I will sleep under the desert stars with the moon playing possum in the night I will sleep there's no need for alarm everything will be all right I will sleep a peaceful sleep that lasts the whole night through and I will dream of you I will sleep
I will sleep under the desert stars with the moon playing possum in the night I will keep you free and clear from harm everything will be all right I will sleep a peaceful sleep that lasts the whole night through and I will dream of you I will sleep
see over there that house in the hills there's money in that neighborhood you take the 101 to the 405 past the east side of west hollywood it's where you live and who you know you know that actor on that TV show I forget his name but he killed himself jumped off the Santa Monica pier well, he once lived in that house in the hills before the tabloids crucified his career see all those lights that's the house on the hill sometimes it's a miniature vegas only a few minutes to whatever you need from the kodak to the pantages sometimes it's up sometimes it's down it's a hot hot morning in this company town you know that actress the one with the boobs and the legs that go on forever you know she cracked up now her bank account's as dry as the los angeles river to end up like us ain't it demeaning to look at that house through that window you're cleaning I always pictured myself attending those screenings with julia roberts or angelina jolie hanging on my arm we'd be riding that limo to my house on the hill in the life I should be living instead of cleaning the glass in this high-rise hotel yes I know that I should forgive them nobody tells losers like us what to do when the dreams that you live for refuse to come true you know that movie that won all those awards the one with the happiest ending? just remember the stars in the house on the hill make their living by pretending la la la la...
I finished my first week back from the fuckin' job. Time to relax, eh, farmboy? I want to. I'm all tense and full of anxiety. Because of the job? Because of life. I mean, it's all this fuckin' little shit, you know? Like the bathroom sink is clogged up and I ain't got no money for groceries and my job has started again which means back to unending anger and frustration. I mean, look, in many ways I have a great life. I have this passion for songwriting and music and sound and rhythm and lyrics. I had a job, so I have the means to pay my rent and bills most months. I give my fuckin' share of money so the corporations can make more profits and continue fucking over the working class. But you digress… You know, that's a funny word, digress. I mean, it sounds like a female dig, right? Anyway, so there are a number of pluses in my life. There are any number of places in the world where people are fuckin' starving. Where people live in subhuman conditions. Where people are living under sadistic regimes. I am very fortunate. Unfortunately, I'm also very stressed about things that will mostly be forgotten about a week from now. I'll get through it. I'm just worried all the fuckin' time about something. It's always gotta be something. That's why I need to remember the night of the CD release concert. That memory is always with you, farmboy. What if I get Alzheimer's? It'll still be somewhere. Knowing you, it'll be in something having to do with music. I hope so.
Well, man, I'm back at the fuckin' job, man. So now I have money problems and a lousy job. So, farmboy, what's next on the musical agenda? I perform a week from Friday at the coffeehouse, which I'm looking forward to. I want to write.. .and I have been writing. I want to work on some projects, like the "holidays" thing I was talking about. I feel creative. I hope I'm not jinxing everything by verbalizing it. I'm sure that you're not, farmboy. Anyway, I like this feeling and I need to ride it out, take it as far as it will go. Glad to hear it. Yeah, it's great. Creativity, man -- that's the test of who has the most cajones, that's for sure.
here's an adventure the recycling center said I should be ashamed of myself the man at the trash heap said "if you're outta cash, keep moving, buddy, go somewhere else went to the repair shop they saw me and said "stop! we can't use it for scrap or for parts" now, what do I do with this broken heart tell me what do I do with this broken heart
It's the fuckin' countdown, man. I go back to work on Tuesday. Back to the fuckin' job. Man,I hate this. So tell me how you really feel, farmboy. I think the less I say or think about it, the better I'll be. Now kindly point me towards a cup of strong, hot coffee and weed and I'll be fine. The summer went fast, eh? It just fuckin' flew by, man. It's scary. Pisses me off. But what else are you going to do about it? It's like so many things in life: You just accept it and move on. Good advice, farmboy. Thanks. It only took me a fuckin' entire life on this earth to figure that one out.
I have no name for you I have no face for you I'm the replacement who sits back here night after night and all the matinees too I'm good at what I do waiting for my moment to shine I am nobody I am the understudy
look at you dressed like a human being hair cut like a human being you look like a human being but you feel like some little squirrel with his paws in the air begging for scraps from a human being which is what you are even though you feel like some sleazy sad-eyed rodent in the middle of a maze wishing he could go back to the pirate ship see those people out there? you are one of them even though you feel like a scrawny tourist seagull standing nervously on a pier made of sea worn wooden planks about a hundred years ago you're looking for some food it's there among the garbage left by all those human beings which, by the way, is your species on this planet you are one of its members even though you feel like something that does not resemble you in any fuckin' way
So I've had this idea for a long time. This is so strange…I normally, as I'm sure you've noticed, don't think about this folk music business too much except in terms of bitterness and failure…anyway, I had this idea… Spit it out, farmboy. There's this idea I had about making a CD of songs for different holidays. And the reason for it would be to get airplay on folk music radio. That sounds good to me, farmboy. If it's… …done right. Yeah, that by far is the most important thing. I don't want to write cute songs about Valentine's Day, you know? I want to write the best songs I can. And I think that there's enough, um, humanity…I don't know if that's the right word. I guess that what it is would be a way to explore human beings and their relationships and conflicts and humor and accomplishments and all that fuckin' stuff. They're songs first. They just happen to be set around holidays. Exactly! And I figure it will be just guitar/vocal, so I need to write really great songs. Which you love to do… Man, it's the best. It's amazing the numbers of songs it takes to get the ones you get excited about. But when it works, there ain't nothing like it. Kind of like love, kind of like sex. Yeah. And spirituality and instinct. All the important stuff. And all that stuff always comes through loud and clear around holidays. That's when families get together, that's when people who would normally avoid each other have to get together. Holidays are when people who truly love each other are reunited, too. Anyway, that's where I'm at today. All I can do is write and see where that takes me, you know?
wake up little monkey time for a spanking it's you I'll be yanking it'll be so much fun I'm a traveling man I've been all around the world, 'n I still ain't got a girlfriend so tonight you're the one wake up little monkey time for performing look, you ain't no mormon with holy underwear give me a break what else can I do, man I mean, I'm only human especially down there
I know what it means to give up on your dreams of finding a love that's true someone to remind me of any love that's inside me someone exactly like you I've got the art of solitude mastered except for one small part what do I do with this broken heart
this is not a movie you are not playing some part with direction and projection of scripted scenes you know by heart watch your step hit your marks maybe you'll figure out the rest welcome to real life this is not a test this is not an update to post on your social media this is not an entry to edit on wikipedia this is not a sin there is nothing you need to confess time to call in some favors this is not a test the world turns even faster if you stop to catch your breath moving at the speed of life where you were no more than a guest how about your last supper? do you have a final request? say your prayers and take a vicodin this is not a test this is not a movie but you're still in the leading role slouching towards bethlehem with a sad and a troublemaking soul you don't know where you're going but you'll get there nonetheless it's like Louis Armstrong says what a wonderful world this is not a this is not a test this is not a test
I used to hitchhike when I was nineteen years old back and forth to school I was always safe things were different back then or so I believed standing in sneakers on either side of the road giving myself a chance to be the young man chasing after his daydreams of being normal
I don't want to be clever I don't need to be cool I don't care if I look like a country born-and-raised fool all this farmboy knows is that I'm in love with you and you're all that matters to me I would buy you a ring around the moon ring around the moon ring around the moon I would buy you a ring around the moon if you would marry me
my problem is as time moves on I'm always left behind my problem is when there is trouble it's trouble I'm gonna find my problem is I think too much or I'm not thinking at all my problem is complicated carbon-dated not remotely appreciated my problem is my problem is you
Man, this fuckin' world. I swear, we human beings are just becoming more and more disgusting with each passing day. Watching the news these days, it's like cancer cells multiplying in your brain. I'm afraid to ask, farmboy. What happened now? Well, lately it's this whole thing in Ferguson, Missouri. You know, the unarmed 18-year-old who was killed by a police officer. Michael Brown? Yeah, Michael Brown. That's who it is. I'm disgusted by all of this -- as are a lot of people. Fuck. What the fuck is going on in this country? You tell me, farmboy. I don't have any answers. And believe me, I would love to have some answers. I ain't got no answers, either. I just know…oh, what the fuck do I know? You know plenty, farmboy. And so do a lot of people. There's a lot of decent people out there… I know, I know. So why does it feel like we don't, huh? Because this kind of shit happens far too often. Statistically, a black male is murdered by police every 48 hours. Or at least according to what I've read. This is fuckin' bullshit, man. What the fuck has happened to us?
I will sleep under the desert stars with the moon hiding somewhere in the night I'll be here I will not be far I will always be within sight I will sleep a peaceful sleep that lasts the whole night through and I will dream of you I will dream of you when I sleep
it is so unfair that someone who made us laugh would be in such pain that he took his belt made a noose around his neck and jumped off a chair I hope he is graced with the peace that eluded him god knows he's earned it for touching our hearts for releasing our laughter like nobody else o captain my captain we will always remember to laugh like you taught us you have taught us well
Man, I tell you, what a day. Hot out there, eh, farmboy? Man, it's so fuckin' hot and so fuckin' humid I could almost swear that I'm back in central Texas. I don't feel like doing nothing but hanging out in air conditioning. That's what we need to do on these hot days. Except I have no air conditioning. All I can do is be hot and sweat and wait it out. It's so fuckin' weird outside, man. It's all gray and miserable, which is no big deal for Oregon. But, fuck, it's so fuckin' hot. It was like, what, 97 degrees? I know it got up that high. I had heard that it was supposed to hit 99 degrees. I have heard, however, that tomorrow it's down to 85. That's a good drop. Yeah, it is. That's not too bad, 85 degrees. I'll take that. What happens tonight, farmboy? I've gotten into this show called The Killing. It's pretty good -- uneven, but good. So that's what I'll do. As far as food, it's leftover time. It's pretty boring, but, hey, it's a hot day in August and that's what it's supposed to be. Boring. Boring can be okay. Yeah. Especially when it's so fuckin' hot that you can barely move. This is the kind of day the term "sloth-like" was invented for, you know? At least it cools down at night here, though. You gotta look at the bright side, you know, count your blessings, all that shit. But it's still hot… Fuckin' hot, man. Ain't you been listening?
on the way to puget sound I swear I saw the sun breaking through the rainclouds to shine on everyone I saw it in the distance first it's here and then it's gone it only lasted for an instant and then it moved on
So there's this idea I have for a song, but it's so fuckin' convoluted, man. I just gotta make the connections. So what's this idea, farmboy? It's this memory this friend of mine told me about the day that Martin Luther King Jr. was buried. He said that the TV was on and the funeral was taking place. And his next-door neighbor, a grandmotherly lady, she came in through the front door and looked at the screen and said "Why are they making such a big deal about this?"and some other comments. And he said he was shocked; his family was one of those JFK/60s families and they revered Dr. King. He had never seen any racism before and I guess he got confused that someone he knew as a good and kind person could be capable of racism. So, after a long while, he came to the conclusion that she was this person who was, well, old. She had grown up in the Kansas prairie -- it is prairie, right? -- and this way the way she was taught. So, anyway, he tells me this and says "I remember thinking 'We're smarter than that now' and, hey, there's a song title for you, farmboy. Free of charge." And so that story just churns around in my head like stories do, you know, and it occurs to me: Are we really smarter than that now? I mean, I see and hear racist things all the fuckin' time. And I take the word racist seriously -- I don't just throw that word around. But, fuck, look at the comment sections and message boards online. Read the fuckin' news, for fuck's sake. I mean, I hear racist comments from the staff at the fuckin' high school I work at. Sounds like a pretty interesting song to me, farmboy. A pretty depressing one, too. Or, even worse, a preachy one. I guess all I can do is write it and see how it turns out.
worried 'bout money worried 'bout the rent worried 'bout my paycheck and where the hell it went worried 'bout the groceries worried 'bout my truck worried 'bout my lack of faith worried 'bout all my bad luck worried 'bout the future worried 'bout my history worried 'bout the chicken cooking on a hot rotisserie worried 'bout the cupboards worried 'bout the floor and if you're still listening I'll tell you even more I'm worried 'bout celebrities worried 'bout TV worried 'bout all those computer screens in front of me worried 'bout every person in my life that I've befriended worried 'bout what I'll watch now that Breaking Bad has ended worried 'bout the summer worried 'bout the fall worried 'bout everything and knowing that's not all I'm worrying my life away I guess I always will it's a good thing that I'm taking these magic little pills so I don't have to worry 'bout the voices in my head the only thing to worry 'bout is going back to bed
I'm so…not tired, that's not the word for it. I haven't done my writing today and I don't feel like writing. At all. I mean, I have to write. That's part of the deal. What deal is that? This is news to me, farmboy. Just kind of a deal I think I might have with myself, that maybe I can forgive myself and my loathsome ways if I write everyday. It's kinda like I'm my own parental figure here: "How are you going to be a writer if you're not writing?" That's interesting. I'm not sure that it's a bad thing, but I also know that you don't need another source of shame. Yeah, I know what you mean, man. I'm in total agreement there. But, you know, the fact is that I want to be the best fuckin' songwriter I can. And I'll only achieve that by, well, writing. So go write something. You know you're going to. I know. I'm just prolonging the misery. I'm just being lazy. Wow, look at the time! I gotta get going, man. Where are you going? I don't know, but I'm sure it involves writing.
this is not a movie you are not playing some part with direction and projection written words you know by heart be careful hit your marks maybe you'll figure out the rest welcome to real life this is not a test this is not an entry to edit on wikipedia this is not an update to post on your social media this is not a sin nothing you need to confess time to call in some favors this is not a test the world turns even faster if you stop to catch your breath moving at the speed of life where you were no more than a guest how about your last supper? do you have a final request? (surely I jest) say your prayers and take a vicodin this is not a test this is not a movie but you're still in the leading role slouching towards bethlehem with a sad and a troublemaking soul you don't know where you're going but you'll get there nonetheless (it's like Louis Armstrong says) what a wonderful world this is not a this is not a test this is not a test this is not a test this is not a test
this is not a movie you are not playing a part with direction and projection of written words you know by heart be careful watch your step with luck you'll figure out the rest welcome to real life this is not a test this is not an entry you can edit on wikipedia this is not an update for posting on your social media this is not an order but it's more than a request time to call in some favors this is not a test the world turns even faster when you stop to catch your breath moving faster than the speed of life as you tumble towards your death what you will do at any time is anybody's guess say your prayer and take a vicodin this is not a test this is not a movie but you're still in the leading role slouching towards bethlehem with a sad and troubled soul you won't know where you're going but you'll get there nonetheless welcome to real life this is not a test this is not a test
this is not a movie you are not playing a part with direction and projection of written lines you know by heart just be careful step by step you'll figure out the rest welcome to real life, boy this is not a test this is not an entry to look up on wikipedia this is not an update that you post on social media this is not an order it's more like a request time to call in some favors, son this is not a test the world will not stop turning while you stop to catch you breath sometimes it really is a matter of life and death what you will do at any time is anybody's guess say a prayer and take some vicodin this is not a test
(singing faux-sweetly) Honey, I'm home! Hey, farmboy! What have you been up to today? I was just playing guitar outside. It's been warm, upper 80s, lower 90s, so the nights outside have been really nice. I wish I could share it with people like, say, my brother and his family.They moved to Yakima as of yesterday. How are you doing with that? I'm very sad and I'm trying not to think about it. Which I'm learning to be better at, by the way. I've had lots of practice lately. Can we move on to something else? Would you mind? Not time yet? Yeah, it's not time. So, how 'bout that Weird Al Yankovic?
love me like you don't pity me touch me like I might be human too like a friend like a lover like we'll never be discovered even though we both know it can't be true love me like I'm worthy love me like I'm worthy of you