Bay City, 2000

Clouds of You.
I hear the bones buried in the hills.
I hear my brothers, my brothers still.
I hide away in a, a coupe de ville.
I will drive around.
It's funny.

I feel too loud to feel so dumb.
I drive into the rising sun.
Grey worms are writhin in the ashtray.
A cloud's appearin in the roadway.

I feel too loud to feel so numb.
I drive into the rising sun.
Grey worms are writhin in the ashtray.
A cloud's appearin in the roadway.
Honey.
Honey.
Honey, it's you.
Honey.
Honey.
Honey, it's you.

I hear the bones in the hills.
I hear my brothers, my brothers still.
I hide away in a, a coupe de ville.
I will drive around.
Funny... I feel alive!

I feel like rain when it hits the river.
I feel like rain when it hits the river.
Black rain / Green River.
Black rain.

Black rain / Green River.
Black rain.

I feel like rain when it hits the river.
I feel like rain when it hits the river.
Black rain / Green River.

Black rain / Green River.
Black rain.
Black rain / Green River.
Black rain / Green River.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



White Room.
Somebody touched me.
In a white room.
I cried,
I will be free.
Someday, I will be free.
Someday.

And somebody touched me.
It was in a white room.
I cried,
I will be free.
One day, I will be free.
Someday.
And somebody...

Somebody touched me.
In a white room.
I cried,
I will be free.
Someday, I will be free.
One day.

I will be free.
One day.
I will be free.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Black Coffee.
All this rain, and black coffee too,
does something to your sense of time & place -
what you're feelin about the whole damn human race -
yeah, gets under yr skin,
worries at the place all the pieces come together,
pickin away until something's pried up like an old scab,
and the wound is fresh.

All this rain, and black coffee too,
it's not doing me any bit of a good at all.
I got too much time -
there's way too much time -
I've got too much time to kill for you,
way too much time;
and all this rain, and black coffee too,
cuz you know that I've got too much time -
there's just too much time,
way too much time to kill for you.

Well, there's too much time on my hands to kill.
It's like there's a People's Army out there that is Time itself personified,
and they's come swarmin over the ridge with them loudspeakers blarin,
and they's all dressed the same,
and they's all lookin at me screamin, "Die Yankee."
I just can't kill so much time by myself.
There's only so much that a man can do for a woman,
honey,
but I'll try.

This morning the sun was like a piece of paper somebody tore out of a magazine,
and they spit on the back, stickin it to the wall,
but now it's curlin at the edges and about to fall,
and the morning is buzzing at me - oh, way too loud.
My life hurts in places I never knew I could feel.
All that rain, black coffee -
it's not doin me a bit of any good,
not a bit of any good.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Salt.
A lost highway.
A tin can in the sand.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
Disappears.
There's the blink of an eye.
The sea is gone.
It's the salt that lingers on.
Straight.
Up one ridge.
Down the other side.
The road is a line.
Wait.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye.
A tin can in the sand.
Hold on to my ear.
Do you hear the sound of the sea?
The sea is gone.
The sound lingers on.
Salt.
And then I can hear the neon buzz.

Half buried at the side of the loneliest highway in the world.
A tin can in the sand.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye.
The sea is gone.
It's the salt that lingers on.
The lost highway.
Straight up one ridge.
Down the other side.
The road is a line.
Wait.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye again.
A tin can in the sand.
Hold on.

The lost highway.
A tin can.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
It disappears.
There's the blink of an eye again!
And the sea is gone.
And it's the salt, it's the salt that lingers on.
Wait.

Did you hear that?
Did you hear?
It's the sound of the sea.
But the sea is gone.
Tin can.
Hold it to your ear.
Salt.
The sound lingers on.
Just about then I turned to her.
I said, Do you hear?
It's the sound of neon buzzing in the distance.
No, it's the sound of tin can in the sand half buried at the side of the loneliest highway in the world.

A lost highway.
A tin can.
In the sand.
Salt.
On my lips.
On the window.
A line.
Straight.
That disappears into a blink of an eye.
Just then the sea is gone.
And it's the salt that lingers.

Did you hear that?
Can you hear the neon buzz?
Buzzing.
Buzzing.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Nobody Lives On The Moon.
Nobody lives on the moon.
Nobody lives on the moon.
People are never sayin goodbye on the moon.
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows.

Nobody cries on the moon.
Nobody cries on the moon.
People are never unhappy on the moon,
never unhappy on the moon.
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows.

Nobody lives on the moon.
Nobody lives on the moon.
I live on the moon.
Nobody lives on the moon.
But I live on the moon.
I live on the moon.
Nobody knows.
Nobody knows.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Charlotte.
Call me a fool.
Pour me a drink.
Charlotte!
My head is on the blink.
Tell me what to think.
Charlotte!
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



The Doorbell.
What will I do if you go?
What will I do if you go?
What will I tell the neighbors?
How soon do you think they will know, if you go?

Who gonna talk to me?
Who gonna be my friend, if you go?

What will I do if you go?
What will I do if you go?
Who gonna care for my 'motional needs?
What will I say and then who will I be?

Who gonna talk to me?
Who's gonna be my friend?
Who gonna talk to me, if you go?

What will I do on my own?
I can have a party and still be alone.
I can sleep on my back and not answer the phone.
I can eat beans out of a can and keep the house tidy & neat.
If you go.
What will I do on my own?

How soon can you go?
I'd like to know.
I'd like you to know that I will miss you.
If you go.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



15 Seconds.
He's a big ugly man in a boat.
And he waves at the kids.
And the water is emerald green as if the sky was cobalt blue.
And the air has got diamonds powdered thru it,
as the man shouts to the kids,
"You'd better close your eyes because in this world
"the good things is gonna sink while the bad things rise.
"Y'all better close yr eyes."
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



The Radio Talks To Me.
All this salt is like too much rain.
I hear people speak -
Well, they say it so plainly...
that all this salt is just so much rain.
All this salt has come to be like so much rain.
They call and they speak so plainly -
All this salt is like too much... pain,
too much pain -
too, too much.
Hugga-chugga.
Too much, too much pain.

You wanna rub salt into my wound.
You wanna send me on my way.
You wanna take the sheets from off of my bed.
And then you'll say, "Well, hell, you're gonna be better off that way."
I feel better off than dead already.

You wanna have to flavor up some humble pie for me.
You're gonna have to bind me up tight.
You wanna have to lick the salt from off of my bread.
And you'll say, "Well, you're gonna be better off that way."
Hell, I feel better off than dead already.
What more can I ask?

All this salt is like too much rain.
I hear people call and speak so plainly.
They say all this salt is like so much rain,
so much pain.
All this salt,
all this salt is so so too -
so so too.

You wanna rub salt in my wound.
You wanna send me on my way.
You're gonna take the sheets off of my bed.
You'll say, "You're gonna be better off that way."
I feel better off than dead already.

All this salt is like too much rain.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Shaky Hands.
Somewhere out there there is room for a man with fiery eyes,
and shaky hands,
who's got a ways to go...
who's got a ways to go.

(In the frying pan of a distant land,
you pulled up your stakes,
you fought off the snakes.)

Rain falls like fool's gold.
Across the starry night of the warning lights,
the gold's a flood pursued by rubes,
who bust out the riverside in haste...
who bust the riverside in haste.

(You hit the road looking for the mirror, said,
"Boy, you got what it takes!"
In the rain the road is a constraint.
It ties my mind to the rhythm grind of the neon line.)

No one knows my name so who's gonna take the blame,
when the blame is a flame,
and the flame is a fire that lights the night with gold,
that we fools do pursue...
that we fools do pursue.
We fools do pursue.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Black Rain.
Hey, somebody here's gonna have to make this thing work.
I'm hearin thru the grapevine it's gonna have to be me.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.



Turpentine.
Sometimes it rains all night.
Sometimes it rains at dawn.
Sometimes you hear the truth and it sounds like a voice of harm.

Everybody needs a roof to find shelter from a storm.
But everybody here must swear that in the morning you'll be gone.

Everybody here must leave.
Everybody here must be bled.
But it's a hard way to look at it,
to leave the facts unsaid.
Writers: Thomas-Jørgens-Teller-Acs.
©2000 Bug Music.
Lyrics by David Thomas.

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