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1. |
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Well, I’m making predictions
that maybe I’ve got something real this time
'cause you’re a beautiful song
that’s been hidden too long, and now
you’re always stuck in my mind.
So we could be murderers,
but of course not literally–
there’s just something in your eyes
telling me that you might
like to kill some time with me.
I’d like to say that I proved sleep wrong,
even if it’s only
for just this once,
when I could wake to the dream
of you lying next to me
in the fading autumn sun,
where you’d say:
"I really like spending
this remaining sunlight with you."
Then I’d nod and agree
because you would have stolen those words from me;
but if you’re a thief,
well, you’re the prettiest damn one
that I have ever seen.
I’m inviting you in
to take anything you’d like
from this broken person that
my friends call Mike.
You’ve already got me staying up late
and draining my ambition dry
with a guitar in my arms,
trying to figure out that song
that I said you sounded like.
But I never really come close,
and I never really expect to–
it’s just gonna die in the haze
of these sunset streets of late
'cause that’s the best I can do
ever since life gave me just
a margin of hope;
so everything I write just blurs on the page,
but I’m practicing my penmanship
and leaning to write smaller each day
in the hope that I can pen at least one thought
and write it down under your name:
so you’d be come the title of
anything that I’ve got to say
(because to me you’re just a dream waiting to happen anyway).
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2. |
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A lavender flame
dances on the horizon tonight;
and as her eyes peek through
the rear-view mirror beauty’s fading.
As she drives
she’s asking the clouds to cut in,
but getting the third degree from her skin.
She’s watching her home fade away,
and burning again.
And as she searches the mirror for dreams
she asks: “did I lie to you?
Would you like me to?
And pick a future just to end up
in his broken past?”
Now she’s fading fast:
running so quickly to a smile she thinks is true,
and finding out so soon
she still doesn’t know what she wants from life.
She’s struggling to find a way
to make this all bright,
but she’s engulfed in changing herself
through alcohol and the night sky.
So candles they burn and batteries leak,
and so she’s left in darkened scenes:
fables of far away, and the moon
as her alcoholic dream.
And now we know that this could never work (and it shows).
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3. |
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I’ve got these hopes I save
a little at a time,
like change in a bank,
until it feels just right;
then I grab my collection,
come over,
and ask you what I should do.
You say: "a dream
is only conquered one of two ways:
it’s either shattered on the ground,
or safely stored away;
and I can tell
by looking at this one
that this one
has got to die."
But instead,
I grab my coins and run to the fountain—-
I’m gonna wish
until I’m poor on the streets
for better care than sick room air
for all my dying hopes and dreams.
I’ll show them love,
even though they teased me my whole life
(I’ve gotta push and pull).
I’ll show them love,
even though they teased me my whole life.
I’ve gotta push and pull,
‘cause they’re too beautiful,
this one’s too beautiful,
to let die.
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4. |
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There are metaphors
that drove in the dark–
headlights off the whole way.
They kept the sun inside too long.
Now planes make stains on suits of grey.
But it’s pretty when you tell me
that you like the way it smiles,
and that you wish that for an instant
it could stay a little while;
but the comfort fades
as it starts to rain in the dark now–
we’re in the dark now.
You’re the light that’s incandescent,
the one that keeps me warm.
You’re the light that’s incandescent
amongst fluorescents.
But filament it breaks all too quickly,
and now I’m left with just the sound of our broken bond;
and I never want you as a shadow
because I’ll always remember
how bright you made my room.
And it’s pretty when you tell me
that you like the way I smile,
and that you wish that for an instant
I could stay a little while;
but the comfort fades
as it starts to rain in the dark now–
we’re in the dark now.
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5. |
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“Tonight was great,” you smiled,
and I thought the same.
So I asked: “Can you take me to that lake?
You know, the one that’s right by your house?”
You said: “Sure. Let’s leave right now.”
We walked in patterns, opposing parallels,
when my right foot stepped
your left foot fell
(even when we’re walking next to each other
we’re standing still).
When we got there, there was a man fishing across the way.
He was with his son, and they both looked bored
in their own special way.
I said: “Please don’t ever let me get like that
if I ever have kids.”
You said: “alright,”
so sincere were your eyes, as bold
as this kiss I never could give.
The sunrise seemed as unsure as your hands,
was it waiting for you to take this chance
at locking your fingers tight around me
and throwing away the key?
Sitting down, we were tracking the ascent.
Our shoulders brushed like we
were dusting for prints: so soft, so delicate,
and so tired from the lack of results.
“I don’t got much to offer,” you blurted,
“except a pocket full of watch batteries.”
“Yeah, what’s with that?” I asked with a smile.
You said: “Time, it dies so frequently,
and I want you to know we can move forward.”
I laughed and said I understood.
Time never knows when to accelerate,
but I knew you hoped, just like the spring, I would.
the rebellion of the sun rising against the night,
I asked to walk you home, said we should do this again.
You said: “sure, that’d be nice.”
We stood up, brushed off the sand, and soon enough
we were at your door.
We must have kissed for just a minute,
but each dying second faded more and more.
So if this is the slow death of time,
let’s build a casket for all this alkaline.
The time could always be now in our minds.
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6. |
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I’ve gone to bed with you stuck in my mind
as I drag my fingertips across my pillow,
trying to find a clear sign that you exist;
but I’ve got no proof besides this yellowed list
of all the things that you’ve given to me:
a couple answers, a few “thanks,”
those tricks I thought I saw up your sleeve
while you kept my eyes on your face,
and you talked to me
like I found your favorite place,
and it’s about time since you’ve been to mine
so frequently these days:
it’s that community
that’s buried deep below our skin,
with that place inside that seems so right
for you to rest in;
so I’m praying that you found it the same.
And that’s why you’re on my mind as it drifts away.
I woke up today on Christmas Eve
and all I was thinking about
was how you told me last night to give up
while I was knocked out (it’s a damn good idea,
without a doubt).
It’s easier said than done, I know, unfortunately;
but I think I stand a chance now
for my body to be free:
with all these bad choices I make desperately
trying to get out of this gutter caging me.
But I feel it deep within myself as I’m staring at the street
that the pavement’s just as high as I’ll get,
regardless of where you’ll be.
And I know now that you think the same,
but I still can’t help but smile
as you walk away.
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7. |
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Your bartending eyes are begging me to drink
until I’m drunk,
but I’m leaning off the edge of my seat.
It wouldn’t be wise making me lose my balance now,
unless you want me falling off
of this couch, and straight for you;
so let’s both admit
we love this fucking view, and that
the best we can do now is just to celebrate right.
So grab your guns and fire
into the quiet night
(you better believe now we’re gonna set things right).
We’ll make a rupture with
all our hopes and dreams–
packed with good intentions and TNT.
You’ll be a criminal with that crooked smile,
‘cause I can tell that your heart’s
just so damn volatile and confused;
so let’s make a toast
to all we can keep from this:
a bottle of champagne, our memories and wine,
three fingers of whiskey and ours intertwined.
So sleep tight; don’t worry now,
I think I’ve got it right:
just fall asleep
and we’ll dream side by side,
because Bill Watterson had got it right:
we can play together all night
in our dreams.
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8. |
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We’re changing store fronts and windows (it seems)
to decorate for holidays.
I’ll let you make a scene of a bitten tongue
and a forced goodbye, seeming as lifeless
as an old lullaby.
You deserve a reward
for keeping me confused,
but deep in my heart I know you’d refuse.
So let’s cut out our lies like grocery coupons:
save our two cents, and let each other move on.
I’ll be your odd friend, a jester you let loose:
good intentions and a stomach full
of chewed up old truths.
You be the review at the end of this chapter:
reminding me what I forgot,
but still stumble after.
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9. |
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I’m picking the pieces off the ground
of shattered words and broken sounds;
I’m tired of walking with these bloody footprints.
Your life just always trails behind
the sense of suffering you find
always replaces your good intentions.
We’ve got a thing in common now:
we’re always trying to find out how to make ourselves
look worse to us;
so come with me somewhere between
this sense of loneliness and fading dreams.
So please just remember, in this cruel, cold December,
that even if your heart’s left out in the snow
you’ve got friends among the changes, forming angels
to protect you from the cold.
We never know just what to do
because we always see in blue, getting choked-up
from our bad decisions.
We had a run-in with the nurse,
and taken a turn for the worse; but bandages
just led to our revisions.
And now you know I’ll be right here, Kristen,
nothing to fear. If you need the courage I’ll support you.
Come with me somewhere between
this sense of loneliness and fading dreams.
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10. |
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Lately I’ve been feeling like a bad architect
‘cause all my designs just go unnoticed,
but if I could just show you something
that would impress, I’d be so damn lucky.
‘Cause I’m hiding behind the shadow of a year
that helped nothing but loneliness reappear–
and like a childhood monster
it grows bigger with fear.
So I’m ducking beneath the sheets: the only things
that comfort me.
So just wake me when I’m free
from the shackles of this imprisonment,
guarded by a warden screaming “no second chances.”
If someone could just pick this lock
I’d be so content, and I’d go anywhere with them;
I’d go anywhere with them;
I’d go anywhere and
you’d hear me screaming
from the top of my lungs: “I’m finally free.”
I’d turn around and thank
whoever it was who released me;
‘cause my defective heart could give out anytime,
quite literally,
but figuratively I’ve learned it’s too damaged to receive.
So, I’m learning to wish on anything I can catch,
like a cold, a bad temper, or just a promise
that when a good time leaves she’ll always be a good guest
and hug herself straight into my memory.
And I know all of these smiles that I’ve gotten out of life
are just blades in an acre
with so many more in sight; and with
these friends I’ve got, I know I’ll be alright,
but sometimes it just gets to me:
while I’m fighting off sleep,
I’d rather be somewhere where
you’d hear me screaming
from the top of my lungs: “I’m finally free.”
I’d turn around and thank
whoever it was who released me;
‘cause my defective heart could give out anytime,
quite literally,
but figuratively I’ve learned it’s too damaged to receive.
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11. |
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It’s strange the way that grief works:
I keep thinking of your smile.
It seemed so limitless, like you were
making the best of life.
I thought about your Christmas gifts,
and how you always sent them early
and how you taped every ridge
so that they wouldn’t open in the mail.
So when I heard the news
it was like I had never stopped dreaming last night,
’cause it seemed impossible to think
you’d taken your own life.
I remembered not too long ago
you had sent me a birthday card,
and I wanted to read it again after I heard
that you were gone,
so I dug through the clutter
that always builds up on my desk,
and inside you wrote:
“it was great getting to see you at Tony’s wedding,”
and I feel the same.
Then you apologized for the card being a little late,
but please don’t worry, Aunt Joyce,
‘cause this “thank you” is the same.
And underneath your card
I noticed some more mail that I had.
My mom must have put it there,
and I never got around to reading it yet.
It was a credit card bill I was waiting for
and a CD I had ordered;
and it’s like you’re still here:
keeping me responsible with care,
and wrapping your Christmas gifts early
in the last thing that you wrote to me–
under a big fonted “Happy Birthday,”
in cursive, you wrote:
“Love, Aunt Joyce.”
Well here’s that “thank you” that I never got to give
(I’ll miss you, Aunt Joyce).
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12. |
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I’ve seen a lot of my feet
because I’d carry my head down;
and so many days
I never noticed that the light was around.
I’d get all caught up in the little things,
and they’d build up over time
like a barbed wire fence made up
of all the stupid shit in my mind.
And maybe I can see things clearer now,
or maybe this just one of my moods
I swim into too quickly, and then tally off under “lose.”
I’d like to think that it’s one of the former,
but the latter just sounds more right.
No matter what I think though
I know I’ve still got love in my life–because
I see your smiling faces
and I know you want to help me out.
When the wool’s so thick over my eyes
that I imagine you’re not around,
you burst open any cataract
because you’ve got the darkness figured out,
and you’re singing your wisdom loud:
“don’t worry, we’re here for you
until the sun decides to come out.”
And I’m not saying that I’m special,
or any different from you,
because I know that you have got your problems too.
And my hand’s always extended,
and you can take it anytime you’d like;
or if you’d rather
I could just sit and listen for a while. Because
we’ve just gotta try to make the best
of this world where we’ve been born.
And life’s a sine wave we ride up and down,
never staying in the same mood long.
But with my arms wrapped around your necks
I can play my favorite songs,
and we can all sing along;
and together our hands will keep our hearts strong.
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Ahh, Terra Firma, my first full-length release. I had wanted to put out a full-length Our Twilight Pastime CD ever since Selcouth/Sysiphian, and lo-and-behold, two years later I finally did.
All of these songs were recorded between 2005 and 2006, with some, such as Incandescent, being written around late 2004. Like all of my music, I had recorded this batch of songs in my bedroom, which I lovingly referred to as my “Roomcording Studio.” I’d spent so much time organizing the track listing, making the inserts (which were initially chock-full of errors), mixing the music, and burning the CDs, that it felt like a huge relief once it was finally done.
While most of these tracks had older versions previously released on Yo Banana Boy!, De(mo)caffeinated, and The Wave EP, I’ll Miss You and Small Tribute had never seen the light of day until Terra Firma.
Oh, and the cover art is supposed to be a doodle of a girl's face that I drew. The only facial feature I gave her was a nose. Someone once told me they thought it was a breast (the nose being the nipple). While that definitely was not my intention, it made me curious as to what my co-workers thought of me, since I pinned the doodle up in my cubicle the next day after I drew it.
I gave the album a release date of 3/1/2006. But I honestly am not exactly sure when it was released. Definitely around that time though. That you can be sure of.
I’ll Miss You, and the CD in general, is dedicated to the loving memory of my Aunt Joyce Tucker (1947-2005).
