Make your own free website on Tripod.com

The Lyric Jungle
False Start
Home
A Future Me
Avenue C'd
Belly Under
Better You Than Me
Brilliant Petty Crime
Built Like Switzerland
Come To Cleveland
Diamonds are Forever (and so are Grudges)
Dress Down
Due Course
Every Horse
False Start
Fool Girl Parade
From What is Good
The Fundy Bay Forecast
Heartland, Heartburn
I'll Take It...
I Might Have to....
Two-Toned Gallery
In With The Old
It's Not Yesterday
Just Four Times More
Leeway
Make Do
Makeshift Grounds
Mind Done Run
Mouth the Words
Nothin' Too Special
Opaquer Place
Planet Placement
Rubber Souled Shoes
Scaled
Science Can't Be Coy
Shamrock Days
Shenandoah Waltz
Slips My Mind
Something to Unleash
Squinting Optometrist
Stump House Thanks Song
Tell-tale Sign
There, There
Trickster
Worn

Written June 2000.
 
Siobhan never plays this song b/c it makes her too sad.
Sorry.

Ran the length of Manhattan, couldn't get far enough.
Staring at the Hudson, still not feeling tough.
I was ready to run, guess I jumped the gun to
run around in circles--that ain't no riddle, nor no pun.
Watching water lap, wishing for some past
to latch onto something--a log, a rope, a raft.
Even when I run things go so slow
where everything I have gets pulled down by undertow.

A false start or not even.
That had me for a beginning.

Circles should shift and bend,
but this is a line with an end.

Can't look at SoHo without getting down
all the while mustering my best upsidown frown.
Seems what I need is an East Avenue touch
but chosen solitude don't hurt me much.
Can't tolerate being compensated--
Look at me--22!--and already I'm jaded.
If it's good to see me then why you be borough-leaving?
Sad part is, part of me is still believing.

A false start or not even.
That had me for a beginning.
That had me for a beginning.

Circles? Please shift, please bend,
please don't let this line have an end.

Bust pass the bus, ain't stop for breath
cuz every side street is where your memory is kept.
One of these days, the Hudson'll have its day and
overflow onto concrete--Manhattan's a Paradise Bay!
But until I swim over Chelsea I must run
until my thoughts of you are baked and cooked and done.
When that river finally floods,
I'll rest these legs of mine and say--babe, you done good.

A false start or not even.
That had me for a beginning.
That had me for a beginning.
That had me for a beginning.