Well there's poison running through our veins
and through the world we're in.
There's sickness in my soul, and you 
could be my medicine.
I'd let you be the bitter pill
that silver-lines the night
and if the storm clouds gather round me,
still, I know I'll be all right.
I'll just come on by for one more dose of you.
I'll just call you up and hope that I get through.

There's music in the soil
and there's ashes in the air.
There's music in the static
that's been running through your hair
and it's echoing the electric storm
that's coming on the wind,
but I don't care when it gets here
and I don't care where you've been,
I'll just come on by for one more dose of you.
I'll just call you up and hope that I get through.

If I had to walk a thousand miles
to wash up by your door
I'd hitch hike all but twenty
and I'd doze off in the car,
and as we rattled through the hubcaps
and the cities and the snow
all my dreams would be about you,
and that is how you'd know
that I was coming back for one more dose of you.
I'll just call your name and hope that I get through.

And when I finally made it there
you left me in the hall.
You carved me out a space
between the doormat and the wall.
But home is where you hang your head
in pennance and in shame
and the promised land's a doorstep
where the buzzer has your name
so I'll keep waiting here for one more dose of you.
I'll just call you up and hope that I get through.

When you're distant as the new moon
you still hold me like the tide.
So now I lay me down to sleep 
with nothing by my side
but there are forces in the emptiness,
there's gravity and fate,
and if they can pull me back to you
I know it's not too late
to keep on coming back for one more dose of you.
I'll just call your name and hope that I get through.

12 responses total.

I'm certain that someone must have come up with the phrase "home is where
you hang your head" before me.  The question is, who was it?  (And if
nobody claims it within a month, it's _mine_....)

I have no idea.

By the way, wake up, everyone!  Is the poetry cf dead?

It's not dead, it's just sleeping.

In a proverbial sense, then, is it a dog or a giant?

But home is where you hang your head
in pennance and in shame

'tis a really cool line, but unless memory deceives me (and it often 
does) the same sentiment (if not same wording) is used in Stephen 
King's "It" along with a few others. One portion of the book hold 5 or 
6 itterations of the same sentiment, one of which is my allt ime 
favorite quote "Home is the place where if you have o go there they 
have to tie you up"

That aside, this was a well wrought piece, the style is undeniably 
Orinoco, but the feeling (flavor if you will) is very different, never 
thought I'd read a piece of yers that left me feeling remorseful. If 
that was the intent, then well done :) If not...uhmmm...consider it an 
undocumented feature <g>

I've never seen you post lyrics before, Dan.

Well hey, there she is!  Our fw busy with life.  ;)
Good to see you.  Poetry's been rather dead..

It's SLOW, not dead. ;)

I've never really written lyrics before.  This is a first attempt.  (...and
there's chords and everything!  very exciting!  now if only I could play the
guitar....)

having chords does *not* necessitate a guitar.. you can do it with a 
piano.

Even so, what are the chords?

resp:8  Wow, there's another face I haven't seen for a LONG time!  
(this is lumen, just under a new ID)

Well, you _can._  It doesn't suit the song very well.  And I can limp through
it well enough on a guitar, it just doesn't sound like anything anyone would
want to listen to yet.

sudden cartoon images of dan hobbling around using a guitar as a pony...

yeah, life is yeah, I'm alive.  so's robert. (:

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