Surf's Up! (2001)

Runaway.
Little sister,
brother Ray is calling from a phone booth in the desert.
Little sister,
he says the stars are falling out here.
Little sister,
he says the Greyhound is waiting.

He's gone to work a deal in heaven.

He sees Soda Mountain in the moonlight.
He sees orange groves in lamplight halos.
And he says, Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Writers: Thomas-Moliné-Diagram.
©2001 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Man In The Dark.
I wanna go where the weather is cold.
I wanna go where it rains in your eyes.
I wanna know where the hellish winds blow.
I'm a wearer of the dark.

I know only falling,
the plunge thru the blackness of space -
hoping only to bounce hard and high enough.
I'm a wearer of the dark,
a wearer of the dark.
I wear a dark suit.

I dread the things people may know,
the stories they fit me into.
I dread the things time only shows.
I'm a wearer of the dark,
a wearer of the dark,
I'm a wearer of the dark.
I wear a dark suit.

Badly we pass the time.
We pace through our rages,
or stare from the depths of our own separate cages,
aware of the dark.
I'm aware of the dark.
I'm aware of the dark.
I wear a dark suit.

Writers: Thomas-Moliné-Diagram.
©2001 Hearpen, administered by Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Night Driving.
I knew I'd end up alone,
driving thru the night,
going somewhere lost -
afraid to be found.
Like a dime store neon novel,
overpriced cheap food is my fate.
There is a buzz,
which is cold, then hot.
Too much love too far lost.
Too much hope too far away.
The morning is a shimmering mirage.
It rises from the asphalt,
like every other ghost town that I've ever known.

Some days I feel like a motherless R A G E !

The sky was talking to me.
Afraid to look up I frame the future in cinemascope.
And they don't make these colors anymore.
Yeah, they'll forget everything given half a chance.
There is a man who says there is no time,
but he's wrong.
It's a case of cause & effect -
the future unfolds to be a consequence of right now.
I keep my eye in the frame -
I frame the future in cinemascope.
It's a case of cause & effect.
I keep my eye in the lane.
I keep my eye.

The map is a road.
And the road is only a means to an end.
But the end is somewhere out there.
The end is always...
out there.

"See-ya-round, suckah!"


I knew I'd end up alone,
driving thru the night,
going somewhere lost -
afraid to be found.
Like a dime store neon novel,
overpriced cheap food is my fate.
A buzz which is cold then hot -
too much love too which is too much not.
And the end is always out there,
somewhere out there.
Suckah!
Writers: Thomas-Moliné-Diagram.
©2001 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



River.
They tore down the Wilson-Shute last year.
They put up a sign about what they had done.
Their lives tore loose they've drifted into town.
Their faces are haunted, although they'll swear it's swell.
Their faces are haunted, their hearts have gone to hell.

I won't cross that river no more.
I ain't gonna cross that river - no more.

The river is bloated.
It looks like pasty flesh.
The moon's a greasy spot upon the sky.
The crops of corn slope into muddy graves,
and the weeds grow pale and glow in dark of night.
I ain't gonna cross that river - no more.

They tore down the Wilson-Shute last year.
They put up a sign about what they had done.
Their lives tore loose they've drifted into town.
Their faces are haunted, their houses are haunted as well.
Their faces are haunted, their town has gone to hell.

I will cross that river no more.
I do not want to go to the other side.
I do want to know the people who live there anymore.
All the trees look like broccoli,
and all their houses are haunted.
The plants have pot bellies,
and the sun is a rotten pumpkin that's smellin up the sky.
I will cross that river - no more.

They built themselves a new bridge,
and they'll swear that it's swell,
but their eyes are empty,
and their hearts have gone to hell.
Writers: Thomas-Moliné-Diagram.
©2001 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Ghosts.
The air is heavy,
and the lights lead somewhere far away.
And the night is, uh... powdered!
And I'm headed into another black coffee dawn.
Nights like this I feel the weight of history,
and I hear somebody explaining it in my ear up close -
all these obligations.
The coffee cup -
that one with the lipstick stain -
is on my mind.
A dried coffee ring, a ring around the moon,
and neon in a haze.

I figured that tears is nothing,
when I see a floodplain stretch out harsh in the moonlight -
And the river of blood that flows thru it.
They tore down the Wilson-Shute last year and built up a new one,
but I will not cross that bridge.
I know why.
And I don't know.
I know.
And I don't know.

In a way it had to end.
There comes a time when people don't understand,
when the stones will speak in a strange language.
And all those dreams,
all those fears and hopes,
won't make any sense any more.
Something tired,
something weary,
something hurt hangs in the air -
fearsome,
terrible!
And they leave the lights on in this town all night,
for fear of the darkness.

When you're young you learn to love the thing that is despised,
that is unloved itself,
and unwanted.
And you may come to dream a dream,
and see a vision of a future that will never be.
But what if the vision is too strong,
and the vision comes at an age that's too young?


So what does happen to the dream deferred?
Does it shrivel like a raisin in the sun?
I know.
And I don't know.
We all live in ghost towns one way or the other.
Each of us lives in a ghost town.
And they leave the lights on in this town all night,
for fear of the darkness.
And a radio is playing all night,
for the fear of silence -
the silence of someone's thoughts.
Writers: Thomas-Moliné-Diagram.
©2001 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Spider In My Stew.
There's only one language that I understand.
There's only one person who will walk like a man out of this,
out of here.

I had a good job.
I left out of fear.
I hide away and I hear a hollow laugh.
I had a good job,
in the city,
and I heard a hollow laugh.

There was a spider in my stew.
There was a spider in my stew -
55 years of pain is due.
55 years is dues enough.
Writers: Thomas-Moliné-Diagram.
©2001 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Come Home • Green River.
Come on home,
dontcha know?
I was the spy in the heart of our home.
The double-life of a provocateur,
I's like the doctor who won't provide a cure.
Come home, nobody's waiting.
Come home, somebody cares.
Come home, I'm at the freeway.
Come home, nobody's there.


I saw this guy in Green River, Utah,
in a hardware store -
paddling his hands in bins of nails.
Like he was playing at some keyboard.
Like he was listening to something far away.
Like he was watching for something intangible.

I know this guy.
He'd close up shop early,
close up shop late,
and get in his coupe de ville,
roll the windows up and drive,
air conditioner full blast.
Sorta thing started a long time ago, this habit,
when he'd forgotten how to sleep,
and remembered how to dream.

It was the voices of his brothers in the hills,
all them bones of worlds gone by -
time-blasted and sun wearied.
And he'd drive so as not to hear them -
air conditioner, windows up.
And he'd drive til he could drive no more -
and pull off the side of the road,
pull behind a roadside sign,
crawl in the backseat,
and wait for the dawn.
The dawn would never come.
Early morning mists would rise,
and the night birds would call for it -
but the morning would not come.

Come home, nobody's waiting.
Come home, somebody cares.
Come home, I'm at the freeway.
Come home, nobody's there.
I'm at the bridge,
but the river's enraged.
I'm a bird,
but this bird is encaged.
I'm a free man only -
I'm just otherwise engaged.
Honey, I'm a fool.


"In my head morning never comes.
"And, though I wait, the daylight never shows."

The carpenter sun would be rising in the east,
and you'd see him there in the morning -
paddling his hands in bins of nails.
Like he was playing at some keyboard.
Like he was listening to something, something far away.
Writers:
COME HOME: Thomas-Jones-Krauss-Maimone.
©1993 Bug Music.
GREEN RIVER: Thomas-Moliné-Diagram.
©2001 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.

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