Promise Ring--Nothing Feels Good

IS THIS THING ON?

delaware are you aware of AIR SUPPLY
and television 
delaware are you still there
is this thing on?
am i coming down

delaware where are you
where are you from philadelphia
are you awhere are you tonight are you
(do you remember the 70's or the 17's)


PERFECT LINES

lets talk about the sound of the phone outside of texaco
from bell south to a southern belle
i traced all the letters on all of your letters
you never wrote in perfect lines
and i never wrote you perfect lines
why aren't all roads perfect lines?


RED & BLUE JEANS

nothing feels good like you in 
red and blue jeans and your white and night things


WHY DID EVER WE MEET?

between 19 and 40, for tea will have changed me
and turning from the invading light on my naked room
my naked room
our coffee stains and dusty coughing
you're always dressed and buttoned up
and your hair pinned up in circles
worn like a widow 
to second the motion of second nature
like two rafts knotted and still where sound is lost and found
but i fear it's all coming back to me
under that threat of sky we lie together
why care about the weather
it only ends in dark


MAKE ME A CHEVY

make me a chevy
because an old chevy made me
and a young one makes me a chevy
where would i go and how do i explain your body to the rest of my day
i'm not as good as the interstates are
i just can take you that far
maybe dick clark and davey move a car
but not as good as the interstates are
i can't take you that far away
so stay


HOW NOTHING FEELS

(instrumental)


A BROKEN TENOR

red
blue
where are you tonight
you say everything just right
everything's just right
i live on a dead end street where men and women meet
the countries really far from me
where the seasons get universal
yeah, the seasons get universal
why are you still surprised by a quart of gin and a quarter scotch
a quiet airplane and an hour off the clock
where are you?
your hair knows
your hair knows the top of your t-shirt and your back was up in arms about it
but i'm not as good as the inner states are
i can't take you that far
to a polish town in german tongues and in time with irish rounds
he thinks every russian girl is you
did he hear?
he didn't hear here


RASPBERRY RUSH

down the ferry, our eyes eager for indians
down the ferry with wild irish you never know where you are
and you never know our eyes
eager for indieans
down the ferry with wild eyes even lately
where you're wearing a dirty coat of sound


NOTHING FEELS GOOD

i don't know east texas from louisiana
and i don't know alabama or where atlanta lies tonight
and indianapolis
summer in park and recreation pools
and car-sick vacations in size eleven in "I'm going to heaven" shoes
i don't know god
i don't know anyone or if anything will be alright
like i don't know billy ocean from the ocean floor
i don't own any albums
i don't know anything
i don't go to college anymore
i've got my hands on the one hand
but i don't know where to put them
but on the other hand
i don't know if i'll talk my way out of this one tonight


PINK CHIMNEYS

where's new england in my life?
it's only cold when you sleep alone
and pink chimneys in maine couldn't keep me away


B IS FOR BETHLEHEM

your neck is craned a lazy quarter 
of the distance down your back
creating a reason for the blood to go there
to know now my only veins are your hands across my back
where you're resting
where you rest broke from the sins of our shoulders to struggle and end
run its motors to waters and everything follows
cried at the funeral because you can go anywhere
to be hallowed by thy name and mine name ours
i'm dying to try to stop the wind
leave the leaves left
and leave to be hollowed by thy name and mine name ours
it's hours to be where b is for bethlehem
where jesus was a fisherman
i know he starts and finishes men but i don't know why
jesus was a fisherman
fishing men from the devil's hands
so the devil was made red to live a damned life
and the red in your face is touchable 
to the blues and the muscles in a memory
where i have lost my voice and i smell like paste again
where we'll be resting
when we rest
my bends bend my anchor to pull people out of the bible
to stand in the rain and be where
b is for bethlehem


FORGET ME

all trees are oaks
all birds are blue
in the mountains of a magnet 
are the mountains of you
i'm proud of my genius just like a painter 
and dumb like a poet i think
i can just say it from the throats of our wrists
with full sets of teeth 
vanilla almond teeth
from vanilla almond tea spent afternoons measuring time in spoons
a southern run for a late longing to drink
what's 80 miles in canada or 18 years in the mountains
where all trees are oaks and all birds are blue, ach' du
i thought everyone was you
where forget-me-nots and marigolds and other things
that don't get old
don't get old between one june and september 
you're all i remember
but i'm a lantern, my head a moon
i married a room where i'll at least keep my hands in order
and what about the air, lying awake.