Last Words Out
Bridge to Love
February Nights
Luminous
Hello
Maybe You’ll Shine
Six O’clock Whistle
Fuck
The Archeology of Sound
Candles and Cognac
Would You Say You’re in Love
Between Christmas and Thanksgiving
New Hard Times
Come Over You
No More Words
Tiny Pricks
Birthday in the Sun
It’s Just a Kiss Away
Kissing Your Neck
Corduroy, Fleece and Flannel
Who Do Voodoo on You
A Prescribed Ego
Lemons and Limes
Women and Wine
No More Bones for You
the Power of a Daydream
Undecided
a Graveyard Gives
Beside the River
Everyday Americans
Wish You No Harm
Wooden Floors
Ride Away
Rain
Two Wastes of Life
In Bed at Cheteau Marmont
Jim Sheridan Took My Shirt
Perfect July Nite in L.A.
Independent Lens
Ah, Saturdays
Where It All Begins
If It’s One to Ten She’s a Twelve
and That’s Why She’s Always
Mad-Dogged
Tonight
Rock & Roll Music
Man and Twelve String Guitar Make History
Friday at 3:00 a.m.
The Way My Sisters’ Children Used to Play
Front Porch
The Devil’s Music
Young Love
Sunny Sunshine
Norms, Values and People Who Think They Have the Right to Tell You What to Do
Illuminations
Escort Economy
Pink Red Dress
Behind the Waterfall
Swoon
The Ledger
Expanding Universe
Supportive Hope
Johnny English and the Aliens
Christmas Barrette
Max's Kansas City
one pay check away
be my everyday
Take the Change
i don't even know her name
be myself
Black Magik Blood
Vegas
Morning Sun
Wolf Hollow Inn
Impact
Poetry 101: Ecstatic Vision
D.C. Blues
Dear Pittsburgh Penguins
a Hot Mess
Yeah You |
Tiny Pricks
On the side of a mountain
I ate a bur.
It was well into morn and
I was on some kind of trip
But nothing was a blur
Though I admit I was ripped.
I licked my sweater that I lent-
to a friend but they didn't stick
Now lookin' back on that day -
man, I gotta say, I know I've
met many more people that
just had it in them to be pricks &
More than that bur in my mouth
Some of 'em you're drinking stout
with and, yeah, they're real dicks
And some 're moody uncool chicks
But I swear it's all just the same ...
I just can't help but to get so bored
I put up with 'em just long enough
until I can clean off my black slate
' keep walkin' through those doors
where I make it passed them gates
that'a I 'seen but never been before
Just like the morning on the mountain
lookin' down at the church and steeple
and all the ghost like little tiny people
Just like the morning on the mountain
lookin' down at the church and steeple
and all the ghost like little tiny people
Just like the morning on the mountain
lookin' down at the church and steeple
and all the ghost like little tiny people
(Some people just enjoy being tiny pricks) |