* * *

"The Final Plea"

You know it's always trouble when
You can't seem to get
Anybody's opinion

They all come stare along
But they can't even tell
Their right from wrong

Call out your mother
I've started something
This is the final plea
You've been

I'm getting pretty tired of
The fantasty life
Of a carry-on

And after all the money's gone
The first-class comforts
Won't last for long

Remember when you left the room
To scrub out the cigarettes
And sleep 'til noon?

You tell me but I didn't ask
It always makes me think
"This next should be last"

This is the plan
The key
Cover yourself to me
I'll find my way
Out of this
Unlock your fingertips
Turn off the open lips
I'll call you
I'll pretend
Beg for the signs I give
This is no way to live
You'll see

You'll see
You'll see
You'll see
 

* * *
 

"The Family Line"

Troubled girls...

I think it's time we go
Back down the family line
I'm giving it time
Forty dollars and a fishing line
I know your daddy's famous
But your mom's still drinking wine
From a paper cup

Let's pour another one

On to the gifts at hand
She's calling a man
To fix the curtains
And to sell the pans
You know we never cook
Because it goes right to our thighs

I swear, I never lie

Ba-ba-ba
ba-ba-ba

Another episode...

Played on a tiny stage
You're showing your age
In the bedroom
And the journal page
They think it's time your married
Even though you're half enraged
At the thought of it

You're growing out of it

Now that you've read the news
Confirming your views
On the market
And the men who used up
All of your patience
And then left you with the morning sigh,

"We gave fair warning.  Bye."
 

* * *
 

"So It Seems"

Put on your high heels baby
And Iíll take off your dress,
I guess.
You know -
There are better ways to get along
Better ways to get from what you want alone

And it seems to me
That youíve been hanging out
With the wrong kinds of men you know
Wrong kinds of men you know

Shoot off your mouth now careless
And Iíll clean up the mess,
I guess.
You know -
There are better ways to get along
Better ways  to get from what you always lost

And  it seems to me
That youíve been going down
On the wrong kinds of routes you love
Wrong kinds of routes you love

And it takes more than it gives
And it takes more than it gives
And it takes more than it gives
Away

Ease up on that stuff gorgeous
You always said whatís best,
I guess.
You know -
And we wouldnít want to help you wrong
Wouldnít want to help you find out what was wrong

And it seems to me
That youíve been getting off
On the wrong kinds of stops you know
Wrong kinds of stops you know

And it takes more than it gives
And it takes more than it gives
And it takes more than it gives away.

Put on your high heels, baby
And Iíll take off your dress,
I guess.
You know -
There are better ways to get along
Better ways to get from what you always lost

And it seems to me
That youíve been getting on
To the wrong kinds of lists, you know
Wrong kinds of lists, you know

Still it takes more than it gives
Still it takes more than it gives
You always took more than you gave away
 

* * *
 

"Dark with Dull Eyes"

The mouth betrays the body
While the eyes roll on the floor
Keeping up with pities
And the noises from next door

Spitting bricks to keep from kissing
All of this I've known before
A mix-up in division
Of the virgin and the whore

The locks beneath your sweater
Tell me whom they're fastened for
I'll remove them gently
And we'll see you moan some more

Once again I dream her dancing
When she stopped they begged for more
A deadly combination
Of the virgin and the whore

I memorized you darling
And tore every dress you wore
It didn't please me any
Or make this "Love You" less a chore

School the girls in masochism
Tell the boys there's nothing more
Soon enough they'll fall together
All the virgins and the whores

Spitting bricks to keep from kissing
All of this I've known before
Never thought it'd come to wishing
A bid to take or give a little more

Splitting lips to keep from missing
All of this I've known before
A deadly combination
Of the virgin and the whore