dark lunchboxes full of rage
piled four deep on the graceful checkout counter
when we stumble down the rabbit hole for home.
the soiree and the switchblade
just got married and the house band
said you inspired their every move.
air out those weakened bones,
they got rain coming, and
nobody remembers who is supposed to go and get the takeout.
some people just might be coming
and they want to learn how to know you real hard.
i'd rather be known less hard, i've stubbed
my toe on those dark lunches, and
the entertainment truly never satisfies...
satisfaction got hard of hearing in the late innings,
and misheard the important know it all cue,
so the same menu will be served as the light deliberates
on hopping the last freight south...
some people claim they will be coming
and if you want to be seen, best to explore just who you are; if you need to be heard,
shake the mystery out of your heart just a notch...
madmen are sane men who stayed too long in the sun,
share the waning light if you can,
we flow single file from here on end,
and it's a long enough drop down to whatever might be waiting
below,
might be a fine dinner making all that noise up ahead,
might be the best movie you ever starred in,
some people continue their slumming
some people ask you don't ever sing
some people block out the clouds
rain gonna fall
rain gonna hop all over your afternoon getaway
some people bleeding in tandem
some people screaming their names
writing memoirs in dust
might be some angry love
might be some quiet sky
some people rolling down
Earth will teach you the crazy water
swimming in your blod
way so loud.
---Scott Wannberg
saturday night
some rain in west l.a. |
