The Sleeping Prophet - Oil of Sassafras

Alone in a crowded room
Trapped in her own body
A stoic and shrouded tomb

A rag doll, her only friend
Now all but forgotten
Just broadcloth and porcelain

----

She screams but isn’t heard
Betrayed by her body
A turbulent taciturn

A mother can’t change her vows
For daughters misbegotten
Another sad stranger now

----

Let’s see what we can do
Here we have the body
This is what you must do
Lest she be forgotten

----

The Spirit will soothe her soon
Awaken her body
A miracle through and through

The Sleeping Prophet - Hopkinsville

On the corner of

7^th Street and Young…we lay

Seven stretching backs

On the blue grass…dismayed

I’m not the only leader of a lost cause… to come from this lonely town

Prone to reverie, restless brothers, we… take flight

Bare feet on the sod, through the goldenrods…we glide

Let’s take a late swim in Lake Blythe

Make haste, the sun waits for no child…

It’s throwing shadows on the cold floor

Past the old Lone Oak mansion

As haunted as it ever has been

By a red coat widow from the old war

I’m not the only leader of a lost cause… to come from this lonely town

I’m not the only leader of a lost cause… to come from this lonely town

Back at Beverly, one-room academy…in thought

I let loose a smile, pride of the Pennyrile…I’m not

But put the book under my pillow

And in the morn, I’ll recite Thoreau

Gifted beyond my comprehension

They’re raising up monuments

But not for somnambulist

Mystics with the best intentions

I’m not the only leader of a lost cause… to come from this lonely town

I’m not the only leader of a lost cause… to come from this lonely town

(The Ohio Valley Railroad, leads me home wherever I go)

The cardinals, the grey squirrels, the coffee trees

The black rows, tobacco, my father’s pleas

The White Plains, the tear stains, the Cherokee

The old bones, the gravestones, the Calvary

jealousy. plagiarism.

witness what you’ll miss my friend—
you will never be a part of it
you can’t just react to the fads—
and expect to see the art of it
but you keep repeating the leads—
that never get back to the start of it

would you consider this a victory?
because even hit or miss gets something sweet

apparently you’re granted amnesty
or so you would have me to believe
because all the world’s a page for your and me
and we are merely plagiarists, you see?

oh, put your fingers to the strings
oh, fill your empty lungs with air and sing

your hands are painted red—
with the scarlet of contempt
because you can’t just wake the dead—
without putting someone else to rest
but it won’t be us, you can trust—
oh charlatan, you charlatan
so we move for the proof, the truth—
oh surely you can answer it

oh, put your fingers to the strings
oh, fill your empty lungs with air and sing
if you’ve got dreams to be the king,
this rock crown won’t mean a thing
so fill your empty lungs with air and sing

let's be honest, we're liars

Let's be honest, we're liars.
We're off setting fires on doorsteps.
But what valor we lack,
we make up for in tact...we adore it
When you fall for these verses,
They're all voodoo curses we're casting.
Yeah, cause we've got your number,
The spell you've been under, it's tragedy

Nostalgia leaves a sweet taste in your mouth.
And only sweet naivety can wash it out.

So if i speak of sadness,
Make mention of madness, believe me.
If I wax poetic,
Come back copasetic....you need me
To unravel the clues
That you're traveling through, just to find me.
Cause I'm hidden deep,
Yeah, I'm Mr. Mystique...by design, see?

Nostalgia leaves a sweet taste in your mouth.
And only sweet naivety can wash it out.

I'm completely capable of emulating apical
celebrities with expertise, if that's what you prefer from me.
I'm absolutely underspoken, call it tact, a graceful broken
English air, so debonair...with eloquence and charm to spare....

Cause I know what you want from me.
And I don't care to disagree.

Nostalgia leaves a sweet taste in your mouth.
And only sweet naivety can wash it out.

There, There

There, there my friend
Don't fret the end is near.
We've been waiting our whole damn lives
Just to get right here.

There, there my dear
It's desperate here indeed.
If you can hear my voice
It's the only noise you'll need

So say it...and say it like you mean it.
Because we have cast away what we believed in.
From silence, I sing out

There, there my love
Somewhere above we'll meet.
Though we're on different planes,
It's the same sad sky beneath our feet

So say it...and say it like you mean it.
Because we have cast away what we believed in.
From silence, I sing out

Black Tie Affair

It was a black tie affair. He arrived, he prepared,
With a double-Windsor tourniquet.
And with a rise in his arm, and with rice in his hair,
Another tumbled, turned, and went….turned and went

It was a white dress occasion. And with a white-washed stare,
She remembers sins more innocent.
With no reservations, lilies pinned in her hair
She upends her precious Percoset... she turned and went

Father! Father, I forbid.
What dishonor! I beg:
Are there any here among thee?
Father, Father, don’t forget:
Cast upon her my regrets.
Have you not an ear for honesty?
Father, Father, I dissent!

Put a cross on your forehead, font full of kerosene...
Young maiden and the match in hand.
Now the doves unstirred, and the belfry is hushed
As cities burn, it’s ash to ash
Under October rain, are we not entertained?
By the panic parade after that
(oh God) the aftermath, and ash to ash
(oh God) the aftermath!

Father! Father, I forbid.
What dishonor! I beg:
Are there any here among thee?
Father, Father, don’t forget:
Cast upon her my regrets.
Have you not an ear for honesty?
Father, Father, I dissent!

twenty-five

Another year has climbed onto my back.
That makes twenty-five that I must drag.
A caravan of muses and mistakes,
The company of which I can’t shake.

Another year has slipped between my hands.
It activates the quick beneath my sand,
Cauterizing every step I take.
It's made a map of the mess left in my wake.

Another year has crawled into my bed,
With plans to steal what dreams I have left.
Demanding restitution for my deeds,
An unrelenting ransom for my sleep.

Another year is placed upon the shelf.
Dog-eared pages penned by someone else.
Scrutinized at first, each idle line.
Now dust and sunburn stains tattoo the spine.

-

I should have listened when I had the chance.
I've been busy trying to paint the past.
But you can never hesitate to crash...
and learn.

I should have lived and let it come to pass.
I could've cried but I just had to laugh.
What is life but not a lonely match...
to burn?