.. Patrick Mooney
|
Thursday Night Slow Ride (With jazz on the side) Got a full tank of gas A pocket full of hours Open road that leads nowhere A starry night and a feeling of forever I'm taking your hand As we slowly Drive up the valleys Watching the starry night Slide around to meet us Moving smoothly down The easy curves Of the hills Listening to Mr. Charles Mingus Listening to the night As we slap some rubber down Mingus slapping his bass Imploring us to listen As he tells us The truth Saying Better git it in your soul Better git it In your soul Better git it in Your soul Mingus slapping fast time We got miles to go No promises to keep Miles to go and Mingus slapping fast time Mingus and miles and stars Mingus and miles and stars Mingus and miles and stars Swirling all around In your soul, in my soul in our Soul Swirling like a starry night Swirling like time lost in the hills Swirling like the sighs in your breath Swirling and Sliding down the slow curves Of hills And valleys Lost in our own soul Breath We are almost there Breath Lost in our soul Breath We are almost there Breath in Breath in Breath in ...Freedom Lingua Franca I have always been disappointed With text books Which teach languages From foreign lands They never give the phrases you really need They teach you The pen is on the table Or I do not know where the goats could be Right now as I sit across from you We try to reconcile the situation To reach some resolve I realize I have never been in this place before That I do not know what to say So I say to you The pen is on the table And you say I do not know where the goats could be Ode To An Old Maroon Beater (Cruising through LA on 3/4 of a tank of gas) My old beater is The only place in LA I'm still allowed to smoke I'm feeling randy Looking for the promise Of sexuality I've got nowhere to go So I'm going everywhere Searching for the shadow Of a woman who died Before love could fade Leaving me feeling Like a fountain in the rain Jittery with the caffeine high And nicotine haze on my cool shades I'm looking for relief And any road pointing east Promises home And Dizzy blowing Kush out of my radio Feels as good as the girls look But it's all just a reminder That each mile is a minute Never to be lived again Lost and wasted in a city That holds no pleasure for me My old maroon beater Looks like shit But she runs like the devil Like a Keith Richards riff Like we have a purpose Her big shoulders are pushing through The crap of the streets As if my old beater Wise with miles and years Tired with time and pain Knows the road to truth She just needs a little understanding To help get me there Main Page
|
