1. |
Fly on the Windowsill
04:06
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We're in a fuss about the right of way
when the car up front is overturned;
all of these nuts are trying to drive in my lane--
going to see my baby girl.
And it's true that she lights me up slow,
and my downfall's a redhead composed,
but this time I've been liable to moan
since I got on the road.
Here in the night not getting what I want,
but let it suffice to turn my headlights on.
Sitting back, driving, not doing much at all
when my line of sight picks out a miscreant:
a fly on the windowsill.
Flutter down fly, you're such an unbearable thing,
and you won't go out the way you came in.
You're no friend of mine, and you better stay out of my way
as we cross these county lines.
Here in the night and I've waited far too long,
with the radio droning this fucking asinine song.
It was my turn to drive, and I know what contracts are,
but it's a firm-footed miracle I got this far.
On the outskirts of town, and I'm unbelievably late:
my knuckles white waiting at a red light.
Add fifteen on top over the back roads, quarter to midnight,
speeding recklessly down the street.
When a street lamp reveals my bitter enemy,
so I grab a CD case and I crush him utterly.
When I look up and see the wall coming at me,
I'm feeling alive, and I'm feeling close to death...
I'm a fly on the windowsill.
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2. |
Low Down
05:25
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Too late to grow in my heart and my soul -- low down --
no place left to affix yourself.
Hidden in a canvas satchel,
at the bottom of the heap by your dresser,
is the proof you got the letter
and assumed your place above the law.
Four brown bottles in the crisper rolling around,
twenty more left straining your shelf,
but to use your amaretto
is a crime to be paid for out of pocket.
Please
send a crew for me:
I'm in too deep.
I'm a loser, but
I got no more time to field these signs, baby.
I'm the only one in this house awake,
so I put on shoes and walk away,
but you can always send a letter
if you can spell my whole name properly.
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3. |
Dip in the Water
04:22
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Hold on, hold out, and all your crumbs and your dust
will find their way to the bottom.
But with a good heart and a keen eye and half a bottle of musk
you're doing fine.
Get it away, get it away from me,
a dip in the water.
Thumbtacks in a plastic case to stop them pricking your fingertips,
but it gets worse fumbling for one inside.
Stay wadded up, you flirt. Stay wrapped up in the furs
you stole like a five-year-old.
There must be some great nuclear force
between us somewhere in the sentimental
highlights from this bleak and dirty island.
Because I was just the man you were
looking for, honey, but I'm taking my money and my hat
on the road.
Get it away, get it away from me,
a dip in the water
for this skeleton.
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4. |
Stop Me
05:16
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God stop me.
It's in the way that you move,
and in the things that you do,
makes me believe there's a few
things that maybe I don't know
about you.
Out in the heat of the noon,
here where the road splits in two,
all of these words that you use
might become a little hard
to refuse.
That day will come.
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5. |
The Same Five Words
02:57
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Never been a simple man,
who can hold down whiskey enough not to bother.
Never been a wealthy man
with a fresh-pressed ambivalence he picked up from his father.
Never been a skeleton
in a cold gray crypt with his ancestors nearby,
and I didn't let the stranger in,
because his weird thick face felt so out of place next to mine,
but the same five words have I
as old and bitter men,
and newborn children:
what the hell is happening?
Which of these bubbles do I fill in?
I got only respect for the con man,
because he gets them all,
and tears their baseless pride
down a size.
Now I'm not one for etiquette,
if you're not here late, then you're in for a long wait,
but I'm not a degenerate,
getting high on paint on the side of the interstate,
but I got the same five words
as old and bitter men
and newborn children:
what the hell is happening?
Which of these bubbles do I fill in?
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6. |
Lately
04:37
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Smoking like a furnace, spitting noises filling up the room.
Dying of asphyxiation, trying not to crack the window.
A smooth dissipation at a cool elevation I presume,
I don't know,
I don't care,
fire my waves into the air.
Loving like a liar, getting jolts out of a self-prescription.
Shaking off the side effects and prepping for another try.
A warm oasis harbors forms, fat and faceless on its shores,
I don't know,
I don't care,
send my regards to the people there.
I picked up my pieces this morning,
I stood up,
existed for some sixteen hours,
laid down,
and disappeared again.
I went to a blurry disorganized
landscape,
I kicked around confused and aimless,
woke up,
and disappeared again.
And I'm sorry -- you were saying something, you
hate the garlic in this food,
and the cold came on too soon,
and your family's fucked up too,
and it's just not fair that I,
never want to take your side,
now I'm begging you to try
to restrain yourself.
Because, baby, it's all you ever talk about.
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Cree Sullivan Detroit, Michigan
Bluesy/groovy singer songwriter living in the Detroit area. Book me for gigs: promise I'm vaccinated.
Also check out all the angsty prog rock I released in college.
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