And on the jukebox I play
There is nothing I can do
against your coming.
So before we leave:
If I die today, bury me on Highway 15,
the graveyard in between the symphony of
Many Season’s Church and Rob’s Garage.
It’s hard to say if the sun will flash through the clouds
like a cop’s badge to warm the deathly cold which is
the weather to bury the dead. Sing this land is
your land this land is my land, but we
write the verses to say what needs to be said.
And if you can’t make it to my final highway rest stop
just stick a harmonica out the window of a car moving at high speed,
This ghost-blown reed is when you hear the wind.
Its sweaty palm answers are subtle, just like the
sadness and disappointment in the waitress and patrons’ eyes
who came each night to be inspired
and if I stood unperspired it means
they left empty-handed.
To be candid,
we can turn fast-food chains into second-hand bookstores
and the world will be well-read,
but in the Valley of the Dead before Death, you can’t hold your breath.
I’m gonna be a literary obscene green lizard
with my tail curled up like a garden hose,
a choir is couture, Johnson in a Rose.
And I’m gonna make a splash and a mad dash,
I grab a crayon, a grey dawn, and I draw a bath.
And I let watercolours run and I smear it with
beads of sweat behind a cigarette.
In the Garden of Good and Evil, I ain’t dead yet.
This is hobo erotic hip-hop. My body of work
will be more diverse than the vinyl at your new-and-used record shop.
into the club floats a mischievous breeze and
I’m flipping through a Bukowski book leaning against
an old jukebox. It reads like the fox. I run with the hunted.
And though I wasn’t maybe the happiest man in the world,
I was sure the luckiest man alive.
In the cherry blossom graveyard renewing my vows.
On my tombstone write: “He was an archaeologist
in a sandstorm dream who followed a northern star
while it snowed.”
If I die today quit your fucking day job
and hit the road.
excerpt from "Before We Leave," Tons of Fun University. Verse by C.R. Avery
---
If I die I will need WAC to carry me to the next world.
against your coming.
So before we leave:
If I die today, bury me on Highway 15,
the graveyard in between the symphony of
Many Season’s Church and Rob’s Garage.
It’s hard to say if the sun will flash through the clouds
like a cop’s badge to warm the deathly cold which is
the weather to bury the dead. Sing this land is
your land this land is my land, but we
write the verses to say what needs to be said.
And if you can’t make it to my final highway rest stop
just stick a harmonica out the window of a car moving at high speed,
This ghost-blown reed is when you hear the wind.
Its sweaty palm answers are subtle, just like the
sadness and disappointment in the waitress and patrons’ eyes
who came each night to be inspired
and if I stood unperspired it means
they left empty-handed.
To be candid,
we can turn fast-food chains into second-hand bookstores
and the world will be well-read,
but in the Valley of the Dead before Death, you can’t hold your breath.
I’m gonna be a literary obscene green lizard
with my tail curled up like a garden hose,
a choir is couture, Johnson in a Rose.
And I’m gonna make a splash and a mad dash,
I grab a crayon, a grey dawn, and I draw a bath.
And I let watercolours run and I smear it with
beads of sweat behind a cigarette.
In the Garden of Good and Evil, I ain’t dead yet.
This is hobo erotic hip-hop. My body of work
will be more diverse than the vinyl at your new-and-used record shop.
into the club floats a mischievous breeze and
I’m flipping through a Bukowski book leaning against
an old jukebox. It reads like the fox. I run with the hunted.
And though I wasn’t maybe the happiest man in the world,
I was sure the luckiest man alive.
In the cherry blossom graveyard renewing my vows.
On my tombstone write: “He was an archaeologist
in a sandstorm dream who followed a northern star
while it snowed.”
If I die today quit your fucking day job
and hit the road.
excerpt from "Before We Leave," Tons of Fun University. Verse by C.R. Avery
---
If I die I will need WAC to carry me to the next world.