes and a very dangerous silhouette. Don’t forget, someone’s got to play it the way that it is All those goons who hang around the bell tower will reject anyone who doesn’t listen to their favorite songs They’ll harass and harangue you and let you dangle, once they’ve hanged you by the string with which they so easily led you along So, along comes this kid, scribbling, rolled on by the thunder Everyone asks his neighbor, ‘Hey, who’s this sick kid?’ But before he can speak, he eats his own words, they don’t agree, and his guts spill out his mouth like liquid ‘Oh, good show! Yeh, what form! And how very, absolutely brave!’ He’s coming to you straight from the grave with words you ain’t ever seen He’ll make every day feel like Halloween It’s obscene, but someone’s got to play it the way that it is And all the vampires are asking, ‘What happened to young Kirk Douglas?’ though they think that he’s much sexier now he’s well hid I’ll tell you what: they threw him in a bunker, turned up the heat, and told him to come out knowing more than he did Mortuary Marylin speaks in squeak-toy noises The red on her cheeks hides the trails of her tears And I feel bad for the man who made her sad, because she’s got enough gasoline to keep a fire lit for years She’s lovely, she’s gone Why even bother to behave? She’s coming to you, straight from the grave, with a tattered, ill-fitting dress, She is under, above, and beyond duress She’s a mess, but someone’s got to play it the way that it is No one expected much out of Peter– he kept his nose clean, his hair trimmed– they thought he’d live out life like the moss Well, imagine Paul’s surprise when his eyes found themselves on the wrong end of Peter’s right cross Joseph’s long gone, Robert’s last song’s nearly done It’s all so criminal, but I ain’t heard a single complaint So feel no shame now–it ain’t wrong Just touch the ceiling, baby, and sing along: ‘Hallowed be the names of the saints! Praise the very names of these saints!’ They’re coming to you straight from the grave Someone’s got to say it Someone’s got to play it the way that it is
3.
The time I’d spent in Chelsea was done, but, looking back, it seems it ended sooner than it had begun And though the memories still tear at me, they’ve brought me to these steps, I fear Whatever you do, don’t tell her I was here The first time she laughed in my ear, I was consumed But when it came to me, it seemed she only ever was amused Can you tell her how my heart skipped beats whenever she was near? Just, whatever you do, don’t tell her I was here Don’t tell her I was here Then she’d go out alone, and I’d be left to sate my own thirst, ‘til I couldn’t keep down what I kicked back, and that wasn’t the worst Tell her I’m sorry for that Saturday: it was the whiskey and the beer— But, whatever you do, don’t tell her I was here Don’t tell her I was here Then she poured me just like so much water, straight down the drain But I never loved her more than I did the last time she walked me to the train And down my arm, to my finger ran one of her crocodile tears Oh, god, whatever you do, don’t tell her I was here Don’t tell her I was here Whatever you do, don’t tell her I was here
4.
Of plagues, dark birds, and dirges, I do believe I’ve had my fill It only took one of my little purges to tip myself over and spill Big wheels are spinning, like big wheels will It sure is something to finally see the valley from the top of the hill Her hair hung, like a willow at the tips My Kensington darling planted a full rum kiss on my lips From some big book, I’ve been folding, tearing, and in great piles, burning pages Much too dearly I’ve been holding what i’ve learned from seeking sages Big wheels are spinning, they’ve been spinning through the ages It sure is something to see doves loosed from their cages I am felled by her footfall Look—see how she trips My kensington darling planted a full rum kiss on my lips Some will take the short path, the sure path, and some won’t even walk at all So give me the long way and a blanket of ice, because under such a sun, ice, babe, will thaw There is a rhythm in her breath From her mouth a melody drips I’ve collected her eyes in great cups, and now I sit, taking long, cool sips
5.
Mandi 04:01
Mandi, you look dandy, with your Mountain Dew and cigarettes and your car that’s zooming like a jet to the bank Mandi, you look dandy, but I feel like dying on the floor It’s only lonely songs in record stores, anymore And I know the stickergun don’t make a good microphone, but you could pull it off, just the same And I don’t know how many times I’ve had to tell the new guy that there’s an ‘i,’ not a ‘y’ in your name Mandi, you look dandy, with your buttons and your bitterness You made pulling off a double shift seem all right Mandi, you look dandy in this blue-and-orange puppetshow And, if one thing’s certain, then I know I miss you I know I’m like your brother, but if you were ten years younger, things wouldn’t be quite the same And, no matter how hard I try, I can’t convince the new guy that there is an ‘i,’ not a ‘y’ in your name
6.
Sexless devil, you’re choking on Rimbaud’s ghost Or maybe it’s that black snake tightening around your neck and saying, ‘Who’s the one you love the most?’ Sexless devil, you’re making such a silly fuss, because your dead lover’s employed by your wicked silk joy, and you can love them both at once, if you must Sexless devil, I’ve got to know what she fed you to catch your fancy. I’m starving Look—my gums are receding and my thumbs are bleeding and my feet are getting antsy for your uniform and your pelvic storm and that nest on your head and your breasts like the dead and the oncoming storm the scourge, the swarm, the oncoming storm And this is me feeling it Sexless devil, I am heaving, I’m breathing for words that you ain’t even spoke. No joke, I want you to tell me lies and gouge out my eyes and make damn sure that my spine is broken, because I want to squirm like a Jersey worm I want to rot with the saints and throw my words like paints at the oncoming storm the scourge, the swarm—I’m absorbed in the storm And this is me feeling it This is me eating it This is me bleeding it This is me feeling it Sexless devil, your melody’s a malady that’s making me weak
7.
Late to bed, early to rise I got snakes in my hair, but I'm none the wiser I let the nightmares get the best of me While the buzzards can have the rest of me Something I said widened your eyes Is it rude to stare? I'm still undecided Well, go on, look now, feast your eyes on me Because lord knows you already set your spies on me You said I was your flower under your nose Well, I'm so, so sad to say that I've found cleaner roses On a train, I can cover so much ground Without ever touching the ground I go rolling and rolling, rolling and rolling around And if we keep on moving, we won't ever have to worry about sleep But, then, if we just rest our heads, we won't ever have to move again
8.
Confession 02:44
You got mascara on my shirt, as we were rolling in the dirt, or you rolled me— because I wasn’t rough enough, you see And I hate to be the one to complain, but that shit left a big dark stain that won’t come out Black on blue is what it’s all about And if I ever wear that shirt again, I will likely stumble into oblivion, and you’d like that I’d be sure to wear that silly hat your mom bought me Why should I care, if it was free? And I know you’re not well fed And I can’t say you’re well bred And those were some awful things you said So there is no excuse for the abuse, your tiny hands just like a noose across my back It was all right until I heard the snap You got pet-names and parades and one-way escapades across the line What did I get for my time? I got tired thighs and empty sighs and balling out my eyes, Oh, what a steal! What was your end of the deal? Oh, that’s right. It was waiting for a call at night And I know you’re not well fed And I can’t say you’re well bred And those were some awful things you said So, I must say that I’m hurt about the dirt I just want this stain out of my shirt, once and for all Christ, it’s been there since the fall Ain’t that long enough for me to be in run-down, down-and-out misery? Because that’s what it does Don’t ask me why—it’s just because you treated me like a child I put up with it for a while, but couldn’t take it anymore Five months later, you’re knocking at my door Should I open it? I’m not sure
9.
Saline Blues 04:38
Once I was one, and once you were one, too Once I was two, and you were fourteen and free Once I was three, and you weren’t so free anymore And when I was four, my parents cut my hair in a ridiculous fashion It was a long time before I knew that I looked like a fool And when I was four, you were wearing your hair the way all the boys liked it, outside your all-girls Catholic school And I wouldn’t call it thriving, you on top of the lowest link of chain at twenty-five And I was more-than-just-surviving on feelings in the air or things trapped inside a closet— I was allowing them to eat me alive Yesterday I met someone with your same head of hair, your same set-hip swivel, and your same lamb-eyed stare Oh, but I wouldn’t dare Do you remember counting, double-counting cash in the back room? It was then I knew I didn’t want to be the first to leave And after I had recounted last night’s clash out in the street, you told me something I couldn’t help but believe And now your are thirty, and I am in a hole Now you are whole, you and that certain someone But once you were one, and I was one, too
10.
Boy 05:13
You’re just a boy, but your fingers are so sore You made a game of winding twine around them so tight, so you could keep a good score But I’d set you free I’d cut all them strings, except one little one for me And then I’d wind it tighter, tighter, tighter— watch that piggy hit the floor! I’m just trying to remind you that my love is pure I’d do it for you, love— they wouldn’t call you that name anymore You’re such a pretty little boy, but your health is so poor They started at your skin They picked your bones clean They stripped you down to your core And now there’s none of you left But I’d nurse you health I’d stitch you up by myself I’d tear off all the leeches that make love to your veins They’re obsequious, beseeching you a spot on your brain I’d suck your gutters dry, love— they wouldn’t call you that name anymore They’re out for your blood I’m out for your love They’re out for your guts I’m out for your love They’re out for your stuff I’m out for your love I’m out for your love, love And they might want what’s inside your glove, but I want your love They might want to wipe down your gun, but I want your love They might want to give you a shove or two or three, but I want your love Give me your love, love I’ll give you my love, love Give me your love, love, love, love, love, love

credits

released October 13, 2011

All songs written and performed by Boog
Recorded, mixed, mastered by Glenn Barratt at MorningStar Studio, Ambler, PA
Cover photo by Kevin High
Album artwork design by Michele Kienle

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Boog Pennsylvania

'I've heard the more you suffer, the better it is.'

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