"Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hands"
Primitive Radio Gods
Jan lays down and wrestles in her sleep
moonlight spills on comic books
and superstars in magazines
an old friend calls and tells us where to meet
her plane takes off from Baltimore
and touches down on Bourbon street
we sit outside and argue all night long
about a god we've never seen
but never fails to side with me
Sunday comes and all the papers say
Ma Teresa's joined the mob
and happy with her full time job
am I alive or thoughts that drift away?
does summer come for everyone?
can humans do as prophets say?
and if I die before I learn to speak
can money pay for all the days I lived awake
but half asleep?
a life is time, they teach us growing up
the seconds ticking killed us all
a million years before the fall
you ride the waves and don't ask where they go
you swim like lions through the crest
and bathe yourself on zebra flesh
I've been downhearted baby,
ever since the day we met