Well
He never said it was easy
He never said it was good
He never said it was anything
Anything to me, at least

Well
She never said she was happy
She never said she was fine
She never said she was anything
Anything to me, at least

Well
They never said it was gentle
They never said it was serene
They never said it was anything
Anything to me, at least

Well
You never said you loved me
You never said you cared
You never said you were anything
Anything to me, at least


Well

But seriously, folks...

Got up at six
listened to the rain
they say it's only april
but it's been raining just the same
Kissed you twice
Went though the motions
said I enjoyed it just the same
and waited for the walk
down montreal
and nothing else will change

Few words shared over breakfast
don't ask, don't tell, don't care
I guess I don't know what to say to you
I guess it doesn't matter in the end
The tears were cried weeks ago
It's all the same now by the hour
when we walk down montreal,
and talk like it's the same
pretend that nothing's changed

Down montreal,
they know the facts
but take up all your time

Trudging through the rain
Behind schedule for something
That really has no end;
but we'll damn the consequences
talk like nothing's different
Anecdotes and statistics
and who cares anyway?
Knowing it'll all be different;
because when we get to montreal...
nothing is the same

The woman at the desk,
efficient, she does it 20 times a day
we joke about people we know,
girls from school, your sister's friends
anything to keep the mind at ease
down montreal,
you know what I mean,
Sterile, unsympathetic,
Clinical, serene.

Down montreal,
they see them all,
we're just more of the same

Through the corridors,
the mens, the girls
coffee, water, light relief
magazines with johnandyoko
stories we already knew
but there's not that much to do;
on montreal
smacked up tight,
everything's funny to you

On montreal,
you're number 43
of a year not 4 months old
But they get them done in record time
and leave the rest of us with the pain

Leaving when the rain has gone,
I won't pause to say goodbye
I said it in the bed
I said it at the time;
when you mistook apathy for empathy
And I took neediness as genuine
So I'll leave you here,
down montreal,
to deal with what you've done

Down montreal,
they've seen our type
no compassion remains

Down montreal,
they've seen it all
you're just a teardrop in the rain,
a story to relate at dinner
You're conscience the only stain.

And everything stays the same.



But seriously, folks...

Wow.



That's fucking amazing.

Dream on...

Cracks in the surface
Cracks in the path
filth on the pavement
daggers in your heart

ragged little play-thing
pneumatic little whore
disgrace
regret
purge

forget

But seriously, folks...

A poem about me, R/R? I'm honoured.

Did you ever get the feeling
that you're older than you think
Wake up in the afternoon
And it feels like you've been gone
Well, for a while before

But did you ever get the feeling
you'd been gone for sometime
an empty shell
a burnt out husk
No empathy even for yourself

So, do you sometimes get the feeling
That you're nothing at all
Blink and I'll disappear
Sleep and we'll all be gone

Yeah, but would you recognise
Yourself in a few years time?
Blink and you'll miss it
Sleep and you'll be gone

But seriously, folks...

And a crowded room
and a half of grants
suddenly aware of all the people you don't know
suddenly aware of the way you mangle your vowels
so just back away
back to your room
and say

"oh it's just a bad day
in a good month
of an average year"
and can't it be better than this?

and now, much older than you feel
and so much has happened unaccounted for
suddenly, painfully aware of
how and why the years went by
and left you alone and cold
so you just back away
into your past
and say

"oh, it's just a bad year
in a good three
of an average life"
and can't it be better than this?

suddenly hit with the fact that
you've spent this time
waiting for life to begin
saving your hand for the high stakes
on the horizon
hoping that gamblers always win

a bit late for that, innit?

But seriously, folks...

She's standing in the bathroom
As the rain falls on the roof
You're standing in the hallway
Doing your best to look aloof
Yeah, they like it when you don't make eye contact
And they love it when you sneer
And they swoon when you criticise
everything they hold dear

Yeah, she's sitting in the lounge
trying to watch the evening news
and you're collapsed on the stairs
trying to make sense of it all
Because they dig it when you're incapacitated
and they'll falter when you fall
Yeah, they love it when you're drunk
and claim not to care at all

And she's leaving through the corridor
bags packed and lessons learned
While you're standing naked in your room
sins absolved, bridges burned
Because they're all infatuated with bitterness
and salivate when you're cruel
Yeah, they love it when you're pathetic
and really no friend at all

But seriously, folks...

Wowzers, man. That's pretty far out, if you ask me...

W e i r d R o c k e r N o O n e K n o w s

I’m sure I may never know what is to become out of your earthy free bird Elvis-like element. I cannot fathom anything so unbroken like that unadulterated shard of glass sparkling so vehemently in a mouse with false teeth. Your voice, so mellifluous and immaculate I yearn to comprehend that’s such an opposite to the inchoate monkeying degradation of a trailer park beauty queen. You could sit there on cold hard tiles of a dirty inconvenience store seductively counting eggs, oh no they are not broken, this is a good dozen here. A fractal mind fuck you are, never-endingly enticing and going home to watch black birds play in the cornfields. There is a metropolitan climate about your tropical brain that leaks some mustard, some botanical regality, and I immediately become enraptured by such easy fluviation, wake me up wake me up wake me up. Oh no, please don’t, I just want to lie here a little while and bask in the chlorophyll.

don't touch me, your hands feel like salad tongs