If you walk away, I'll walk away. First tell me which road you will take. I don't want to risk our paths crossing some day. So you walk that way, I'll walk this way.
One for the righteous, one for the ruling class. One for the tyrant, one for the slaughtered lamb. One for the struggle, one for the lasting peace. One for you and one for me.
I met you through a common friend. In the attic of my parents' house. And though I didn't know it then. I soon was finding out. . You are the roots that sleep beneath my feet.
Grey like new day leaks through the window. And some old song comes on the alarm clock radio. We walk the forty blocks to the middle. Of the place we heard that everything would be.
Well, the future's got me worried. Such awful thoughts. My head's a carousel of pictures. The spinning never stops. I just want someone to walk in front.
The barons of industry put inspiration on Hitlers tongue. The next century crashed hard. With a loud sound like a starting gun. Its race for acquisition and to make more things that glow.
There is nothing for which I am responsible. Just this baggage that I keep carrying on. As if I had someone. . Okay, maybe there is a woman somewhere.
You follow the footsteps. Echoes leading down the hall. To a room, there's music playing. Tiny bells with moving parts. Here the shadows make things ugly.
I was cold in a dream. Somewhere close to the surface. Between the ice and the stream. There is three inches of air. . So I swam towards the light. I let my breath get there first.
There is no beginning to the story, a bookshelf sinks into the sand. And a language learned and forgot, in turn is studied once again. It's a shocking bit of footage viewed from a shitty TV screen.
The kitchen is cold. But the coffee is warm. And the suns coming up. The day has just begun. And your already bored. . Bored of cheering me up. Bored of calming me down.
There are stories in the soil, loose leaves cover the ground. There's volumes in the forest, no one reads out loud. If I could take them down off of that mountain shelf.
Close your eyes. The dark outside can't hurt you. And I will never desert your bedside. . So close them tight. The stars are so glad that they've found you.
Here we go. Can I get a goddamn timpany roll to start this goddamn song?. Tonight, it is a goddamn song. For all you goddamn people. . Well, the animals laugh from the dark of the wilderness.
John A. Hobson was a good man. He used to loan me books and mic stands. He even got me a subscription. To the Socialist Review. . Listening to records in his basement.
Laura, are you still livin' there on your estate of sorrow?. You used to leave it occasionally, but now you don't even bother. To ride the commuter train West to Chicago.
If you walk away I walk away. First tell me which road you will take. I don't want to risk our paths crossing someday. So you walk that way I'll walk this way.
Tomorrow when I wake up, Im finding my brother. And making him take me back down to the water. That lake where we sailed, and we laughed with our father.
Well, I left my baby for a dream as lovely. For a love that's only in books I read. And then I hit the cities, spent all my money. I just left my whole life in a taxi cab.
I have a friend, he is made mostly of pain. And he wakes up, drives to work, and then straight back home again. He once cut one of my nightmares out of paper.