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electric babylon
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mr whatever
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» member profile:
Mr. Whatever
» genre:
Rock >
Rock General
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» label: Electric Babylon Records
» for fans of: Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, Bruce Cockburn, Lou Reed, Radiohead, Neil Young, Waterboys, Grant Lee Phillips, Leonard Cohen, Elvis Costello, Joni Mitchell, U2, Pink Floyd, Paul Simon, Beck, XTC, Bruce Springsteen
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He who would have his song in and of all things, wrecked and tongue tied; unable to utter what he would otherwise sing,
You cast your vote like there’s nothing you don’t know, don’t even know where you’ve been but you sure know how to tell me where to go,
It makes money to take money and you don’t even have to have for them to take it, just fill this out; strap this on; if you don’t like it fake it,
I am a left handed middle man, all I do is the best we can, if I ran for president would you vote for me, if I could look could you see.
banks full of useless money, is about all you people deserve.
between notion and nonsense we breath on that brink, turning what we don’t know into what we must think.
I’m a hundred years older than I was this time last year, I still no not where I am but I feel I’m something near.
I cant for the death of me, explain the immortality, of this weary world.
And so it will rain or it will not and I will get wet or pay off the weatherman, and this attribute of agony will give my ghost over to an honest medium, and she will sing the song of me to the listeners in the darkness un-timed.
My mind goes blank and my body goes numb, reconciling disasters in the sun,
but suddenly she was there with her golden hair she lit this ship to shore.
The poet in healing a broken tongue, imbibes only shards of reflected light,
A SoundClick Top 100 song
Book of Agonies is dedicated to the memory of the great Tiger McGuire July 24, 1938 - September 21, 2007. Always to be remembered with love. Like his father before him he leaves a grieving son behind.
Everyday is just the heap of waiting; just the unwilling weather of this weatherman’s will,
I still wait for that day to go by; that doesn’t find a tear in my eye.
A man’s soul cannot be saved by his belongings, a mans body never healed in his longings, he can only want the things he hasn’t got, and he will have only to become a have not.
These pain pills are healing me, but they’re doing it so hurtfully.
My book of agonies, edits the worlds ecstasies, so alas something about everything leavens my doubt, and minutes to memories; days to eternities merely prolong my pout.
Despondent beyond all reckoning, I sit here in the worlds end throne,
The history that is built in his day may not notice nor mark his little life, all he knows and feels feeds the captured animal of his unknowable soul,
As time is transplanted from motion to moment, I the observer from the moving train; outpace my own salvation,
We should be telling time by star, living time by kiss and scar, time is a part of the elemental bliss, but the clock cant tell what time it is.
Who’s there; for I cannot tell by that softly burning moon, is it that ghost of the rest of my days come again so soon
When will this hateful sea, send my ship back for me.