Beyond the nose
Of the dogs of democracy
Voluntary crazy
We have come to be
No sight
Or sound
Could bring us back together
Now
Where the differences divide
Has dug in quite far
Full of liquid melted tar
Beyond the nose
Will be more problems
Where our senses
Can’t go
Straight ahead
With no deviation
One handed guide
Swiftly through the nation
Embalmed with lies
Far and wide
You could see the twinkle
Lost in his eyes
Straight ahead he said
With no remotes
Stay consistent
Stay in course
The old fears
Dried up tears
Move up
Move out
All the changes happen
In specific time
And moments
We remove ourselves
To see the grand scheme
By it doesn’t mean a thing
When your heart is torn
The size of an almond
With a personality the size
Of the room
Our small dog
Named Wilco
May have a small heart
But fills the room with love
When anyone walks in
Sweet little Wilco
A fine day
Is coming
When we believe
Not in celebrity
But in each other
That day
Is coming
One fine day
A great day to get out
My birthday is a day
To celebrate a new schools
Of voices rising up
In a dark time
So that in due time
We will have hope again
Such a coincidence
But on March 24th people rise
Up
To believe again
That we can all accomplish something
With the help is our fellow
Countrymen
Can the future be brighter
If the past is not reckoned
How to know where to go
If we do not understand
What we have done
My role in this nowness
Is key to the future
I have played my own role
Ambivalently
But with more passion we approach
The future
Don’t look down
Let go
Be bold
Favor the future
And face the truth
Today
Set up to recover
What is false
Is set under cover
Truth is relative
In modern times
A theory
A sign
Tired but true
What comes quickly
Goes too
Spilled milk on the Red Line
Veins of white
Rush down the floor
“That ain’t mine”
The lady with two hats on yells
The man
Visibly exhausted with his head back
Is not one inch close to conscious
As the white pours through the isle
Pictures being snapped
A moment catches
The woman with the bike laughs
Late night Red Line
Public transportation
Strange spilled iterations
As the winds wind through
The tunnels
Below the streets
Of L.A.
A Cup of Songwriting 