Lyrics

These words are all mine except for that line in All the Time I ripped off from Paul Simon, or the Bob Dylan and Beatles stuff I quote in Somewhat Disagree — so anyway…. if you use any of my lyrics, please be sure and give me at least the same acknowledgment I gave those folks, thanks… 🙂

Also- I feel like it is pretty complete — but if you are looking for something in particular let me know and I’ll add it…

A Perfect Cliché – Book II — ‘The Escape Plan’ (most Recent Release March 2022)

  1. The Lost Song/The Escape Plan Part I 
  2. Song Down by that Tree
  3. Mexican Ritalin
  4. Keys
  5. The Escape Plan Part II
  6. The River Keeper
  7. (Getting My) Hopes Up
  8. Somewhat Disagree
  9. The Escape Plan Part III
  10. I Can’t Fix You
  11. The Lost Song (Fragments)

THE YOUNG MAN:

In these moments, when the LOVE begins so few and far between… I will lean into you and give you my weight, I will learn to LOVE … and … hate you…

NARRATOR:

So picking up where we left off… At the end of Book I it was obvious that LOVE… and LOVE alone… was The Key… to Happiness… 

Well if LOVE is The Key… then why isn’t he happy? 

Maybe LOVE is the wrong Key…

Maybe Happiness is the wrong Door…

At the beginning of Book II, The Young Man has become The Old Man… but The Old Man believes The Young Man still exists but is locked in something he calls ‘The Prison’… deep inside his mind… The Old Man wants to go there and find him, but not unless he has… ’The Key’

The Prison (for the purpose of this story) is a metaphor for that gross, sickly sweet kind of nostalgia… or possibly the drudgery of everyday life… or maybe something like being annoyed by work… or responsibility… or being a grown-up…

Is The Key how The Old Man will open The Prison and free The Young Man?

Pondering that question, The Old Man spends his time plotting… 

The Escape Plan…

OLD MAN:

I’d like to move down to the river, maybe slice myself a sliver of sweet tasting inspiration while the river runs to red…

I’d like to live out on the ocean in a houseboat or something, let the motion and the tide re-set the clock inside my head…

I’d like to live up on a mountain, or maybe two, but hey, who’s counting? I’d like a seat with the best view when the sky liquifies to red…

I’d like to camp out in the desert, cuz I think it might be pleasant to lay back and watch the vultures as they circle round my head…

I’d like to hike across the tundra, maybe answer the conundrum of why we run so hard from slumber, sleeping on our feet instead…

(Does everybody want to run away? Wish every single weekend had at least one extra day? We’re victims of the system… a product of the age… Let’s start a prison riot… and bust out of this cage!) 

I’m down here in my basement, digging tunnels with a spoon… trying to find the perfect lyric, trying to find the perfect tune… no prison built can hold me, I’m the disappearing man! Every song I hear is my Escape Plan!

NARRATOR:

The Old Man remembers a River and a Tree alongside that gave songs to The Young Man… was the River the Key? Was it the Tree? 

The Old Man starts to believe that he somehow left behind an unfinished song… is The Lost Song the Key?

The Old Man decides to follow the River, find the Tree… and hopefully recover The Lost Song…

OLD MAN: 

I was walking by the river yesterday, saw a tree down by the water where I used to sit and play

Wondered what might have happened if I hadn’t moved away

I was walking by the river yesterday

Think I might’ve left a song down by that tree… It was only halfway finished, I think I’ll scramble down and see… I was only gone a minute, then my life got in between… I mighta left a song down by that tree…

I mighta left a page out of my book… It’s bound to be here somewhere, I think I’ll stop and take a look… the story that I tell myself doesn’t seem to match the page… only gets more different as I age… Think I mighta left a page out of my book…

I might have started something I can’t can’t quit… we were always headed somewhere I’m afraid this might be it… I hope you’re giving something, cuz that’s all you’re bound to get… I might have started something I can’t quit…

Now I’ve got a half a song stuck in my head… guess I always thought I’d finish it with something that you said… I hope you say it soon so we can put this thing to bed… I’ve got a half a song stuck in my head…

I might have left a song down by that tree… it all seems like so long ago, but it sounds the same to me… I guess I’ll never really know what it might have come to be… If I’d finished up the song… that I left down by that tree

NARRATOR:

On his quest for The Key, The Old Man has considered many possible contenders… LOVE, for one… The River, The Tree, and even The Lost Song…

Still unsure, The Old Man seeks help from a character he meets along the way… The Psychiatrist, a wizard who prescribes a magic elixir to aid The Old Man in his quest… Mexican Ritalin… is this The Key?

OLD MAN:

I feel fogged up in the morning, is this how I’m gonna feel all day? My head’s exhausted and I feel accosted by the bright lights… biting… praying for the Mexican Ritalin to make me feel the way that I did again (hey!!)

I feel so far from this subway platform, I’ve gotta find a faster train of thought is a twisted knot it’s lost and it just ran a waiting for this Mexican Ritalin to make me feel the way that I did again… Praying for this Mexican Ritalin, to make feel the way that I did again (hey!) 

I’ve lost a lot of fire along the way, but for today it’s fast and hot so I won’t stop or drop or roll until it’s cold or I’m too old or I’ve got nothing left to say!

I feel so burnt and busted, bruised and battered, broke, break this bottle on my bow and vow to become a beacon of…

Hoping for this Mexican Ritalin… to make me feel the way that I did again…Waiting for this Mexican Ritalin to make me feel the way that I did again… Praying for this Mexican Ritalin to make me feel the way I did again (Hey!)

NARRATOR:

In planning The Escape Plan… The Old Man has now sought The Key in LOVE…. The Tree… The River… in the quest for the Lost Song…. from The Psychiatrist…. From Mexican Ritalin… 

All of these possible Keys are starting to add weight to his keychain… but the questions keep coming…

OLD MAN:

I’ve got an awful lot of keys on my keychain… I’ve got an awful lot of notches on my knife… not too many more tomorrows more, and I can’t afford to borrow more.. Am I trying to make a living or a life? 

I’ve got an awful lot of numbers on my rolodex… I’ve got at least three more left turns before I’m right… I’ve got a networking ability, but the net I work is catching me an awful lot of sorrow in my life

I’d like to live a life without apology! But first I’ve got to pay the IRS… or these bills that are outstanding leave me standing underwater in a lake of my mistakes and past regrets… I’d like a deeper understanding of the universe… but first I’ve gotta work a little bit… or I could smoke enough and drink enough to try my best to get in touch with that circle of enlightenment called not… giving a shit…

Am I wasting my time measuring deliverables? Chasing non-existent finish lines? Passing on adventures… I’m religiously declining… the ironic answer ‘I can’t make the time’…

I’ve got an awful lot of keys on my keychain… I’ve got an awful lot of notches on my knife… not too many more tomorrows more, and I can’t afford to borrow more.. Am I trying to make a living or a life? 

The Escape Plan Part II  “The Captain of the Army”

NARRATOR:

As possible Key after Key accumulates, The Old Man realizes that he can no longer put off entering The Prison he fears… it is time to find The Young Man… and he can only hope that one of the many possible Keys in his collection will be prove to be the one he needs for… 

The Escape Plan… 

The final battle has begun!

OLD MAN:

I’d like to climb that shiny rocket, got that ticket in my pocket,

Tumble through the cosmos in a pressurized tin can.

Slip across dimensions, the path paved with good intentions,

With the key that starts the engine in the hollow of my hand.

I’d like to wiggle through that wormhole, watch the universes unfold

Like a bullet in slow motion, that’s exploding in my mind…

Memorize the internet and what hasn’t been uploaded yet

And post it on the threshold as a cautionary sign.

(Does everybody out there hate their boss?

Must every action translate as a profit or a loss? 

Let’s all rise up against and take up arms!

Tear down all these office parks and build a bunch of farms!)

I’m up here on my high horse, brandishing my sword 

Trying to filter pure emotion into word and chord-

I’m the captain of this army, and this is my command

Every song we sing is my Escape Plan!

NARRATOR:

The Prison is… of course… an illusion… The Old Man is both the warden… and the inmate…

Within this construct The Young Man is an antagonist, he cannot let The Old Man recover The Key as even acknowledging that such a talisman existed would shatter the reality in which a character such as he could exist in an imaginary Prison

In fact… for this reality to continue, he must actively work against The Old Man on every front… dam the River.. chop down the Tree… ignore The Psychiatrist… put an end to the quest for The Lost Song… he must even forego… LOVE… the original Key… 

When The Old Man comes to terms with this new face on The Young Man, he is distraught and attempts to seek solace along the River… The Young Man is his Shadow and a conversation ensues…

The Old Man sat down by the river, looking out at something far away… skipped a smooth flat stone out across the water, a Young Man listened to him say…

OLD MAN:

I keep getting older things keep moving faster, There’s got to be a different way… 

The river isn’t even flowing… construction started yesterday…now the trucks are moving gravel… where white water used to play… 

I keep getting older, things keep moving faster… there’s got to be a different way… but who am I to stand up in the progress? They’ll dam the Mississippi either way…

Tomorrow we’ll put on bright colours… we’ll raise our fist up in the air! We’ll shout the slogans that we’ve chanted one too many times and put another flower in our hair…

We keep getting older, things keep moving faster… there’s got to be a different way…

Who are we to stand up in the face of progress, they’ll dam the Mississippi either way…

NARRATOR:

The Young Man listened to the Old Man, while scraping muddy gravel off of his work boot… He said… 

YOUNG MAN:

“Old Man, why do you even bother?” 

The OLD MAN says:

…What the hell am I supposed to do? I fought to make a better world for you!

I keep getting older, things keep moving faster… there’s got to be a better way… it’s your turn to stand up to this broken progress… or they’’ll dam the Mississippi today! They’ll damn us all today!

NARRATOR:

The Young Man has been found but the Prison persists… the Keys have proven to be illusions,,, the Escape Plan is all but over… but somehow The Old Man persists… Is it a spiritual quest? Is the Key something more cosmic than LOVE or a Lost Song?

OLD MAN:

So tired of getting my hopes up, only to watch them come down,

Keep trying, getting my hopes up but you’re never coming around

Sometimes, getting my hopes up, is the only thing I can do

Don’t mind getting my hopes up, if getting my hopes up is getting me closer to you…

Summer comes, and I feel the sun, like I’m searching for some kind of sign,

Blossoms and greenery, lost in the scenery, blowing the coals of my mind—

Washed up and wonderful, waterfall undertow, pulling me into the well,

Swimming in circles and wishing for miracles, twisting me under its spell

Then I’m back on the beach, and I see your hand reaching out, feeling the sun on my skin

The lost life I’m living, the cost that I’ve given, for getting my hopes up again!

Caught on the cusp of the age of Aquarius, waiting for something to change

An inner voice leading us somewhere less tedious, past all these pockets of rage.

First past the post, raise a toast to the innocent, is there something we might have missed?

I’ve listed the issues, but senseless belligerence is mixing its spit in our midst

The savior we needed is broken and bleeding, the preacher is stuttering hymns—

He’s muttering curse words, and praying for anything, and getting our hopes up again!

So tired of getting my hopes up, only to watch them come down,

Keep trying, getting my hopes up but you’re never coming around

Sometimes, getting my hopes up, is the only thing I can do

Don’t mind getting my hopes up, if getting my hopes up is getting me closer to you

NARRATOR:

The Prison is starting to dissolve and there is a glimmer of hope… The Old Man feels The Key close at hand, but as he turns to face The Young Man… he realizes that instead of an embrace, his opponent is donning his armor for One Final Battle… and The Old Man is… reluctantly… forced to take the field…

OLD MAN:

Well I Somewhat Disagree with what you say… It may not be right for me, and that’s ok… I might come around and see your way, but not today… So let’s agree, to Somewhat Disagree!

This political discourse has got me screaming til I’m hoarse, should I stay or change the course, diplomacy or a use of force… Issues like gay marriage, gun control abortion, meet statistical distortion… are the places we get caught… 

It’s an extortion of our value as a voter on a ballot, it’s a callous misappropriation of religious motivations… driving us to polling stations…divided in the United States of our frustrations… They make us think we’re different, but we’re not! 

“It’s not personal, it’s politics” is what you said, and that made me sick… “You’ve got a lot of nerve to say you are my friend”… Call me when you’ve got the spine to speak your heart and not your mind, “I used to be among the crowd you’re… ruining!”

If “all we need is love”… then why are you so far above me, looking down on me with abject condescension?  

And how can I be right if after all the fights are over, I’m still carrying the weight of fear and tension?

The only answer I can see… is to agree…

To Somewhat Disagree with what you say… It may not be right for me, and that’s ok… I might come around and see your way, but not today… So let’s agree, to Somewhat Disagree!

The Young Man thinks the Old Man scene is all guns and god and gasoline and pipelines pumping tar and gold between their fenced and walled-in homes to keep the poor folks out and keep them in control…

And the Old Man thinks the Young Man wants to take away his guns and god and gasoline and box it up and shove it up some hole… 

Hey! We’re both a little right about the other guy! 

Hey! We’re both a little wrong about the other guy!

The only answer I can see… is to agree… 

To Somewhat Disagree with what you say… It may not be right for me, and that’s ok… I might come around and see your way, but not today… So let’s agree, to Somewhat Disagree!

NARRATOR:

The  Old Man and The Young Man have fought… to a draw… The Prison still holds and there is still no Escape Plan… the question hangs in the air… what… finally… is The Key?

Act 3: …the Escape!

OLD MAN:

I’d like to answer every question, use the power of suggestion-

To slip into every crevice like the ocean on the sand.

I’d like to send an angry letter to the system I’m indentured to,

And get my sentence reduced to a monthly payment plan.

Does everybody out there hate their jobs?

Leave every day of work and feel like you’ve just gotten robbed?

Let’s all take to the streets and demonstrate,

The world we get to live in is the one that we create

I’m out here in my workshop, polishing these turds,

Tryin’ to tell my boring stories using interesting words…

It’s the only time I feel… like I’m doing all I can…

I’m out here in my workshop… sharpening my swords…

Trying to tell important stories… trying to choose the perfect words

It’s the only time I KNOW that I’m doing all I can-

And every song I write…

And every song I write…

…is my Escape Plan.

NARRATOR:

As the veil slips away, The Key… Music itself… is revealed… The Prison opens and The Young Man finally speaks through song (of course) with words of love, reassurance, compassion, and empathy…

YOUNG MAN:

I Can’t Fix You…

You’re not broken, you’re just halfway down the road

When you get here I’ll be waiting “Come on in and welcome home…”

I can’t take this burden from you, if I could I would, you know.

I’m proud of you, I love you, but this work is yours alone…

The time has come for setting down this heavy, heavy load

You can’t embrace the new world, til you turn to face the old…

And let it go…

I can’t fix you

You’re not broken, you’re just halfway through the day

When the sun sets, sleep descends and, all of this just slips away

It’s one foot before the other

It’s one minute, hour, day

I can walk a path beside but I can’t lead the way…

The choice is yours to run or fight and I’m hoping that you’ll stay

But only you know which is right, and I’ll love you either way…

(Kinda hoping that you’ll stay…)

I can’t fix you

You’re not broken you’re just learning how to grow

Place that always hurts the worst – point right before where you let go…

Shuffle off this chrysalis and tumble through the sky

Do what it takes to get through this

Promise I won’t ask you why…

(that might be a lie…

You’re not broken… I can’t fix you… but I’m gonna try…)

NARRATOR:

The Old Man hears the love and the stress flows away… The Lost Song is not lost… he has just been unable to hear it above the rush of the River… unable to see it from under the shade of the Tree… With a long exhale he… becomes… the Young Man and walks out onto the still water… smiling… dancing… and forgiven… his heart is finally singing… in… Key…

MAN: 

In these moments, when the love begins, so few and far between, 

I will lean into you, and give you my weight, I will learn to love

and hate you

and in the end… I will forgive… myself 

and learn… to love again! 

C, eh? N, eh? D, eh? (The Canada Song)

Give me a C, eh?  Give me and N, eh?  Give me a D, eh?  Oh Canada…

C is for how it’s cool here to celebrate cultural diversity;

N is for how it’s normal to be nice in this society;

D is for the diligent devotion to common decency—

It’s not just a habit to be polite; it’s a civic responsibility…

I was not born in Canada, but I tried to get here pretty quickly,

And I knew I’d found myself a home the first time I heard the CBC.

I learned that coast to coast to coast we all love to hear and tell a good story,

It was Stuart McLean that taught me that – with a little help from Dave and Morley…

So, give me a C, eh?…

Now I do not claim to understand or to be a fan of ice hockey,

But I respect that it seems to mean a lot to people who mean a lot to me…

And I’m a lifelong fan of other threads in the Canadian cultural tapestry;

like Leonard Cohen, Neil Young, and Joni Mitchell, to name a couple or three.

And I love The Band and The Weakerthans, Arcade Fire and Broken Social Scene,

The Guess Who too, and Steppenwolf and of course all that Canadian comedy.

Yeah, the world thanks you for Lorne Micheals, the kids in the hall, Mike Myers, and Eugene Levy … and Samantha Bee … Bob and Doug MacKenzie … Red and Tom Green … Leslie Nielson, Phil Hartman and Joooooohn Candy… (Uncle Buck!)

So, give me a C, eh?…

When I sat down to write this song, I considered mentioning beavers and moose—

Or the difficult disposition of the ironically named Canada Goose…

I considered mentioning lumberjacks and the Royal Canadian Mounted Police

And the billion different definitions of that simple sounding phrase “I’m Sorry”..

But instead I decided to write about what Canada has come to mean to me…

And that’s things like love and things like home and family…

So thanks for all that Canada…

“Thanks” and… oh yeah… “Merci…”

Give me a C, eh? …

Album Lyrics to A Perfect Cliché:

Another One

I will not build another one

I will not build build a monument to all of your pain

I will not build another one

I will not see your stars again

Your scars again

Lift me up, carry me to some to some higher plane

I will wreck this thing, I will start again

A Perfect Cliché – Part One

Before this begins, a little warning

I’ll be sharing all my sins,

So you may not wanna listen if you’re rooting for the kind of boy who wins.

Before this all starts, a trigger warning,

I’ll be showing all my vulnerable parts,

You might choose another channel if you prefer your sports to the arts–

I’m sorry to say

That I’m a Perfect Cliché,

I’m just another hapless victim of the television age…

Last Exit

The last exit on the road before forever is on highway 21 just south of Caldwell

Kaleidoscopic creatures by the bridge there come to greet us-

They watch us as we pass and wish us well.

On a weekend pass from Sergeant Black Devaca,

I was coming down or just a bit still stoned-

She was smiling out the window at that perfect Texas summer

I was looking for an exit for a Lexington back Road

Something happened out there I’m still holding

It was sudden but was coming for a while

The second hand slipped, lost its grip and in an instant

The wind got distant, quiet soft and light…

A road was winding out into a field

A tree was there, a big one, wide and shady on a hill

A story seemed to write itself, the pages filled,

With words about a homestead that was waiting to be built

Then it stretched out like choir and it kept expanding

The fourth wall broke, the actor spoke and we were standing

There inside the picture, we were waving back together

The last exit on the road before forever

And words that fail to in-describe the indescribable

Are bible verses from the gospel of the lost

I was coming down or just a bit still stoned or oxytocin

Maybe magic, maybe acid, maybe a thought from the perfect mind of god

The wind woke up and we were on the 696 to Austin

You could save a half an hour on the drive

Then they widened up the 21 on down to the 290,

Now it’s faster just to drive right by

The last exit on the road before forever…

Everything OK

Gary loved Cindy, her long blonde hair like spun flax in the sun

Cindy loved Gary, in her way- she told me once ‘He’s a real man’

‘Hey, is everything OK?’

‘No, it’s not ok…’

Gary told Cindy ‘Hey, let’s take a little break, run around the block a time or two’

Cindy said to someone ‘Hey, you’re my kind of mistake, Gary says it’s OK if I do’

(the chemistry took over and Cindy lost her head –

called too much too often, maybe not enough instead)

‘Hey, is everything OK?’

(and she said…)

‘I might have accidentally fallen in love with him just a little bit- I didn’t mean to do it, but I did…

Now I need to break my heart before I manage to destroy everything that matters in my life–

You’re everything that matters in my life’

Gary and Cindy were dancing on a rooftop, trying to figure out a way back down,

Slipped up on a shingle and managed to discover the fastest way to the ground

(the fastest way to the ground)

            ‘Hey, is everything OK?’

            ‘Yes, it’s gonna be OK’

Flight Path

All this time I was thinking, you were afloat but you were sinking down,

Remember how we used to laugh, living on the flight path, lost in sound,

The music could have saved our souls, in a way it did I suppose, lost and found…

It’s apparent now there’s something wrong–

such a fight to write this song,

the music springs from everything,

I don’t know what to say or sing, I guess this thing is gone.

The war was over before it begun you and me against everyone,

Instead of John and Paul you were Harrison,

I was Sutcliffe or some other one.

You’re in the light and I’m just around.

I wish those days were back sometimes,

Rhymes still come from time to time–

The past is past not meant to last,

And the mountain’s taller the farther up we climb.

Thanks for the ride again my friend,

but it’s just too hard to pretend,

I can’t write a song for you,

when I get inside,

it’s only me I find…

A Perfect Cliché — Part Two

Now we’re in the midst of it, I kinda wonder how I twisted it–

I tried to write an unsolved mystery but I think we all got the gist of it.

As the story unfolded and I realized my role in it–

I began to recognize it couldn’t happen just the way I always told it.

It was a situation comedy interspersed with bits of tragedy–

With a moral lesson buried somewhere in a parenthetical closed captioning.

It was a throwaway plot just like a million other scripts I’ve wrought–

I tried to change it up enough that maybe this time I would not get get caught.

You see I thought that I was special, and if I promised any less you’ll

Realize that I am nothing more than just another empty vessel,

For you to fill with your projections, if you can get past my protections,

And if you can find the room in there beside all my imperfections.

I’m sorry to say,

That I’m a Perfect Cliché,

Just another hapless victim of the television age…

Hey Mother

Hey mama, it’s nice to see you here,

Hey mama, let’s have another year–

Wake up early finish all the chores, get the restaurant ready and open up the doors.

Hey sister, it’s nice to sit and play–

Hey sister, let’s have another day,

Sit down on the bench and share a smoke, tell another story laughing at another joke.

Hey brother, it’s nice to lend a hand,

Hey brother, I like to help out where I can–

Sometimes I get scared by what I think, there’s probably another way but it’s better when I drink

Hey Mother, it’s nice to have some friends

Hey Mother, I would do it all again

Sweeping out the garden feed the fish

Throw a penny in the pond and make a little wish,

I’d probably wish for one more minute here without these voices in my ear…

The Crown Prince of the Tongue-Biters

I am the crown prince of the tongue-biters clan,

My powers to evade are the stuff of legends.

You’ll find me at the garden maze with a machete in my hand,

My urge to play the game starts where the hedge ends.

Ride along with me I’ll take you nowhere

But at least I’ll probably get you nowhere fast

And we’ll all enjoy the ride, til the adrenaline subsides

Then we’ll all relax and drift until we crash

I’m the moderator of the self debaters club

With a membership of one, but that’s in question

We’re trying to decide which one of me I’d like to love

And which of me I’d rather get arrested

Ride along with me I’ll take you somewhere

But it’s somewhere you won’t really want to go

When I express my sins to you and when you realize they’re true

You might think you don’t really want to know

We need to build a better breadwinner, we need to rewire our world

We need to disentangle money and survival

We need a universal incoming ballistic missile shield made of solar panels dipped in marijuana

Made of champagne bubbles soaking in a sauna

You can ask again but I don’t wanna

I’m the instigator of the anti-hatred riots,

Our opinions are polite but they’re never quiet.

We’ll burn the world in effigy and then we’ll meditate for science–

If you haven’t, then I recommend you try it.

Ride along with me I’ll take you everywhere,

And they’ll never even notice that we’re gone–

We’ll all enjoy the ride, and we’ll laugh and clutch our sides

And pretend it’s just another silly song.

Wind Telephone

Wind Telephone, I’ve got words I want to say

And then watch the wind take them away.

Write your name on the back of a red oak leaf

And make a gift to the breeze.

Watch the campfire burn down to the embers

Lose another friend to September… to September wind.

Weight of the world and it’s rolling down my cheek

Means that I’m human not that I’m weak.

Losing you one teardrop at a time,

“Please quit asking me, I said I’m doing fine…”

Walk you down to the bridge and send you over–

Lose another friend to October… to October wind.

I know why that caged bird always screams–

He’s distracted by important things.

Raging against the dying of the light–

Says “I won’t give in without a fight!”

Raging about last words I don’t remember,

Lose another friend to November… to November wind.

The wind will come and we will be transported–

The wind will come our wings will be supported–

The wind will come rip the hinges off the door–

The wind will come and we will see our chance and fly away.

A Perfect Cliché — Part Three

And after all this, I’m embarrassed to report,

I’m just another little boy wished his daddy said I love you more–

Another television orphan, craving more parental touch–

Just another little boy who wished his mommy didn’t cry so much.

I’m sorry to say that I’m a Perfect Cliché

Just another hapless victim of the television age.

The Rest of Our Lives

Touch of your skin, touch of your skin,

Our silent story, where it begins–

Brush of your hand, brush of your hand,

A quiet reminder our hearts understand–

Curve of your hip, curve of your hip,

Where my touch wanders, words start to slip…

Top of your breast, top of your breast,

Comfort and calming and coming to rest–

Light in your eyes, light in your eyes,

Catches the shadows to push them aside–

Sound of your heart, sound of your heart,

The noise breaks back in, signals the start–

Of the Rest of Our Lives–

Of the Rest of Our Lives.

Mrs. Christmas:

Hey Mrs. Christmas-you’re on my wish-list

Come kiss Mr. Christmas right here-

The eggnog and whisky has made me feel frisky

So I’m risking my heart and I’m pulling you near

Hey Mrs. December, I still remember

Those Christmases when we were young delinquents

I love you more today in almost every way-

Our love has gotten stronger- if perhaps not quite as frequent

Hey Mrs. Santa Claus, I know we can’t because

The little one upstairs is a light sleeper…

If we don’t go all the way… to the North Pole

It’s ok, the couch is closer, and it’s definitely cheaper

Hey Mrs. Christmas—tip-toe over here,

I promise you a Silent Night of Jack Frost nibblin’ at your ear

Hey Mrs. Christmas, I won’t make a sound—

If we Fool-loo-loo-loo-loo-loo-lool around…

Hey Mrs. Yuletide, there’s a log on the fire inside,

Let’s melt you out of these blankets of snow—

Sit here beside me or climb up on Santa’s knee

We’ll unwrap each other’s presents underneath the mistletoe…

Hey Mrs. Holiday Cheer, you’ve been a naughty girl this year,

You’ve even trimmed the… tree in preparation…

There’s a lump of coal for you because you got caught kissing Santa Claus—

But coal turns into diamonds with a  little time and patience.

Hey Mrs. Christmas, you’re on my wish-list

Show me yours and I will show you mine—

Mine’s just a single sheet, written there nice and neat is your name on every line!

Train Song

In my clever imitation of a life of moderation, I never seem to get the accent right

For my sloppy misbehaviour, my smile is my saviour

It’s the way I’ve tricked and charmed my way through life

But that train just keeps rolling through the station

With no patience for me or my devil’s smile

It’s Unseasonably Cool out here this morning—

And I’ve sacrificed my comfort for my style

The train’s on time, I guess I’m the one who’s late— The lights are flashing, I’m standing at the gate

Outside the station, I guess I’ll have to wait—Or find another way to you… I missed the train again, I’m feeling blue

Why should you always have to wait on me?

It’s not the life I want, It’s not the man I want to be-

When we’re side by side, it’s easy to keep up-

When I fall behind, my mind decides to try and trip me up-

You know I really oughtta stop with all this self-recrimination-

I’m the only one to blame for being in my situation-

The train is only here because somebody laid a track

And once it’s rolling through it’s just too hard to roll it back-

Trains’ll just be trains, I guess I’ll be me too—At least until I find myself

Another way to you…

Beth’s song

There’s a girl I know that likes to sing along, sits at the front of every show-

When the guitars start their ringing-and everybody starts their singing-

She hears a harmony that no-one else can hear

She hears his voice, she hears his voice-

She hears his voice and she doesn’t feel alone

Sometimes in the evenings, there’s a place she goes downtown, there’s laughter and the bands get up to play

There’s a memory of a song there and it lingers in the rafters,

if her eyes are closed, she can almost see his face

She hears his voice, she hears his voice-

She hears his voice and she doesn’t feel alone

There’s a guitar in the corner—It’s a bookmark in her pages

And the dust begins to settle on the strings—

One day she goes to move it, she picks it up and strums it—

And to her surprise, she begins to sing—

And she hears her voice (she hasn’t heard it in a long time)

She hears her voice (and it sounds like coming home)

She hears her voice (and the harmony that joins it)

She hears her voice, and she doesn’t feel alone

Don’t Burn Your Bible

Don’t burn your Bible; just to stay warm there’s more to survival than that—

You may need the heat, but you’ll need the book more, if you lose your place on the map

Don’t build your bridges, just to cross streams, be sure that you’ve got somewhere to go—

It’s a hell of a time, if we enjoy the ride, but it still feels real nice to come home…

And when you fly away, don’t fly too far, that urge only lasts for a little while—

If you fly too far, there might come a day, where your whole life can turn on a smile—

And you oughtta smile, and you oughtta pray—and you best not let sweet moments slip away—

I guess that all I really need to say is “I love you”

And don’t put all your existential blues into one basket, the only one that’s big enough to hold them is your casket—

We’ll all be there soon enough, there’s’ no call to make the ride more rough,

And if you ever need a thing from me, just ask it…

If you fall off the wagon that you hitched up to a star, remember you already learned to fly—

The ground is far below us, don’t look down, you’ll just get nervous, spread your wings and look up at the sky…

Me and Nicole

I was thinking about freedom yesterday—

and a travellin’ song I used to love to play

That said “freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose”

might’ve been a life I wanted once, but it’s not a life I’d choose—

What kind of fool would trade all his tomorrows, for one single yesterday?

If freedom means you’re only free from sorrow, it may cost nothin’ – but it’s still too much to pay.

I spent a year or two of my life, out there on that road—

I like to travel light, but even ‘light’ gets to be a heavy load.

I set my pack down in California, like all good travelers do—

it was somewhere near Salinas, I finally met you…

I met you in a restaurant in the Abigail hotel—

I had almost given up on love, but I figured what the hell;

I’ll have at least one more adventure before I pack it in—

who knows when a chance like this might come along again?

We packed up ol’ Johnny Cash, and a little house on wheels—

Headed out from Oakland, ended up in Oxford Mills.

There was a girl before I met you, maybe two or three,

who could have been a song to sing like ‘Me and Bobbie McGee’

Love like that burns hot and fast, but it doesn’t last that long, I’d rather have a story than a  song…

Love like that burns hot and fast, but then the night gets cold…I’d rather have a story… like me and my Nicole

Late Fight

A desperate late night phone call, a friend I thought I’d left behind

Tells me she’s been thinking about those wild and crazy times—

She doesn’t like the way we left things, but I tell her that I’m fine…

She’s quiet for a moment, but it seems to ease her mind—

I wonder if she knew it, as soon as I picked up the phone

By my late night desperation

I ain’t never comin’ home

No one mowed the yard the day we left it; no one came to check up on the mail

No one topped the gravel in the driveway up that spring

Or picked up that ol’ pear tree where it fell

No one cleaned the gutters out that summer, the rain got in and it buckled all the wood—

And no one saw the hole I punched right through the hallway door,

The night you said I wasn’t any good…

I remember the night I called you, how you sat there like a stone

I cried out in desperate anger:

I ain’t never comin’ home

Now I’m standin’ out here starin’ at a forest, right where the old homestead used to be—

And even the trees have faded to whole new range of colors—

Saffron, brown, bright red and tangerine

And my hair is gettin’ gray around the tmples, and even I can feel the comin’ of the cold…

One more desperate late night phone call

This one to my momma—I gotta tell her—

I ain’t never coming home

Walking Sam

Walking Sam was an old black man

That used to wander through my neighborhood;

My daddy used to give him work,

A little money if he could.

My daddy was a good Christian man—

He didn’t do it ‘cuz he thought he should,

He didn’t want a chance to try to change the world,

Just a chance to do a little bit of good.

Walking Sam, do you need a hand?

Walking Sam…my daddy seemed to understand.

Mrs. Brooks, she was the secretary

At my daddy’s little office downtown,

Mrs. Brooks, she was an elderly lady,

And she didn’t have much family around.

My Mama cooked a big Sunday lunch,

We’d invite Mrs. Brooks around—

At Christmastime, she was a member of the family,

Her, and every other person in town, including:

Walking Sam, do you need a hand?

Walking Sam…my daddy seemed to understand.

Ruby Goins was my grandmother’s cook,

Turned out to be her best friend too—

When my grandmother passed, we kept an eye on her friend,

Now she’s a member of the family too.

You can say what you want about the people of the South,

We sure say what we think about you—

But we folks know it ain’t about what you say—

It’s about what you do (for your…)

Walking Sam, do you need a hand?

Walking Sam…my daddy seemed to understand.

Lone Star Beer

I don’t miss: hot days or rattlesnakes,

Guns or right wing Christian freaks,

My ex-girlfriends turning up,

No a.c. in my pickup truck,

And I do miss—Lone Star Beer…

I do miss: the spicy food—

But not the heartburn after,

I don’t miss the hangovers,

But I do miss the laughter,

And I do miss—Lone Star Beer…

I don’t miss the lonely years,

I don’t miss smokin’ cigarettes

Texas hold’em poker…

Losin’ bets,

But I do miss the music and I do miss my mom, and I do miss—Lone Star Beer…

I don’t miss George W.,

For that matter, George H. W.,

I don’t miss the fascists,

I just miss my friends— (repeat verse form)

And I miss the enchiladas all smothered in cheese,

But I don’t miss the getting no peace,

I miss the music and the friends that I made—

Almost as much as the chicken fried steak… (pause)

And I do miss—Lone Star Beer,

Yes, I do miss…

Fields Of Orange

I’ve waited my whole life just to love you

now I don’t even know your name

how can I be the man that I’m supposed to be, when I can’t even find the photo in the frame

of those fields of orange

of those fields of orange, where I ran to you

I’m feeling the sun beat down on my neck

and I’m remembering how to run

wondering if I can find my way back to where I was far away before this other life begun

on those fields of orange

on those fields of orange

and when I saw the hill approaching,

I told myself it was the end,

but when we reached the crest I saw the next hill coming and I knew that we were really starting over once again…

We’ve already made it through some valleys

And we’ll find our way through this one too,

I only hope that when we reach the bottom we will find another field of orange to run towards each other through

through these fields of orange

through these fields of orange where I run to you…

West Texas Man

It’s hard to be a good man in West Texas,

But I’m doing the best that I can—

Drink the beer, but not the bourbon,

Fight your fights, but don’t start ‘em,

Some wild nights might be OK,

But don’t drink in the day,

And remember to be ready to lend a hand

It’s hard to be a good man in West Texas

There’s a dry and fierce heat

That makes the cactus and mesquite

Grow up through the cracks in your soul

And you can’t stand on your feet, you swallow your defeat

And admit you’ve got a hard row to hoe…

She was always gonna be a big project,

But I loved her—and I thought, that I could…

Be the thing that she needed

But in the end, well I conceded,

She’s still out there somewhere, and I’m gone…

Oh, It’s hard to be a good man in West Texas

There’s a rattlesnake underneath every stone

There’s a bar there—and there’s oil,

But there ain’t too much for soil,

It’s sure hard to make anything grow…

Best Thing

I hear a harmony to every word you say,

I wanna write sweet songs about you every single day

Let me walk beside you, hold your hand but not to guide you

Whisper truth but not to teach you, just to reach you…

You are the best thing that ever happened to me

I wanna sing sweet songs about you, think that I can’t live without you,

Since you showed up in my life and said ‘I’m home’

Life I lead before you, I always knew that I’d adore you,

Now I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be alone

Another Way to Smile

Be careful of the characters you play;

They’ll follow you home, they’ll get in your way.

Be mindful of the company you keep;

The one you let go, may trouble your sleep.

Don’t build your house upon a shifting sand,

The rain will come—it will not stand.

And no matter how long we chase the sun—

The rain will come, all around—

And we’re all tied together on this lifeline,

When one of us falls,

It pulls us all,

Towards the ground.

So don’t give up—please get up—

Even if for just a little while—

Find yourself another way to smile.

I saw a sapling in the yard and I chose to cut around it—

Now the trunk is strong and hard and nothing like I found it—

I saw a man both young and strong and always on the go—

Years for him were hard and long and now his head hangs low—

I’ve seen the summer pass to fall, fall breeze to winter wind—

I’ve seen my young tree standing tall and then nothing once again.

And no matter how long we chase the sun—

The rain will come, all around—

And we’re all tied together on this lifeline,

When one of us falls,

It pulls us all,

Towards the ground.

So don’t give up—please get up—

Even if for just a little while—

Find yourself another way to smile.

Starting Over

It’s so easy to cling to your tired old notions.

As you bob on a ring, out in an ocean—

That’s full of the proof, that you were wrong all along—

And when you start to sink, and when it’s all gone—

Don’t be afraid, it’s not the end,

You’re just starting over…

You tie a small string, to everything

So you can reel it back in, you won’t lose it again…

But it still gets away, because nothing is real—

It’s just what we’ve, agreed to believe…

Don’t be afraid, it’s not the end

You’re just starting over…

All The Time

When I was younger, I used to believe

I could be anything I wanted…

Now I’ve grown older, I’ve come to see,

What I want, is to be, what you need.

I’ve been ecstatic; I’ve been a fool,

I’ve been a rock, yes and I’ve been an island—

I’ve never regretted, one minute with you,

I look back—I still catch myself smiling…

Remember when you asked me, where it was that I was going to?

You were wondering, what it was that I wanted to do—

I said: ‘You’re the place I’m going to…’

I’ve got all the time in the world, for you.

I’ve got all the time in the world…

So head’s up, there’s two sides and light always wins

A single candle can drive out the dark

C’mon up, we’re waiting, this is where it begins,

You be the bonfire an I’ll be the spark.

So she waits, by the gates to the stairs and she stims—

She’s just waiting for her turn to start…

C’mon up, we’re waiting, this is where it begins,

You be the bonfire and I’ll be the spark.

I’ve got all the time in the world for you…

I’ve got all the time in the world.

Newark

Just can’t seem to get out of Newark,

Something just keeps pulling me back—

I keep tryin’ to leave, Oh, but just can’t believe,

There’s just nothing left for me here—

I just can’t seem to get out of Newark

A patent leather life at ‘the Pru’

Down at four corners on a Saturday night—

Sunday morning, back home to you—

And part of me thinks that I’ve settled for all this—

And part of me knows that’s not true—

And all of me knows that you’re part of me now,

I can no more settle for the lines on my face,

You can’t come in second if it isn’t a race—

I just can’t seem to get out of Newark

Monday morning up for the train—

For my job at the airport where I tell all the passengers—

‘I’m sorry that your flight is delayed,

I’m sorry if your life feels like running in place…’

Fire Song

When the luck ran out, we were out on the lawn

Watching it go up in flames—

I was riding hard towards the south of the sun—

I was losing my grip on the reins.

For a week or two in the midst of it all,

I thought I was going insane,

But you held your vigil and you lit your candle

And waited for me ‘til I came—

And now I’m here where I belong,

I don’t want to be with no-where else,

Yeah, I’m here where I belong—

Holding me close and no one other…

There’s a picture somewhere that tells the story,

Much better than I ever can—

I’m young and strong and my hair is long

And I’m holding the world in my hand.

But my eyes in the picture tell a different story,

They’re sad and they’re narrow with fear—

They’re looking out hard over this horizon

And praying that something is here—

When the luck ran out, I was out on the lawn,

I was acting like I didn’t care—

I was riding hard towards the south of the sun,

I was feeling the wind in my hair—

I’m an old man there with a map in my hand,

To everything I’ve left behind—

But the route ends here—

And from the map it looks clear

That I took the right turn every time…

Uncle Don

Here’s a song for my Uncle Donny:

The last time I saw you alive,

You said that you were getting ready—

To ride along the Great Divide.

Well, you always were ‘the odd one’—

That’s the kindest way to say—

You’re weird as a three cent penny,

But we loved you just that way…

Canvas tents and flintlock muskets,

A magazine mail order bride,

Boy Scout camps and model airplanes—

And riding on the Great Divide.

You were a young boy’s favorite uncle…

Handmade gifts don’t go out of style,

You never threw away a thing; you never knew what you might need,

To make somebody, somewhere smile…

But you didn’t want to be a burden,

So you learned to live life light—

With your wits to keep you warm, and if you needed something more,

You’d find it on the Great Divide.

But you learned to live so lightly—

That the wind swept you aside—

If you’re calling after Donny, he’s out there somewhere wandering,

Riding on the Great Divide.

Thank You Friends:

To my friends back in Bryan,

When I thought I was dying,

You gave me your time,

And I want to say:

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

A shout out to the West Coast,

San Francisco and Oakland,

Emeryville—oh, I miss you still…

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

To my friends back in Austin,

Where I got lost and

Where I got found—

If you’re still around…

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

Now I’m up here in Kemptville,

You’ve welcomed me home,

Given me family—

Like I’ve never known—

Thank you friends, thank you for your time.

Thanks to the guy

That opened your mind,

You helped me survive

A really tough time…

Thank you friend, Thank you for your time.

Thanks to the girl—

Gave me the world—

Gave me your time…

Oh, God, I want to say

Thank you friend, Thank you for your time.

“Christmas is Awesome” – the Christmas album – released one song at a time from 2011-2021

Super Awesome Christmas

Don’t forget to give your presence this Christmas

Give your presence to the ones that you love

Bring them your gifts, but give them your presence, be near them and show them your love.

Don’t forget to believe in Santa this Christmas

Believe in Santa and his reindeer and his elves

For if we forget to believe in such magic, we’ll forget to believe in ourselves

Don’t forget to be Christ-like this Christmas

See those in need and offer a hand

Spread peace, and mercy and kindness each day, and give of yourself if you can

I won’t forget to give my presence this Christmas, 

I’ll be present and honest and true –

I’ll say thank you, and mean it, for the gifts I receive, but the best you’ll bring me is you!

Winter Solstice Hymn

Alle dei hi-ondele oh (or… ‘ah-lay day-eye high ahn duh-lay oh’)

A child is born, a life begun

Good morning child, good morning sun!

Bright cloaks of green, the weaver spins

The lovers meet and life begins

Then travel through the longest day

A golden sun and time to play

The red-orange glow of autumn light

The eastern star and equal night

The year is old, it’s time has come

The burden borne, the journey done

A child is born, a life begun

Good morning year, good morning sun!

The Ballad of Jerry the The Christmas Robot

Jerry the outer space android was a blue-steel collar working class bot

With a wife named Renee and a prototype on the way,

He worked hard for all that he got

He had a job as an exterminator

Got a call from a landlord one day

OF a planet infest with humans 

That had nothing pleasant to say

Jerry didn’t like killin’ humans

But he had a job to do, and bills to pay

Besides, if they weren’t very pleasant

No-one would really miss them much either way…

So he gassed up his spaceship

Packed up his ray-gun

Re-booted his program and said 

Boop beep beep… kill all the humans

Jerry the outer space android 

Flew down on a tractor beam ray

He couldn’t have planned it, but he arrived on our planet

On what happened to be Christmas Day

He heard all the Christmas carols and the jingle bells

He saw all the smiles and good cheer

And his program aborted… the error report read

“There’s no unpleasant folks here”

So Jerry went back to the landlord

Said “I don’t know man, they seem pretty cool”

And the landlord said ‘Huh! I guess they cleaned up their act…

Maybe I’ll give them a second chance too”

The moral of this little story

Is to treat every day just like Christmas day

Or else Jerry the Outer Space Android

Will come back and blow us all away!

Boop beep beep… Merry Christmas!!

Northern Bells

They say there’s nothing you can hear that can fill your heart with cheer

Like the ringing of the Northern Bells at at Christmas…

Leaves are falling all around and the green all fades to brown

In this Northern Town we found to settle down in 

When winter meets me in my bones, there’s a sound that takes me home

It lights my smile and it sets my heart to pounding

It’s when the choir starts their song, and you start to sing along

In that voice you use when you think no-one’s listening

And more than anything – I love to hear you sing

It’s sweeter than the Northern Bells at Christmas

Moonlight dancing on the snow, evergreens and mistletoe

We know that Santa Claus and Christmastime are coming

Smell of cider in the air, snowflakes falling everywhere

Watch the children making snow angels and grinning

Then the song begins to play and I see you turn away

I lean in close because I know that you’ll be joining

And more than anything I love to hear you sing

It’s sweeter than the Northern Bells at Christmas

The church is quiet for the mass – the smiling, silent people pass…

The organ pipes up and Hallelujah plays!

And those Northern Bells are ringing… but I only hear you singing

It’s sweeter than the Northern Bells at Christmas!!

Hot Rod Rock and Roll Christmas

Santa Claus Junior was a teenage rebel back in 1959

It was getting pretty cold at the old North Pole so he headed south for a time

He ended up in High School down in Small Town USA

With a hot rod car and an electric guitar

Buddy, he was ready to play

Singing Hot Rod Rock and Roll Christmas…

One Christmas eve his pop…

Was speeding and he got caught…

Got pulled over by the cops…

Got hung up at the cop shop…

Called Santa Claus junior at the sock hop…

Said I need you and your hot rod…

Santa Claus junior ut the pedal to the metal and loaded up the presents from the sleigh

Laid down a ten mile long burnout, tires screaming as he speeded away…

He delivered every present, was efficient, even pleasant, he went everywhere he needed to go

When they asked him how he did it?

“With the magic of Christmas Rock and Roll!!”

Mercy!

It was a Hot Rod Rock and Roll Christmas… Night!

Hey Mrs. Christmas

Hey Mrs. Christmas, you’re on my wish-list…

Come kiss Mr. Christmas right here…

The eggnog and whiskey has made me feel frisky –

I’m risking my heart and I’m pulling you near

Hey Mrs. December, I still remember

Those Christmases when we were young delinquents

I love you more today in almost every way

Our love has gotten stronger if perhaps not quite as frequent..

Hey Mrs. Santa Claus, I know we can’t because…

The little one upstairs is a light sleeper

If we can’t go all the way… to the North Pole, 

That’s ok, the couch is closer and it’s definitely cheaper!

Chorus:

Hey Mrs. Christmas, tiptoe over here…

I promise you a silent night… Jack Frost nibbling at your ear…

Hey Mrs. Christmas, I won’t make a sound, if we fool-loo-loo-loo-lool-loo-lool around!

Hey Mrs. Yuletide there’s a log on the fire inside

Let’s melt you out of these blankets of snow

Sit here beside me… climb up on Santa’s knee

We’ll unwrap each other’s presents underneath the mistletoe

Hey Mrs. Holiday Cheer, you’ve been a naughty girl this year

You’ve even trimmed the… tree? …in preparation…

There’s a lump of coal for you because you got caught kissin’ Santa Claus

But coal turns into diamonds with a little time and patience

Hey Mrs. Christmas, you’re on my wishlist

Come show me yours and I will show you mine

Mine’s just a single sheet, written there nice and neat…

Is your name… on every line!

Chorus

Yes, Virginia, There is a Santa Claus!

Today our newspaper received a short, handwritten note

From sweet Virginia, 8 years old—and as to what she wrote

“Is there a Santa Claus?” she asked “your answer will be proof-

Because my father says The Sun would only print the truth.”

Well, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

You can tell your Pop it’s true and you know it’s true because, 

You have seen it written, right here in The Sun-

Santa Claus is coming, bringing joy to everyone!

Your little friends are wrong Virginia, Santa Claus is real

Don’t let the skeptic voices sway you, follow what you feel—

We’re all just tiny insects crawling on this tiny earth-

Without capacity to comprehend the Universe

So, yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

You can tell your friends it’s true and you know it’s true because, 

You have seen it written, now go tell them that it’s true-

Santa Claus is coming, full of love for me and you!

A child’s imagination is a force so real and strong 

As long as there is faith and fancy, love, poetry and song

Then Santa Claus will live, Virginia, in all that’s true and good

He will continue to make glad the heart of childhood

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus

You can tell the world it’s true and you know it’s true because, 

You have felt him in your heart, he’s calming all your fears

Santa Claus will live forever, ten times ten thousand years

Christmas at the Bottom of the Ocean

It’s Christmas at the bottom of the ocean

A million miles away from where you are

Stuck here in this submarine, 10,000 leagues beneath the sea

Sending Christmas wishes by sonar

And the whales are singing silent night in harmony

Amd the shipsbell seems to chime along in tune

But I’m stuck here at the bottom of the ocean

And it doesn’t feel like Christmas without you

It’s Christmas at the bottom of the ocean

And the surface twinkles like a distant star

Candlelit by phosphorescent jellyfish

With gifts of light like wise men from afar

The plankton drift like snowflakes just outside the starboard porthhole

I’m stuck here in the deepest pool of blue

The submarine is decked out with the seasons finest colors

But it doesn’t feel like Christmas without you

Next year I’ll be back before December

The science expedition will be through

I’ll bring home a starfish to ornament the tree

And spend the season somewhere close to you

It’s Christmas at the Bottom of the Ocean…

Locked down here in Davy Jones’s tomb

The whales are singing Little Town of Bethlehem

And it doesn’t feel like Christmas without you… 

Christmas Lullaby

It’s a Christmas Lullaby, 

Now it’s time to close your eyes… 

Blow a kiss and say goodnight…

‘Til we see you in the morning, when you

…open up your eyes, come downstairs and see the light

There’ll be love and sharing everywhere on Christmas Day!

Now it’s time to get to get some sleep 

And start counting Christmas sheep

As they fly up to the moon

Santa Claus is coming soon and when he gets here…

…there’ll be time to laugh and play

Everyone will smile and say

“Good morning, Merry Christmas!” and “We love you!”

(fa-la-la, rum-pa-pa-pum…)

Every year on Christmas Eve

Dreaming of what we’ll receive

It’s important to remember that the reason for the season is to…

…think of someone else…

Before thinking of ourselves

Sharing love is why we celebrate on Christmas Day!

It’s a Christmas Lullaby 

Now it’s time to close your eyes

Blow a kiss and say goodnight

‘Til we see you in the morning… when you open up your eyes

Come downstairs and see the light 

There’ll be love and sharing everywhere and we love you!

Green Christmas (Fire Santa and Hire Greta)

All I want for Christmas… And I don’t think it’s too much to ask…

Is for an empowered centralized world government…to impose a universal carbon tax!

Let’s hire Greta Thunberg to take over for Santa Claus – cuz i think that she’d be up for the task

Of delivering a Christmas gift for everyone… of an immediate moratorium… 

on the extraction of all fossil fuels including coal… oil… and natural gaaass….

Let’s fire Santa and hire Greta… 

Santa’s had a good run run but Greta’s … betta

She’d do a damn good job if we would… let her…

We should fire Santa… and hire Greta…

I’m dreaming of a greener Christmas this year, so please listen to my rant…

I’d rather have coal in my stocking than another coal fired power plant…

Instead of some messy messianic birthday… let’s double down on earth day…

We all want to do better but we can’t 

until we take that bloated symbol of… the excess we’ve all come to love… 

And kick him square in the seat of his big red pants

Chorus  

Santa claus is the spirit of giving and that certainly has its place

But Greta’s cause is a gift we give to the entire human race!

I know it’s all a bit much for a single Swedish teenage girl

But this ain’t candy-canes and mistletoe, it’s the future of the world

That jingle bell is ringing friends… and it’s ringing loud and clear!

Let’s toss out the old fat guy on his ear…

Now before you tell me to can it… imagine chestnuts roasting on an… open planet

No matter how you scan it… that’s not good…

Let’s do the hard thing we don’t want to… but we should…

Chorus repeats to end-

Grouped harmony layers:

(a la ‘Happy Xmas (War is Over)’ — “Carbon neutral, if we want it, carbon neutral now…”)

(a la ‘[obvious]’ — “I’m dreaming of a green Christmas… green Christmas now…”)

(a la ‘’gloria in excelsis deo’ — “Keep the temperature increase to less than 2 degrees… fahrenheit or celsius… science has consensus!”)