Martin Donovan Songs

a theory for color, a science of the discontent
as alibi, the consequence of heaven, spent
reincarnating with all of my changes saved
clickin’ and draggin', the gravity but not the grave

and
I stand there - just like Martin Donovan
deer in the headlights from the wedding in the song
(from that part from the Song of Solomon)
all i can do is stare - unfastened from inside of me
can't make up my mind - am i Copernicus or Ptolemy?

and, “who is that sleeping, on a bench in a station?"
stuck with no ticket - with no destination
no cop in the hallway, no face in the window
no coat in the foyer, nobody that we know...

and he stands there - just like Martin Donovan
all he can do is stare - a blank look on his face like Carl Solomon
marooned, alone - my sad - my sad pale policy
oceans of emotions off a highrise of events
that i just can't help falling in

(so much for that previous self, guess that happened to myself)
(so much for that previous self, guess that happened to myself)

i stand here - just like Martin Donovan
am i denim or leather? fish... fowl... fair weather?
a feather, a number, the letter, the slingshot, the stone? no...
a lesser, a better, the bomb? a king or a beggar?

May I take a picture of you
Right now, without further to do
While you raise your foot up out of your little black skirt
And you slap your tongue like Parker Posey in Flirt

This is not what I'm here for
There's got to be a lot more

The taste of the sweet coffee when it's raining outside
The surprise of the sunrise when you just went out for a ride
Afternoons in the library, peeping about
All tose poems that I've saved but never printed out
That lonely morning on the top of the hill by the lake
I sat and heard nothing but the sound lakes make
That evening I spent in Brooklyn with some arty upper crust
Smoking drinking and swearing like Martin Donovan in trust

This is not what I'm here for
There's got to be a lot more

May I not help you untie and unzip
And just lie, feeling your hair on my hip
Your breasts hang so neatly as you bend over
And they brush so gently against each other

But this is not what I'm here for
There's got to be a lot more

We tried to find a radio station
You smoke and drive, and I adjust the wave attenuation
I buttoned my lip, I shaded my eyes, I rode along, my hands in my pockets
Struck a pose and tried to look like Martin Donovan
But I couldn't shut up, I couldn't relax, I couldn't stay cool. As a matter of fact,
I kicked my boot until the static... cracked

The hard sell - a living hell went way beyond your means (escape velocity)
The real amphetamine was somewhere in between (statictricity)
The still-dead issues that stand up in your way (when it's over when it's over)
One less-than-beautiful day

I wanna live like Arthur Rimbaud
I'm gonna quit this gig and move on down to Bora Bora
I'm gonna get laid, I'm gonna run guns,
I'm gonna find God in the midday sun from Singapore to Galveston
From Istanbul to Ho Chi Minh, from New Orleans to Tierra del Fuego
Gonna shut my mouth, it won't happen again

Years spent tuning out the static in your veins (escape velocity)
The long haul trip-and-fall put upright again (statictricity)
Well wasted, knowing the end result will be (when it's over when it's over)
One less-than-beautiful scene

Sometimes I see a white-hot sound and all I hear is a piercing light
And I realize I'm not all right
The more you have the less you care, the less you care the more you lack
Gonna kick my boot until the static cracks
Until the static cracks
Crackstatic

Here's a quote from an article Ron Hawkins and The Rusty Nails:

Many of Hawkins' songs have a complex web of allusions to movies, books or places around the world. Hawkins admits he has drawn criticism by writing allusions into his songs.

"Once in a while I've written the name of a street in Argentina or some book or some actor that most people might not know, and people will say, 'Isn't that kind of exclusionary?' And for me, it's like I'm sure there are other people out there who are like me who will hear 'tried so hard to look like Martin Donovan' and they'll wonder who Martin Donovan is and they'll look for it. Or even if they don't look for it, maybe they'll see a Hal Hartley film and go, 'Oh, that's Martin Donovan!' and it might just kinda be fun. I always try to make sure that I don't ever do it to be elitist. For me it's always just fun, it's like Easter eggs or something."