WORDS AND MUSIC
From the first song I wrote
Song, song, song,
It doesn't make it for
very long,
But still there's so much singing
in the park.
You may think that it's sad,
but thinking doesn't
change a thing:
Song is noise
and noise is life,
so love it when it's bad.
Bach's music could fit into a week. Mine fits in an hour...
But it's a rocking hour.
While the new wave musical tsunami inundated NY's lower east side, a half a world west, I was banging down the hard, dry roads of the Tunisian sahel on a busted seat in a bus with no shocks or struts.
As a coral sun rose over the gray dawn of a dun desert, my eyes burned after a sleepless weekend. A melodic line and the lyric of my first song slid like a sidewinder across my mind.
Simply and unexpectedly, song-writing, like an invading species with no natural enemies, came into my life.
The Erotics Want You to Come was my band's slogan during the NY new wave rock and roll wars in the '80s.
Mary Jane
Mary Jane, she went insane,
put a pistol to her belly and shot 3 times.
Blood was everywhere but Mary Jane survived,
singing, "I can't even die to save my life!"
You got to live it till it's over,
keep the feeling alive.
You can't ask for nothin',
like and death will find you,
so keep the feeling alive...
Winter Days
Those winter days,
they keep on goin';
it's summertime but
the cold wind is blowin':
I can't shake em'--
those winter days,
they've got a hold
on me.
Winter days,
bluer in the sunshine,
Win or lose,
I can't keep from sighing,
Birds are singing,
but all I hear is lies.
Next Ice Age
Run, run, run.
But there's no escape.
Everybody's running
to the next earthquake.
Three Mile Island's sinking
Our ignorance is thinking.
It was built too fast--
we'll be cursed to see it last.
Next ice age,
Run, Run, Run...
Hustle Me
You hustle me
I hustle you.
Ripping each off's
the only thing we do...
Hustle me, baby,
got nothing but love.
Hustle me, honey,
you know I can't get enough.
You try to snow me,
it's nothing but rain.
It's all the same,
it's all the same...
