Lambchop

When things blink just right
Like they're blinking here tonight
From the corner of my eye
They came, to be

Tell your trouble to
Someone stuck here just like you
Sucking in the smoke
Like it's going out of style

And I'll listen,
To what you have to say
You said it any way to me
And you'll listen
something special is at work
it's really not a chore to me

So put me in a bag
Or bury me in rags
The lady upstairs,
she made, me strong

Can't make it to the bar
Can't make it to the bath
Caught and confused
You give it up for this

Cause, I'll listen
To what you have to say
You said it anyway, though you're not, too sure
I'll listen
Because it means that much to you
You're everything I do, or see

They may not work it out

They say you walk around
As if a ghost had
Crossed your path
Or turned into a reading material
as it happens to be chosen
From the torn or taffeta
You're frozen in the
contemplation of a win

ok maybe that was alittle
heavy on the word play
but as first thoughts go
they were mostly to the right
as you register an itch
or the thing that makes you sweat
to accuse the weights
and measures of a lie

When things blink just right
Like they're blinking here tonight
From the corner of my eye
They came, to be

Tell your trouble to
Someone stuck here just like you
Sucking in the smoke
Like it's going out of style

And I'll listen,
To what you have to say
You said it any way to me
And you'll listen
something special is at work
it's really not a chore to me

So put me in a bag
Or bury me in rags
The lady upstairs,
she made, me strong

Can't make it to the bar
Can't make it to the bath
Caught and confused
You give it up for this

Cause, I'll listen
To what you have to say
You said it anyway, though you're not, too sure
I'll listen
Because it means that much to you
You're everything I do, or see

They may not work it out

Wearing a halo of mist
Glowing pink and purple
in the afternoon light
a sprawling from a hub
gave way to patches of green

the wine colored country
unfolded as we tumbled
into our rooms
and our travel kinks
floated away
as we stroked the sunrise
stained the lake a hazy pink

with the jade tree green rivers
or the apple trees
and the thought of wearing our sun screen
and evergreens
are layered
like feathers
at your feet

nothing but a blur from a bullet train
a picturesque
old teahouse
with a carp pond

as trundled out of the tunnel
as trundled out of the tunnel

Women help to create the kind of men they despise
Misery is often apparent of some affecting touches
That were composed under her name
Or, the dignity of criticism
increases the confusion in men

Her heart clenched, sexual
More breathlessly than if she had
And felt she was equipped
to understand them
The passage of time
increases the confusion in men
I've seen it

She loved the spare texture
of his difficult, and sad books,
and felt she was exceptionally
equipped with Stanley Wilson's
distractions

rug that opened as a well of color at her feet

was everywhere,
and the lamps
in the middle of the day:
The low,
deeply recessed
casement windows were running with rain
And wet leaves.