Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer
mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta
be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue
and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when
your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try
you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul
you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from
the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers
turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens
and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin
with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly
with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken
that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just
what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin',
on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling,
in the space I'm talking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am
I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am
I running
What am I saying, what
am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing,
on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin',
in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in
the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm
all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am
I breaking
What am I giving, what am
I taking
But you try with your whole
soul best
Never to think these thoughts
and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain
ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why
they're around
Just waiting for a chance
to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em
when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might
catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed,
from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for
the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream
that was screaming
And you know that it's something
special you're needin'
And you know that there's
no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land
to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special
all right
You need a fast flyin' train
on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and
shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on
a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming
and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a
hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that
don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets
in the book
Will be rollin' long after
the bubblegum craze
You need something to open
up a new door
To show you something you
seen before
But overlooked a hundred times
or more
You need something to open
your eyes
You need something to make
it known
That it's you and no one else
that owns
That spot that yer standing,
that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you
beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no
matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special
all right
You need something special
to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe
you heard
On some windy corner 'round
a wide-angled curve
But that's what you need man,
and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know
it too good
"Cause you look an' you start
getting the chills
"Cause you can't find it on
a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window
sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's
road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's
fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood
wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit
stage
With that half-wit comedian
on it
Ranting and raving and taking
yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no
night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of
a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound
to tell
That no matter how hard you
rub
You just ain't a-gonna find
it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors
people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion
people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box
house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the
golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell
you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream
puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store
dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow
noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin'
in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and
ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look
at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look
at my skin cry
When you can't even sense
if they got any insides
These people so pretty in
their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other
day
Find it on the doorsteps made
out-a paper mache«
And inside it the people made
of molasses
That every other day buy a
new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star
generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth
of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend
and crack
And before you can count from
one to ten
Do it all over again but this
time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal
and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other
in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either
in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the
ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that
ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin'
you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they
know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out
of it quick
And make all kinds of rnoney
and chicks
And you yell to yourself and
you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta
be like that
Ain't there no one here that
knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that
knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AINÕT REAL"
No but that ain't yer game,
it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you
can't see yer face
You gotta look some other
place
And where do you look for
this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this
lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this
oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this
candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this
hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk
down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through
two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two
kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church
of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn
State Hospital
You'll find God in the church
of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie
in the Brooklyn State Hospital
And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown
Marco Giunco |
Work | Basket | Music | Words |