1. |
Baseball Star
03:27
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And each time I die cast the corpses aside, let them line the way behind. And each place I've been's not the place that I'm in, but it stays inside my mind. And all I was for years, it's all here on my wall, baseball, baseball, baseball star! With your baseball rookie card! Oh, baseball sir! With your cleats all caked with dirt! Oh, baseball man! With your baseball glove in hand! Oh, baseball star! With your posters on my wall, I've got em all. I've got em all on my wall. Baseball, baseball star.
And each one I was isn't me just because it's the one I used to be. And sooner or later it all turns to wallpaper that you never see. Except for when you do and then you bawl, baseball, baseball, baseball star! Who the hell you think you are! Oh, baseball sir! Not the star I thought you were! Oh, baseball man! Take that damn thing off my hand! Oh, baseball star! Tear that poster off my wall, I've seen it all! I've seen it all on my wall. Baseball, baseball, baseball star.
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2. |
Gentle World
02:37
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Lie, I love it when you lie. Oh, it's a gentle world.
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3. |
Face Painting
04:07
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It’s a dream of a face of a friend of mine with things erased things undefined her mouth is traced in a lazy line by a sleepy apprentice boy who paints the faces on the toys for the rich kids in London who play with their cousins who say they love things and hate things who buy things and break things ‘cause they know it’ll all be okay.
So wave your hair in your garden and feel the wind in the trees and take your share of your garden but don’t come crying to me.
The meaning’s gone from every word the blades are dull the lines are blurred the sounds are shapes of things I heard on an April night in May, you playing songs as we lay on the roof of the barn counting the stars I knew I’d be fine for a while shine for a while ’til they tore the lights from the sky.
So build my road through your garden and put on a shirt that’s ironed and clean and grow your dirt in your garden but don’t come crying to me.
They say the world does what it does it’s the same old world it always was it’s a dream we dream all because of a sleepy apprentice child who throws a log on the pile to keep up the fire before he retires to lay as the cracks let the sun in but rich kids in London know the whole thing’s a game.
So roll your eyes at your garden and put on a suit of irony and wave goodbye to your garden but don’t come crying to me.
Don't come crying to me.
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4. |
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It's a hundred thirty steps from the second to the seventh floor, it's seven little rap-taps knocking on my neighbor's door. I'm brushing up my story, I'm combing down my head of hair, I'm tucking in my sweater, I'm wheezing from those flights of stairs. Well hey my little neighbor I'm your neighbor from the second floor. I think I'm out of pasta. Could you spare a little bit of yours? It's been too long, it's been too long, it's been too long you know.
But one day we'll live in the spaces between the places where the other people live with their bones and their Freddie Jones talking on the T.V. We'll sleep on the docks above the crashing on the rocks of the water and paint our dreams with the morning screams of the flying crying seagulls.
Until then: Hey my little neighbor it's your neighbor on the telephone, I think I left a hairbrush, I think I left a pair of combs. It may be macaroni may be pizza may be angel hair, and maybe it's a music mounting as I count the stairs. A hundred thirty steps and I'm standing on the seventh floor. Is all of this for eating? Well what you think a dinner's for? It's been too long, it's been too long, it's been too long you know.
But one day we'll hide in the holes that all the meanies on patrol have forgotten and lay our heads on floating beds of shocking rocking seaweed. We'll slip through the cracks between the pilings on the back of the jetty and pour our brains in the waning moonlight dancing on the water.
Until then: It's a hundred thirty steps from the second to the seventh floor, it's seven little rap-taps knocking on my neighbor's door. Well neighbor since you're standing there you might as well just come on in, I've got a grand piano, I've got a little violin. We'll tune down the fiddle to the sound of the middle C and you can play the white keys and I can play the melody. It's been too long, it's been too long, it's been too long you know.
But one day.
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5. |
Past Our Prime
02:07
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Cannonball, cannonball, smash this town. Castle wall, castle wall, all crash down. Pack ourselves a suitcase, I guess we're past our
Red and blue, red and blue, burn burn burn. Me and you, me and you, soon our turn. Build ourselves a mountain, I guess we're past our
Far away, far away, climb climb climb. Every day, every day, soon our time. But shut up silly baby, I guess we're past our prime.
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6. |
Boring Emily
04:04
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I'd share the streets with you, but all your streets are boring. I'd share the sheets with you, but all your dreams are boring too, and I'd sleep straight through. And year by year, we'd paint the glasses clear, and everything would be exactly what it appears. And drink by drink, we'd paint the roses pink. We'd stand around and clink our glasses and say darling aren't we dull, darling aren't we dull? Oh, and don't we have all we demand, all we ever wanted? Don't we walk through the streets hand in hand where all the world is naked and haunted? Oh understand that day by day we'd paint the city gray. We'd stand around and say the most boring goddamn things. And night by night we'd paint the linen white. We'd lie around and fight til the morning and say darling it's alright, I hate it when we fight.
Oh, Emily! Emily! Boring Emily!
And scene by scene you'll paint the meadows green, and everything will be exactly what it seems. And bed by bed you'll paint the linen red for him or her or them instead of painting it for me, my boring boring Emily.
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7. |
Laughing
02:43
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And aren't we funny? And don't you laugh? And aren't we funny? Funny! And don't you laugh! And aren't we funny!
And won't you laugh again for the scarecrow men, their prayers so sad so strange? And won't you caw caw caw your guffaw through the air for the glowing scarecrow prayers?
We hear you laughing! Ha ha ho! We hear you laughing through the window where the dark hymns blow, where the darkness grows in the cold afternoon again. And won't you clap your claws, won't we earn your applause, when we burn our scarecrow straws?
We hear you laughing! Ha ha ho! We hear you laughing through the window where the dark hymns blow but the darkness knows where the prayers of the scarecrows glow.
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8. |
For You
02:51
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Head Womb Hudson, New York
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