Flowers In The Mourning
First Train To Chicago
It smells like death in my house.
And I hear yelling of a different sort.
I'll go to the top floor of this mansion
before I go out the door.
And now there's grief that they will feel,
but it's only in my head.
My mother can't cry, she's just blacked out,
I sing, "Mama, you've made your bed."
Now it smells like death in Chicago,
the farthest I went away,
maybe it follows me everywhere,
'cause now the whole city's in pain.
The Buffalo's Son
When it rains my senses retreat,
and I can't hear anything.
Water will flood the streets,
but I can't smell anything.
So I dream about bungalows,
and this kid that I met,
he's the buffalo's son and
he doesn't know it yet.
You see, we are mostly made of water,
so he and I are like a flood.
We'll run away to Chicago, together,
even if we're not in love.
My second cousin when to grad. school
in a place called Kalamazoo,
that's the first thing I think of
when life has been renewed.
It's just a random fact,
or memory at that,
that tells me I'm alive,
and makes my blood crawl back.
So I was listening into headphones,
and the car pulled out of the drive,
the man was late for work,
I mean, it was half past nine.
But nobody seemed to be worried,
things are different iin this town,
addresses are painted on mailboxes,
and nobody lives in the now.
It could be about the future,
it could be related to the past,
but nobody cares about today,
days end, it won't last.
The Greyhound Home
So I decided this is where I had to stay,
since I was no longer dying.
But when things like that hit reality,
well I feel close to crying.
So it's just as well that I return
to the home of the buffalo's son,
but long-distance transportation costs money,
and of that, I have none.
A Holiday Party
So I made a million dollars,
off a book about my travels,
but my family didn't read it,
'cause then the truth would be unraveled.
And every seperate string,
would hold a secret of its own
and the royalties still coming in,
get me this much closer to home.
I spent some on a Christmas tree,
to use as a distraction,
the rest was put into rigging and winning
the 2008 election.
And so I made my way to the desert,
where it smelled of fame there, too.
I sent my family a post card that said,
"As always, thinking af you."
Then I turned on the windshield wipers
in my VW van.
It wasn't raining but it seemed
to smear and blur the land.
Luckily, the stage was cleared,
and I got an intermission for a year,
a break from average life,
following great applause and cheer.
And I guess now people just wait,
like they haven't done it before,
in fact they always wait for answers,
before their hearts are torn.