Rubber bands, #2 pencils
Crepe paper and a lot of glue
Dirty looks, dirty lockers
Lots of linoleum to slip up on you
Lunch ladies with monkey fingers
Orange soda and million things in piles
Galileo, Leather Tuscadero
The sun through the window eclipsed by your smile
The music teacher, the shaky Miss Shirva
Said ‘button your lips and walk in single file’
My lips are now frozen and I did file for single
Still I’ve seen nothing like the sun done in by your smile
The same thing every night
She is my moon without light
But tonight something seems especially wrong
Everything’s so long
As I hope everything is all right
Course I just sit by the phone
Course I just sit here all alone
And of course I can’t call her tonight
To see if she’s all right cuz
Love doesn’t matter this time
Love could do it
Love should do it
Love would do it
Who’s to say that it won’t
They say it’s all you need and that
Love will find a way
But for me I gotta say
It seem that it don’t
It’s just the night playing tricks
Im sure it’s nothing I can fix
Yes love is all around
But none of it is sound
Wish I could help her through the night
I’m like a dog at her door
I’m like a kid with no candy in the store
She’s such a sweet, sweet sucker in the street
Trampled by feed cuz
Love doesn’t matter this time
Love could do it
Love should do it
Love would do it
Who’s to say that it won’t
They say it’s all you need and that
Love will find a way
But for me I gotta say
It seem that it don’t
The fascinating life of the misanthropic
The whirling world of the phantom, too
The whereabouts of the microscopic
The untold glory of nobody but you
The untold glory of nobody but you
Poke another hole with a cane into able
Speak the unspeakable cocktail tune
Try to deflect another label
Put a monkey in a suit and a coat on the moon
A monkey in a suit and a coat on the moon
It would be a very fine day
If I’d never ever ever ever had to say (Don’t take it the wrong way)
“I Miss you so madly but I’m happy I didn’t see you”
Muzzle up the midwife, castrate the king pin
Instigate a party with who knows who
Calibrate Sharon Tate, Moliere collaborate
I’d love to learn to learn to love somebody like you
Love to learn to learn to love somebody like you
It would be a very fine day
If I’d never ever ever ever had to say (Don’t take it the wrong way)
“I Miss you so madly but I’m happy I didn’t see you”
So, poke another hole with a cane into able
Speak the unspeakable cocktail tune
Try to deflect another label
Put a monkey in a suit and a coat on the moon
A monkey in a suit and a coat on the moon
She surrenders to seven, she’s selectively sly
Lying to her is what I’d like to lie
She’s dayglo in confusion, the well and the lid
That buried illusion one night with a kid
She’s not evil, she’s not wicked, she’s bored with delight
She’s fending off fear by returning to fright
Don’t call her illusive or say she’s untrue
All that she wants is another point of view
I am a creature, a specimen
She’s the sundial mistrial mannequin
She’s a house with no tools with nothing to fix
She’s just a rabbit in search of some tricks
She’s The Count who longs to count with the dead
So calculating of all that’s been said
I am a creature, a specimen
She’s the sundial mistrial mannequin
I need seven less fingers, eleven more toes, I need a new wardrobe without any clothes
Unbendable elbow, a fourth of an ear, I need a new head with a much better fear
I need a new prison with licorice bars, to place all my organs in four mason jars
I need some new sutures to sew up this sneer, need a new memory to forget what was here
Assuming my assumptions are correct, after pause to consider and time to reflect
On thought serpentine and one crucial tear, I need none of these things …
I need a new couch with buttons of skin, a mutinous crew, a bedfellow’s twin
A Queequeg, a Pip, a Starbuck, a Whale, a slingshot, some kerosene and a dark shade of pale
A princess, a baron, some more Bitches Brew to drink up on someday with Jesus and you
A penchant for posies, a Hemmingway rat, a new Brass In Pocket for my Cat in the Hat
Assuming my assumptions are correct, after pause to consider and time to reflect
On thought serpentine and one crucial tear, I need none of these things
I need all of you here
At 8:17 at last I did creep, poorly produced but profoundly asleep.
The quiet routine of life, it had gone, ghostly forgotten like night into dawn.
What is the purpose of the quivering wag of the the tail of the hero starting to sag?
She castanet, we noticed it not, till red became river, ripe became rot
She sang like a crocus, though they don’t sing, stung like a leper, though they don’t sting
In treble she spoke. In trouble she was. 39 reasons that all were because.
Vicious. Delirious. She was so frank. Quelling your fears was her greatest prank.
Who can be spared a taste of the tongue of temptation dividing diver from lung?
Children ran dancing absorbed into air. Straight-jacket Shelia fashioned a care.
Spying on friends is a so hateful task. Spying on lovers turns face into mask.
She sang like a crocus, though they don’t sing, stung like a leper, though they don’t sting
In treble she spoke. In trouble she was. 39 reasons that all were because.
I am your marionette with a hook in my spine
You can not bury my yet, I am to undivine
With an air of resignation I follow my strings up to you
My custom has always been to follow you true
Easy to make, so fun to use
My Marionette
The logical outcomes of your convictions are gray
You tangle my twine while hoping that I can still play
I am your marionette with a pin in his heart
You choose to carry me yet, you tore me apart
Easy to make, so fun to use
My Marionette
From limb to limb I feel amazingly droll
I stagger and trip yet you laugh irrevocably whole
My boots are uncertain, my ruinous head is all wrong
You keep my dancing to a tune that isn’t a song
King Kong is a mealy little monkey
Baby Spice is a ringer and a donkey
Me oh my I’m the defender of the Slinky
And I could lift you high with my left hand pinky
Lovey Howell likes to pretense Casablanca
Ravi Shankar likes to Ravi Shankar
Me oh my I’m so much smarter that The Thinker
I could love you better than a Henry Winkler
I sleep better in consequence
When I forget about with circumspence
I feel like you must about a body
If it should become a decapatatee
When you look around, what do you see?
If I were God I’d retire Matchbox 20
Then I’d go out and look for plenty
Me oh my then I’d call you on the telly
And tell you how I miss you so down deep inside my belly
But I ain’t God, I’m just the guy with the slinky
That could lift you high with his left hand pinky
I sleep better in consequence
When I forget about with circumspence
I feel like you must about a body
If it should become a decapatatee
When you look around, what do you see?
piano, Seven Less Fingers.
