If You Only Have

If you only have

A hammer, shaving your face

Might just break your jaw.

If you only have a hammer,

This might not be a flaw.

The “Why I Can’t Write the Blues” Blues.

It takes a special kind of person to write the blues.

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They can feel it when they wake up in the morning.

The bunions they will have from walking in their shoes.

They couldn’t sleep the night with their wife up snoring.

They are often times more than half hung over, too.

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It takes a special kind of person to sing the blues.

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Their job is on the line, and it has taken their health.

Their dog was killed last night like an old country song.

Their wife is on their mind, and she has taken their wealth.

Their sorrow’s burning bright, and you all sing along.

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It takes a special kind of person to play the blues.

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Their fingers are curled from long days and guitar strings.

Their backs are broken from toting their own stage gear.

Their voices are gnarled from the wailing notes they sing.

They only earn a token playing their pain for beer.

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It takes a special kind of person to write the blues.

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I’m always bright and bushy tailed in the morning.

I typically don’t need to walk a hole in my shoes.

My words almost always leave the people snoring.

And I seldom ever drink more than one or two.

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If you’re still reading this, that’s why I can’t write the blues.

And if you’re still reading this, you can’t write the blues, too.

Late Sleeping Blues

I woke up this morning and went right back to bed.

I told her she’d see me before I was gone.

The front door was open, at least that’s what she said.

I’d come back and get a few things before I move on.

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But I’d found my mountain the one that I’d climb.

I’d told her she’d see me and then I’d move on.

I’d found my mountain of dream deep in my mind.

Just needed a little more sleep and on and on.

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I Woke up this morning and went right back to bed.

I asked her to lay out some clothes for me to wear.

I’d be leaving today at least that’s what she said.

I’d come back to get a few things. She wouldn’t be there.

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But I found her front steps and made the climb.

Just needed one more night’s sleep. Then I’d be on.

I’d leave the very next day. I’d made up my mind.

Just needed a good bed to sleep. And then I’d be on.

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I woke up this morning and went right back to bed.

I woke the next morning and went right back to bed.

I’ll be here the next morning laying down in the bed.

I’ll be here every morning, girl. This is my bed.

That’s Not Even

That’s not even

A zombie thing to do. That would

Be a brain burger.

Heart sandwich is something

A crazy ex-girlfriend would eat.

Before the Butterfly

Before the butterfly

And the turtle taking

Turns at cards of war

Reaching their limits without thought

Of giving away hands.

Like the Slap On

Like the slap on

The back cementing your face

In a broken grimace

Like the children once believed

Of the evil republic standing.

Gray Cloudless Sky Overtop

Gray cloudless sky overtop

Winter trees growing little

Red buds too soon

Like the slapping mad rooster

Crowing spit in midday sun.

Your Tale of Woe

Tell it to the roaches.

Give them your tale of woe.

Tell them of your weary life.

And the places you didn’t go.

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Tell it to the garbage

That you leave on the floor.

Then tell it to the roaches.

Let them hear once more.

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Tell it to the willow

Or the tall grass in your yard.

If you think that it will listen,

You can tell that passing car.

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But don’t tell it to your neighbors.

They’ve grown tired of your yack.

And don’t tell it to your children

Not if you want them to come back.

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So tell it to the roaches.

Give them your tale of woe.

Tell them of your weary life

And the places you’ll never go.

Tell the Roaches

Tell the roaches

Buenos noches.

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If I were to see

You following me

I just might say please,

Please give back my tv.

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But I just find me

A place to remind me

What I’m putting behind me

And let you keep that damn tv.

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So tell the roaches

Buenos noches.

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I give reproaches

To your approaches

And your encroaches

By all them skoshes

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That you take from me

When you just cannot see

That I want to be free

From what you do to me.

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But I just find me

A place to remind me

What I’m putting behind me

And let you keep that damn tv.

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So tell them roaches

Buenos noches.

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I give reproaches

To your approaches

And your encroaches

By all them skoshes.

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Buenos fuckin noches.

Keep your fuckin roaches.

You Have Never Seen

You have never seen

Me before. You will not ever

See me again.

Give me every bit of your

Most condescending advice.