Raygun Suitcase (1995)

Folly Of Youth
I want to be your suitcase.
I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal.

I want to be your ray gun.

I aim to be your ray pistol.
I want to light the way across your starless lonely nights.

I aim to be a suitcase.
I want to hang around inside your Greyhound terminal.

I want to ride the baggage car of your own mystery train.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Electricity
A city is the stones.
The people aren't important.
Whoever said they were?
No, that's a modern idea.
People breed and die.
They come and they go.
Faithless.

The stones are true.
They don't die.
They won't betray our fathers.
The stones are true.

The stones speak the language of our fathers.
Hopes and fears we don't understand,
like poetry.

Nobody understands.
All the words that we've cherished for so long fall on deaf ears.
Children, hear our hopes and fears.
Hope and fear.

In awful solitude, the stones speak only to themselves.
Whispering in the dark.
Strange talk.

The sun sets. People flee.
In the surrounding hills they huddle against the empty darkness around their suburban campfires.
Above, in the sky, the stars come undone.
Below, in the city, there's nothing but strange talk
that feels like all the faded hopes that never were.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Beach Boys
Somehow I must love the pain.
The hollow earth, on it the sound of rain.
Burn my home.
Burn my shoes.
Burn down the glorified Home of the Blues.

Wake up, then. Don't be slow.
Drunken sailors are blocking up the main road.
They're up in arms. They're reeling on their feet.
Milling round, they're marching on the Home of the Blues.
Marching on the Home of the Blues.

Say my name low and sweet.
Then you'll go away. We'll never meet.
In awhile, I'll be there, too,
in the rain.
Marching on the Home of the Blues.

Nobody can feel all the things that we feel.
Nobody knows how it is always leaving
and never to go.
Marching on the Home of the Blues.
Marching on the Home of the Blues.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Krauss - Yellin
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Turquoise Fins
Can't we stop along the way?
We just passed by a place
called Elvis Is Alive
Museum and a shop
where
we can get souvenirs and a postcard or two.

Jack says, Man it's awful hard
to be the one that everyone
was waiting for.
It's lonely in the dark.
when
media priests of the Big Lie own all of the words.

Did you ever wonder
why
your Elvis fans were so
much nicer people than
the people who laugh at
them?

Turquoise fins in Pomona.
Turquoise fins in Winona.
Turquoise fins in Corona.
Turquoise fins in Oceana.
Turquoise fins in Alcona.
Turquoise fins in Alatoona.
Turquoise fins in West Molina.
Turquoise fins. Altadena.
Turquoise fins. downtown Medina.
Turquoise fins. Issaquanah.
Turquoise fins. West Issaquanah.
Albany.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Vacuum In My Head
I've got a vacuum cleaner in my head.
It sucks up everything I know.
Darling. I'm not tongue-tied
but I've got a vacuum cleaner in my head.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex,
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Memphis
In the ghost town inside of my heart
all the downtown is parking lots.
At the drug store at 9th & Payne they stock the Bitter Pill.
They say, Will we see you again next Tuesday?
What more can we do for you, Mr Johnson, sir?

Pass the word around them Golden Pools.
I've been elected King of the Fools.

At the barber shop, they never close.
They'll cut your hair. They'll shine your suit.
Ya look fine, mister.
You look sharp.
We can tell how well you play the part.

In the rain, the streets are on fire.

At the city hall, the mayor gives away the key.
He says, Look around. Make yourself at home.
Everything we do for you is our pleasure.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Krauss - Yellin
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Three Things
I've checked in and now I can't check out.
I guess my life is in transition
from one kind of a life to another
but from what kind of a life to what other?

I find myself living in Heartbreak Efficiencies
at the corner of Governor & West 114th St.
Six units and no doorbells.
What do I need a doorbell for anyway?

All of the men and their women in the neighborhood
choose to shout at each other in the streets.
Every Saturday. Early Sunday.
I tuned in. They won't tune out.

The man in Number 2 hanged himself last month.
I think I know why he chose the laundry room
but I wonder what became of his two little girls
and who it was that came to take them away.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Don't Worry
Here she comes.
Like the rain.
Like the wind.
Like the wild, wild wind
tearing the roof off of somebody's heart.

In a way I hoped that we might continue as friends.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Ray Gun Suitcase
I want to be a suitcase.
I want to hang around in your Greyhound terminal.

I want to be a suitcase.
I want to ride in a baggage car.

I want to be a ray gun,
shrinkwrapped from a ray gun factory.
I want to be the torch for your starless night.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Red Sky
In Texas, there is a bayou.
Cross that bayou, there is a highway.
Down the highway, there is a town called Houston.
On Mars, there is a red sky
and beneath it there are no blue eyes.

Below me, there is a table.
The table is cold as ice.
My elbows on the table are as cold as ice.
Through the screen door, there is a bug light.
On the wireless, there is a ballgame.

While on Mars, there are no women
and, as well, there are no gray skies.

At NASA, they build the rockets
and they need a place to go.
While I know that someone once lived here,
someone like you,
I cannot recall who.

Mars has no women.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Wheeler
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Montana
In the state of Montana, in the Year of the Ford
Nineteen Hundred and Fifty-Four.
People are leaving.
They're driving all night.
Women are crying.
They're frozen in light.
And we roll on the river.

Our river is black.
Our river is deep.
Headlights and moonlight,
a space full of grief,
secrets and heartaches must carry the load.
The heart of the thing is the thing we don't know.
And we roll out the barrel.

Lo and behold, the night is too long.
Anchored in heartache, afraid of the dawn.
Nobody changes.
The truth is all gone.
Bosses say everybody must go.
And we roll on the ribbons,
the ribbons of our dreams.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Krauss - Yellin
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



My Friend Is A Stooge
My friend's a stooge for the media priests.
He does the weather map for Channel 3.
He smiles alot when I take him home.
Stares at the rug if I leave him alone.
Lays around the house in misery.
He toes the line for the company.

He's living life like a Hollow Man,
hiding out in a Hollow Land.
My friend is a stooge for the media priests.

In the morning, with his hand on his heart,
to keep the world safe from falling apart,
he pledges allegiance to the Land of Thrills.
No one there's born to pay their bills.

My friend's a stooge for the media priests.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Hamann
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Down By The River II
Down by the river, corn is creeping.
Cry for my lover, lover's sleeping.
Bad as it gets, gotten worse.
I want to run, had to learn to crawl.

The house on fire. The treaty broken.
I call for the law. The law's a token.
As bad as it gets, it's gotten worse.
I want to run, I had to learn to crawl.

Trip is the worst. I don't mean maybe.
I call for the captain. She cries like a baby.
As bad as it gets, it's gotten worse.
I want to run. I had to learn to crawl first.

Bye-bye.
Bye-bye, baby, my friend.
And she cries, and she cries.
And she, and then she...

I mighta not known. I mighta not guessed.
I mighta been fine if she had never confessed.
As bad as it gets, it's worse worse.
I want to run, I had to learn to crawl.

Bye-bye. Bye-bye, baby, my friend.
It's time to leave and I don't know when.

Writers: Thomas - Jones - Temple - Krauss - Yellin
©1995 Ubu Projex.
Lyrics by David Thomas.

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