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Slingshot Professionals (2003) - paroles

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Message par kjp 18.07.08 0:10

Slingshot Professionals (2003) - paroles Slingshotprofessionnalsyq4


it was not two days. a night and a day
i look back at the man i was before
a sorry stranger banged up on the shore
your warm arms tore the walls down.
the devil with the damned things anyway
they were of no use, just a frame
from there he would watch, watch only.
not taking a part in this world.

i'd sold my mule and bale of hay
these shoes left, tattered and worn
they'd carry me to heaven or they'd walk straight to a hole
i didn't see you coming 'til i heard you there.
in one single breath, in two or three words
the old man crossed the bridge and down the side
and i was left standing holding my sword
dropped it in the ground, i didn't need it anymore.

a soul to sink into, ashing mine clean
i roolled like a hog on holiday
laughing boy laugh, smiling boy smile
this was no usual day.
my hunch back was straight backed my eyes were on fire
then i finally remembered what living used to be like.
playing in the ocean popping rhythms with your hands
turned the key in the lock and the door swung wide.

and what did we find inside?
a man with a reinvented view.
no shirt no pants, the hold hang bird is skined
floating in a cooking pot.
you stabbed me with honesty, passion and peace
and a will to move on with legs of steel
arms like popeye, giddy like olive
dancing like sweet pea with a wide open grin
now i begin retelling teh story
of the lost boy in chains saved by a girl.

Window Grin

watch it bounce like water, meat under the stone
throw up a leg and try to beg your way bach home
smell the coffee boil in the corner pot
everything's in it but i can't make it stop
i ain't been drinking i say to the cup
it laughs at the little man as i drink up.

six big years since your head was around
lost it all in the middle there, you're back and now it's found
looks like god might play with crooked dice
eyes in the shadow and he doesn't look nice
a mean boy throwing with a dirty hand
as soon as he's not looking we'll sneak into the promised land.

sure the blue pills rock, mix the green ones in
no kind of trouble but a man with a smoke and no regard for kin
it's a lone lone window the faces watch through
you don't know who you're looking at, what you gonna do
he'll turnstile drop a coin change his clothes
put on a grin that nobody knows.

big hope for tomorrow like a flea on a cat
a two day life on a three day supply, the kids are all fat
a jagged spoon, a broken dish.
real as uncle benzedrine, a last life wish
i won't pretend to understand
why a lovely woman wants a sinkhole man.

Slingshot Professionals

calculated entry in the class of circumspection
reasoning, bargaining the last few drams of spirits
the serum of one's foolishness. truth be told in a cold pint head
16 ounces of pure warlord dripping down the side of the glass.

marching 'cross the fmily's' land the bagpipes and the drums
the skirts are flying high me boys, let's bust 'em in the shins
no matter nothing knowing, nothing owing save the garden say
of a crokked hobbled garish man with sundown in his eyes.

fifty year old walking stick worn through the lion's head
carrid proud like a saber on a limestone statuette the littles can't decide which to lust for, which to desecrate
imagination sits with the marbles in a drawer.

slingshot song and dancing blasting out the lead paned windows
wing whipped curtains sway this way like giant mockingbirds
those damned lads and lasses have forgotten how to play
hard pressed to find one ever learned how to sing.

Not So Far To Go

ginger dyed her hair red to it her name
burny pocked his arms with a pack of camel lights
long sleeves outdoors to keep the kids from crying
and ginger climbed the high wire just to make them cheer.

trapeze float in a buttercup parade
with clowns and plastic parachutes three red the same
clutched arms fire dropped in a bar in new york city
and it's not so far to go to find trouble.

a bus rattles downstairs, downtown flying
with a gren seat empty and a window cracked
sleeping john snores dreaming oceans and whores
all the while gluing tile on basement doors.

he's burny arms brother, 'ginger's' other mate
and it's too late to tap the till, the money's gone
arm holes long locks a house with nothing in it
and it's not so far to go to find trouble.

a thousand mile handhold might keep the party still
if the holes heal well and the hair stays red
we'll climb another roof top and scare the crooks away
a gypsy and a singer in the bone yard.

walking the moonlight, losing the sign
sleeping john wakes, he doesn't know where he is
a bus stop in up state a bar in new york city
and it's not so far to go to find trouble.

It's James Now

double r.j. is older know, he stays up watching the night snow fall
black bound book on the table dusty beside card tricks and games
NOW one by one he cuts the names from the back of the daily news
laying side by side they make quite a company of men.

all the things they've done and not done glaring under scope.
double r.j.'s mom she called thsi morning, all is well back home
"and how are you today, my son?" i'm fine, ma, i'm fine
seventeen pages set in place for a back line of memories.

new one's fighting for space and concern. walter winks across the cue
"folks are goin' out tonight i've got some weed, you comin'?"
then it's twenty four years later, the movie lot's still intact
the tables buried under truck bones and machine hop tools.

walter hasn't found his way from the park yet to page eighteen
all those girls, god, what were their names? should have kept their pictures
it's starting to blur on double r.j. they're rolling into one
except for elvin the snake and indian gerge and that guy you couldn't scare.

and that first kiss on the playground bought with sisters stolen ring.
so the odd discomfort shawl that drapes across his bony wings
is the loss of honest vision seers, pioneers and double dares
they'd set yur clothes on fire if you ever breathed a word.

double r.j. falls backwards, he can see further and further away.

Waiting For Marty

bourbon soda over ice, in the basement shade
got it made, no one here, just the beer man's dog
howling at the moon heat gnawing on a bone
waiting for marty to get home.

marty's in the bath house yanking out the gray
getting older ain't a party it's a good damn play
no wonder dogs howl. they can see the rider coming
waiting for marty to get home.

used to be a girl then a woman then nothing
the quilt is in the corner by the oak console
the phone rings once a day just like a daughter
waiting for marty to get home.

blend in with the city and the watering hole
doesn't talk he wants to think but he can't anymore
the basement game is over. there's food left in the fridge
waiting for marty to get home.

the milk man doesn't stop here and the bone is chewed to bits
stack of mail and old newspapers in the overgown yard
the light bulb on the back porch takes it's last breath
waiting for marty to get home.

Knock Louder

this makes as much sense as a frog on a chain
a leper knocking trees down with his fist
twisting my ear like i'm a school yard churl
you know i want to sit beside that long-legged girl
wearing overalls and daddy's boots and mom's old coat
let's sing one together grace, and savor every note.

burned a hole right through me where we stood last Sunday night
one little tossed off glance i don't know if you were there
but i felt the rod impale me, my body growing wide
as you climbed up on the ladder and made your home inside
i'm the same and then i'm not, you know, from when we tried before
please, gracie, please won't you come knock on my door.

you've surely done more pounding than i give you credit for
i'm a fool most times, unusually so, and an inveterate sage
with the wisdom of half a rock washed up on the sand
so many simple things i just can't understand
yet i know that i'm so tired of wondering where you've been
a friend like you i've never had, i don't want to lose you again.

we'll reinvent the toaster, ride a crooked wheel
give three cares for common sense then throw it in a can
i'll be myself beside you and you can do the same
no responsibility save the magic in your name
i'm done, i'm beat, i'm old, i've looked in every tree
let's be you and me now, let's be you and me.

Cardboard Box Of Batteries

make a dent in the shovel
run the mud through the sieve
paste your hopes on a wind mill blade
and plant it up on the hill.
a pencil harpened with a putty knife
a pretty girl as a pretty nun
maybe you wake and think this is great
i just want somewhere to run.

the walls blend into ceilings, faces disappear.
never enough time to think it out only time to forget i'm here.
the bill is on the table but i've got no coins for pay
a beer half circle around her name. what the hell did she say?

the wise are playing tther bll and the balls eyes look like mine
rolling around on the end of the cord i can't make up for down
a stream lined engine with a cog chipped out of the wheel
i remember a dirty joke or two but i can't remember the feel.

too much time alone i spend. a miser with a nickel worn
starving like a mother but i can't let go.
i'll spit the hours 'cross the room and kick 'em out of the door
hell, you can have them. just another thing i've got no use for.

and it's funny that this comes out dark. it's not that bad
there's still a sparkle of silver in my cavity that plays music in the winter
i've got a cardboard box of batteries hidden in a tire swing
a miners hat with a light on top and a handful of wedding rings.

Circle Wars

the sidewalk coughed up weeds and cracks
a book a magazine a penny and a dime
carl looked behind him making sure the scene was empty
breathed a sigh of bewilderment noting that it was.
not that he expected to see anita coming up
with a brown bull whip or a box of daffodils
night quiet bruised his ears and forced him into alleys
where the gravel crunch was friendly under polished army heels.

the steps on st. andrews seemed the best bet
to catch a little shut eye. anita could sweat some
or bleed a little inside or find him in the morning
hunkered down like a derelict with mustard on his chin.
the concrete froze his ass through the holes in his pants
winter's not the best time to make a martyr's point
carl caught the corner where the wind wouldn't get him
absentmindedly spun the ring 'round his finger with his thumb.

a tom cat screams like a baby in th back lot
just as carl's dreams kick in tight. the light keeps
stuttering hailstones between the boughs of a maple
so many voices in a one man night.
and he starts to see the fool behind the windshield
one hand on the steering wheel another in the air
trying hard to catch the jet stream to make the flying easy
but only grabbing hunger for another man's life.

anita makes the corner 'cross from jones wrecking yard
she's been walking half the night and oh her legs are tired
"why" she thinks "does carl have to take it so hard?
is it me that makes him lose who he truly think he is?
he's the same damn man he's always been
i love him like i always did, always.
what on earth will make him feel satisfied?
i love him ike i always id, like i always did."

she leans against the street light watching him sleep
watching him turn and turn in a tide pool
slowly walks across to the steps of st. andrews
and stands there looking a minute or so longer
the she tugs on his coat sleeve, "carl, please let's go"
he stands up but he doesn't say a word
walking side by side not touching nor explaining
just walking home to face down the circle wars.

Rusting Gate

tried my hand at company, wine poured out for two
blue charade that i have made while lying next to you
take the next thing home, my dear, leave me to my ways
the only clothes that seem to fit are the ones that walk away.

the first part of the traveling when enticement carries the weight
is always worth the settling earth around the rusting gate
the chain fals off the hinges squeak
the corners that call are not for the meek
so go away. go away.

the cut that bleeds incessantly will ne'er be stopped by aid
eyes that peal like church bells feel like the body print you made
in the bed of hope my dear i'll give that i will try
to hold myself in honor until you have to say goodbye.

the first part of the traveling when enticement carries the weight
is always worth the settling earth around the rusting gate
the chain fals off the hinges squeak
the corners that call are not for the meek
so go away. go away.

a laughing world in all its strife smiles from tongue to ear
a nickel for another wife a hundred for a year
take the first thing going south don't wait around to crack
a frozen vase in a parking space will never bring me back.

the first part of the traveling when enticement carries the weight
is always worth the settling earth around the rusting gate
the chain fals off the hinges squeak
the corners that call are not for the meek
so go away. go away.

Messages : 1334
Date d'inscription : 15/04/2008
Age : 49

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