rich (octobersgaze) wrote,
rich
octobersgaze

lyrics: "desert variations"

i'm out here at the corner of desert and doom, and the escondido freeway traces faces on the moon. from way up on the wind the cars' headlights look like jewels, but get down a little closer, it's just a long parade of fools. the fog hugs close to the contour of a high and lonely ridge, and way too much depends on the ticking of a three dollar wal-mart watch.

and whatever happened to strawberry ann? lost and stoked on stackers, took the late bus to japan. you finger her a minute and turn to go back in the bar: the jack and gingers and brunette singers, and the scorching summer stars.

and hey, the desert's getting darker. hear the blearing of charlie parker on the jacked-up jukebox, the jingling of the quarters in your pocket. it's a strange thing. it's a broken wing. it's sixty-eight cents, a chinese take-out fortune and your wedding ring.

the rabid bats bat lashes at the bugs they'd usually eat, because everybody goes a little bit crazy in this heat. one hundred seven hunkers down on the hungry human heart, and the chapparal and sagebrush make out shameless in the dark. all this place needs is a five pm fast, furious new england thunderstorm. because there's a thousand reasons why you left back east, but only one that you're still here.

so you smeared your fingerprints all over this fishbowl, so it's hard to see the double yellow line when you're headed on back home. when they pull you over, just pull your ace out of the hole and say that california's confiscated the remainder of my soul.

and hey, the desert's getting darker. hear the blearing of charlie parker on the jacked-up jukebox, the jingling of the quarters in your pocket. it's a strange thing. it's a singapore sling. it's thirty-eight cents, a chinese take-out fortune and a summer fling.

the creosote cowboys cut faces in the rock, with a coyote caterwaul and a car up on blocks. the power lines are purring like a cat that's gone unfed, and they charge off to arizona straight as a bullet to your head. and there's a song on the radio right now that i'm confident could cure cancer, bring aobut world peace, and make toast. all by the beauty of it's melody, that haunting, high-heeled harmony, and that backbeat.

and what did ever happen to strawberry ann, with eyes like errant tides teasing the cape cod sand? i think so called so-cal must've scared her half insane. her postcard said she packed your heart and got on board a train.

and hey, the desert's getting darker. hear the blearing of charlie parker on the jacked-up jukebox, the jingling of the quarters in your pocket. it's a strange thing. it's a suicide king. it's seventeen cents, a chinese take-out fortune and a terrifying happening.
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