My sails are down,
the wind is high,
the waves are crashing into me –
the coal-black ocean water
...
Tell me a story, mother,
and then put me to bed.
My friends have gone to heaven, all,
...
I wrote this song with a helmet on
Standing at the bottom of the ladder of success
Ducking stray bullets, hand grenades, and napalm
And staring up a secretary’s dress
...
I have been out lurking
these past few Autumn nights
in lonesome, cobwebbed corridors
in the shadows, out of sight
...
We have built an uneasy peace, she and I
Cobbled together with semantics
And no-man’s land borders
We dare not cross
...
Do you remember window-unit nights,
and dreams of curtains floating on an ocean breeze –
some never-will-happen fantasy
that helped us through our early days?
...
We could shed these artificial clothes,
these rags we wrap around us,
and swim in an amniotic astral plane.
...
I have tossed love from open car windows,
while speeding into uncertain nights.
I have watched old lovers return to my life,
...
I’m a smoker’s lung,
torn open, bloody, and corroded,
waiting for the surgeon’s knife,
to save me, or do me in.
...