Stories

While hollywood sleeps,
A young man is dying
On the concrete of a sidewalk downtown.

As his brother weeps,
The sirens come calling
And the medics feed him lines on the ground.

Run, river, run...

The director speaks,
The cameras are rolling.
A boy steps between the backdrop and the lights.
And he's stealing the scene,
With the crew as his witness.
The whole industry will judge him come academy night

Now the tabloids will say what they want to,
And the cameras will re-enact his fall.
His legacy speaks, but no one can hear it,
'cause his death has made critics of us all.
His legacy speaks

In the canister rooms,
In the archives of great studio halls.
And there it will keep like a secret that's whispered between lovers
And those who never knew him at all.

My name is robert wilson,
I'm from eau claire, wisconsin.
I've been living out of a
Suitcase now for fourteen days...
I walked the boulevard in hollywood,
I caught a vegas show that was no good --
Met a dancer there that starred in a broadway play.
But it's a lonely world from this greyhound,
Believe me, i've been here fourteen days.

Three thousand miles,
I've been here fourteen days,
Three thousand miles...

Now twenty-one is as good a guess as any age that i'd confess to,
Let's just say i'm old enough to get away.
Back in school, i found the only written truth
On bathroom stalls and telephone booths.
I studied awhile, but college got in my way.
I've learned much more from the back of this greyhound,
Believe me, i've been here fourteen days.

Three thousand miles,
I've come a long, long way,
Three thousand miles...

Have you seen?
The world outside is turning --
And it's yours --
We were put here for the learning.
People talk to themselves on greyhounds,
Even the driver strains to hear
They tell the same forgotten story --
Will it fall on forgetful ears?

Down in houston on comes this woman
With two kids and a bottle of booze,
And she cracked them both like match heads
Whenever they ventured too close to her fuse.
And i sat with a girl from boston,
Playing cards for cigarettes.
I lost her name with the poker game,
But her name i will never forget --

You never forget the view from these windows,
Believe me, i've been here fourteen days...

Three thousand miles,
I've come a long, long way,
Three thousand miles...

This time let's not bring up my disasters,
Or put me on some couch like sigmund freud.
Your textbooks filled with hypothetical answers.
So summarize, she called it null and void.

What do you want me to tell you?
What do you want me to say?
I've been cut by the rose again.
All the petals have fallen to pieces.

Now i'm left with the thorn and the stem.
I'm out looking for my friends, looking for my friends.

She left the note in the sleeve of my coat, that was not nice --
I called her on the phone, the voice that spoke, it was cold, it was hard as ice.

I tried to speak,
The connection was weak
'cause i was talking to a machine.
She said, "if this is you, we're totally through,"
And that's the last of her i've seen.

What do you want me to tell you?
I got the message loud and clear --
Now i can't talk, 'cause talk is cheap.
I'm in a no-win situation.
There are no words that i could speak that would mend this broken rose.
So here i am, on the couch of a friend who submits his observations,
He says love just comes and goes...

If you could paint her, she'd be a picasso.
She's got a few things out of place.
Like when she smiles, it's slightly out of line.
It's half awkward, yet half grace.
While you're unraveling this mystery
Of where she fits in time and space,
She'll drag you into this lover's tale,
Though she will not give a reason.
And if you fight her tooth and nail,
She won't give up until you lose...

She wants the last word, the last dance.
She thinks it's absurd that you believe in second chances.
You're a lost cause, yet here she is.
And that's the mystery. here she is...

She's a poem by ferlinghetti.
She's the angel from a nursery rhyme
She'll set you a place at your table,
Then fill your cup till you're drunk on red wine.

She don't believe in stars or in miracles,
But she reads your horoscope daily.
And if your response is too cynical,
She'll say, "who are you to know?"
While you're unraveling this mystery
Of where she fits in time and space,
She'll memorize your history
And decorate your place.

Do not mention his name.

The man kills john lennon, now he's on tv again.
He's blaming holden caulfield in the face of the lens.
And each time he does it, he kills him again.
Who killed john lennon?

A loser with a pistol, a martyr's best friend.

And each time he's televised, he kills him again.
It's the prize that he wanted when he loaded the gun.
And each time he's mentioned, murder is done.
So, who killed john lennon?

A no one.

He's on tv again.
He's playing the hero.
The networks won't let the story end.
He brings in the ratings for them.
He's playing the hero.
But he's a killer.
He's been convicted.

He's been convicted...

His lawyer must think it's a game.

Though he knows lennon's songs, both in word and by name.
He cold calls the networks, retrieves all the funds.
Then he scrapes his percentage when the programs are run.

Who killed john lennon?

A lawyer, an agent.
Big money's best friend.
And each time he's televised, they kill him again.
It's the prize that they wanted when he emptied the gun.
And each time he's mentioned, murder is done.
So who killed john lennon?
A no one.
A no one.

She is searching for some form of salvation
In the corner of a bar down the street,
But the gin controls whole conversations
And plays magic tricks with her feet...

She gets up, falls down, breaks even,
Gets caught by the wrong mister right --
Hey, it's a hard town.
I wouldn't want to live in it --
But i wouldn't want to give up in it,
All things being the same...

Back home she's got these pictures on her mirror,
They frame her when she looks back at her face.
They tell her where she's been --
I'll tell you where she's going,
She's got her name on a stool down at eddie owen's place...

She drinks when romance brings her down.
Like the sight of blood is a wedding gown.
Bright lights and smoke fill up this space.
It's a crowded room, but still a lonely old place...

All her friends are nothing more than strangers,
Whose names are just words on a face .
If they bumped into her out on a sidewalk on some sunday,
They wouldn't recognize her outside of the place