Raygun Suitcase, 1995Beach Boys.Somehow I must love the pain. The hollow earth, on it the sound of rain. Burn my home. Burn my shoes. Burn down the glorified Home of the Blues. Wake up! Don't be slow. Drunken sailors are blockin up the main road. They're up in arms, reeling on their feet, or millin round, they're marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Say my name low and sweet. Then you'll go away, we'll never meet. In awhile I'll be there too, standing in the rain. Marchin on the home of the blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the.... Nobody can feel all the things that we feel. And nobody knows how it is always leaving and never to go. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the Blues. Marchin on the Home of the.... Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Krauss-Yellin. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Don't Worry. Here she comes. Like the rain. Like the wind. Like the wild wild wind tearin the roof off somebody's heart. Here she comes. Like the rain. Like the wind. Like the wild wild wind tearin the roof off somebody's heart. In a way I hope that we might continue somehow as friends. In a way I hope that we might continue somehow as friends. In a way I hope that we might continue somehow as friends. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Down By The River II. Down by the river, the corn is creepin. I cry for my lover, my lover's sleepin. Bad as it gets, gettin worse. I wanna run, had to learn to crawl. The house on fire, the treaty's broken. I call for the law, the law is a token. As bad as it gets, it's gotten worse. I wanna run, I had to learn to crawl. This trip is the worst, I don't mean maybe. I call for the captain, she cries like a baby. As bad as it gets, it's gettin worse. I wanna run, I had to learn to crawl first. Bye-bye. Bye-bye, baby, my friend. Bye-bye! Bye-bye, baby. And she cries. And she cries. And she... And then she... I mighta not known. I mighta not guessed. I mighta been fine if she'd never confessed. As bad as it gets, it's gettin worse. I wanna run, I had to learn to crawl first. Bye-bye. Bye-bye, baby, my friend. Bye-bye! Bye-bye, baby. It's time to leave, but I don't know when. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Krauss-Yellin. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Electricity. A city is the stones, not the people. Why should it be? People breed and die. They come and they go. Faithless. The stones speak - A language of hopes & fears that nobody understands - like poetry. Can a city die? Probably not. But like the insane do in their awful solitude, it speaks only to itself. Nobody understands. Nobody understands. All the words that we've cherished for so long fall on deaf ears. Children, hear our hopes and fears. Hope and fear. And maybe after all the years, the city does go mad too - whispering in the dark, strange talk. Nobody understands. Nobody understands. All the words that we've cherished for so long fall on deaf ears Children, hear our hopes and fears. Hope and fear. The sun sets and people flee, and in the surrounding hills, they huddle against the empty darkness, around their suburban campfires. Above in the sky the stars come undone. Below in the city there's nothing but strange talk which feels like all the faded hopes that never were. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Folly Of Youth. I want to be your suitcase. I want to be... your suitcase! I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal. I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal. I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal. I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal. I want to be your ray gun. I want to be your... ray gun! I aim to be your ray pistol. I aim to be... your ray pistol! I want to light the way across your starless lonely nights. I want to light the way across your starless lonely nights. I want to light the way across your starless lonely nights. I want to light the way across your starless lonely nights. I aim to be the suitcase. I aim to be... a suitcase! I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal. I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal. I want to ride the baggage car of your ole mystery train. I want to ride the baggage car of your ole mystery train. I want to ride the baggage car of your ole mystery train. I want to ride the baggage car of your ole mystery train. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Memphis. In the ghost town, inside of my heart, all the downtown is parking lots. At the drug store, at 9th & Payne, they stock the Bitter Pill. They say, "Will we see you again next Tuesday? "What more can we do for you, Mr Johnson, sir?" Pass the word around them Golden Pools. I've been elected King of the Fools. At the barber shop, they never close. They'll cut your hair. They'll shine your suit. "Ya look fine, mistah. "Ya look sharp. "We can tell how well you play the part!" Pass the word around them Golden Pools. I've been elected King of the Fools. In the ghost town, inside of my heart, all the downtown is parking lots. And in the rain, the streets are on fire... At the city hall the mayor gives away the key. He says, "Look around. "Make yourself at home. "Everything we do for you is our pleasure!" Pass the word around them Golden Pools. I've been elected King of the Fools. In the ghost town, inside of my heart, all your downtown is parking lots. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Krauss-Yellin. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Montana. In the state of Montana, in the Year of the Ford, Nineteen hundred & fifty-four, people are leaving, they're driving all night. Women are crying, they're frozen in lights. And we roll on the river. Our river is black. Our river is deep. Headlights & moonlight, a space full of grief. Secrets and heartaches must carry the load. The heart of the thing is the thing we don't know. And we roll out the barrels. Lo & behold, the night is too long. Anchored in heartache, afraid of the dawn, nobody changes. The truth is all gone. Bosses say, Everybody must go. And we roll on the ribbons of our dreams. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Krauss-Yellin. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. My Friend Is A Stooge For The Media Priests. My friend's a stooge for the media priests. He does the weather map for Channel 3. He smiles alot when I take him home. Stares at the rug if I leave him alone. He lays around the house in misery. He toes the line for the company. He's livin life like a Hollow Man, hidin out in a Hollow Land. My Friend Is A Stooge For The Media Priests. In the morning with his hand on his heart, to keep the world safe from falling apart, he pledges allegiance to the Land of Thrills. No one there's born to pay their bills. He's livin life like a Hollow Man, hidin out in a Hollow Land. My friend is a stooge for the media priests. My friend's a stooge for the media priests. He does the weather map for Channel 3. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Hamann. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Ray Gun Suitcase. I want to be a suitcase. I want to hang around in your Greyhound terminal. I want to ride in your baggage car. I want to be a ray gun, shrinkwrapped from a ray gun factory. I want to be the torch for your starless night. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Red Sky. In Texas there is a bayou. Cross the bayou there is a highway. Down the highway there is a town called Houston. On Mars there is a red sky, and beneath it there are no blue eyes. Below me there is a table, and the table looks like ice. Thru the screen door there is a bug light. On the wireless there is a ballgame. While on Mars there are no women, and as well there are no grey skies. On Mars there are no women, and as well there are no grey skies. At NASA they build rockets, and they need a place to go. While I know that someone once lived here, now I cannot recall who. On Mars there is a red sky, and beneath it there are no blue eyes. In Texas there is a bayou. Cross the bayou there is a highway. Down the highway there is a town called Houston. On Mars there are no women, and as well skies are never grey. Mars has no women. Mars has no women. Mars has no women, ever. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Three Things. I've checked in and now I can't check out, it seems. I guess my life is in transition, from one kind of a life to another, from one kind of a life to another. I find myself living in Heartbreak Efficiencies, at the corner of Governor & West 114th St. - six units and no doorbells, but what do I need a doorbell for? All of the men and their women, in the neighborhood, choose to shout at each other in the streets, every Saturday night. Early Sunday! Early Sunday! Early Sunday! I tuned them in. Now, I can't tune them out. I checked in and now I... The man in #2 hanged himself last month. I think I know why he chose the laundry room, but I wonder what became of his two little girls, and who it was that came to take them away. I checked in and now I... I checked in and now I can't check out, it seems. I guess my life is in transition. From what kind of a life to what other? From one kind of a life to another. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Turquoise Fins. Can't we stop along the way? We just passed by a place called Elvis Is Alive Museum, and a Shop, where we can get souvenirs & a postcard or two. Jack says, "Man it's awful hard to be the one that everyone was waiting for." It's lonely in the dark, when media priests of the Big Lie own all of the words. Did you ever wonder why your Elvis fans were so much nicer people than the people who laugh at them? Turquoise fins, in Pomona, in Winona. Turquoise fins, in Corona, in Oceana. Turquoise fins, in Alcona, in Alatoona. Turquoise fins, in West Molina - Altadena. Turquoise fins, Downtown Medina, Issaquanah. Turquoise fins - West Issaquanah. Albany. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. Vacuum In My Head. I've got a vacuum cleaner in my head. It sucks up everything I know. I've got a vacuum cleaner in my head. It sucks up everything I know. Darlin, I'm not tongue-tied. Darlin, I'm not tongue-tied. Darlin. But, I've got a vacuum cleaner in my head. It sucks up everything I know. Darlin, I'm not tongue-tied. Writers: Thomas-Jones-Temple-Wheeler. ©1995 Bug Music. Lyrics by David Thomas. |