Oh how the Smoky Mountains,
And the Carolina Piedmont meet,
Water that carves through stone,
My, how these gentle streams,
The shining rivers owe,
Oh how a hay ride in Tenesseee,
Floods me in a dream,
Deep enough for the Tenesseee river boat,
For all her beauty, I know she will cheat,
And leave me all alone,
The surprise in her eyes,
As her valley wraps my sides,
When I flow from her beautiful hold.

My lord! the Virginia rolling hills, at the base of the Blue Ridge,
And the fathers are still in the home,
Though they welcome me in,
I do not want to ruin their mandolin,
When the Jack Daniel's begins to flow,
Like a bobcat that lost its will to live,
To the Blue Ridge--
To starve away while they play below.

Dam, how high this Catskill road climbs,
And span these turbid childhood ravines,
So much trust, we put in rust,
The red and dying maple leaves,
But if we must, return to dust,
Carve my name in only these,
The surviving iron, that spans this deadly stream.

She let's me down, on shadowed ground,
Of the Worcester Plateau,
She is an icey mother,
These hills still in winter,
With lightning during snow,
These broken hills, that melt and freeze,
So no children can ever skate,
My lord! Look at all the lime young leaves--
So tender and ready to break.

(After Lorca)

Now in Vienna there are ten pretty women.
There's a shoulder where death comes to cry.
There's a lobby with nine hundred windows.
There's a tree where the doves go to die.
There's a piece that was torn from the morning,
and it hangs in the Gallery of Frost—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz with the clamp on its jaws.

I want you, I want you, I want you
on a chair with a dead magazine.
In the cave at the tip of the lily,
in some hallway where love's never been.
On a bed where the moon has been sweating,
in a cry filled with footsteps and sand—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take its broken waist in your hand.

This waltz, this waltz, this waltz, this waltz
with its very own breath
of brandy and death,
dragging its tail in the sea.

There's a concert hall in Vienna
where your mouth had a thousand reviews.
There's a bar where the boys have stopped talking,
they've been sentenced to death by the blues.
Ah, but who is it climbs to your picture
with a garland of freshly cut tears?
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
take this waltz, it's been dying for years.

There's an attic where children are playing,
where I've got to lie down with you soon,
in a dream of Hungarian lanterns,
in the mist of some sweet afternoon.
And I'll see what you've chained to your sorrow,
all your sheep and your lilies of snow—
Ay, ay ay ay
Take this waltz, take this waltz
with its "I'll never forget you, you know!"

And I'll dance with you in Vienna,
I'll be wearing a river's disguise.
The hyacinth wild on my shoulder
my mouth on the dew of your thighs.
And I'll bury my soul in a scrapbook,
with the photographs there and the moss.
And I'll yield to the flood of your beauty,
my cheap violin and my cross.
And you'll carry me down on your dancing
to the pools that you lift on your wrist—
O my love, O my love
Take this waltz, take this waltz,
it's yours now. It's all that there is.

Wet paint!
Well it is.
Obviously I'll try
The sign was right
Now,
stuck to my hand
the colour green
I facepalm!

The book that writes itself in ink and blood,
Every page a confession, every truth a flood.
I sit with my demons, they whisper in sighs,
Eccentric lullabies woven in dreamy lies.
I kissed the ineffable, tasted its flame,
A suspicious kind of heaven that never had a name.
The spine of the story is crooked and bent,
There’s perfume and poison staining my dress,
The book that writes itself—oh, it knows my sin,
Every letter a scar carved deep within.
I’d bleed out again just to see it in red,
To feel something real being inside I’m already dead.

As she walks around, tiptoeing about,
Judging herself so filled with doubt.
Conform, compress, and pay the dues—
The audience smiles at the pointe shoes.

The air felt warm on a tightened chest,
Urgency excused the hurt she pressed.
Forced to step and leave a mess.

The stage creaked with every leap,
Cracked and crumbled, she let pieces seep.
When souls so kind are forced to break,
the warm air shakes in a state of quake.

Oh, am I the cause of these broken boards?
Or was it rotten wood no one restored?

Toes blistered where the thought fell by
The aching hush of silent cries.
The pointe shoes take their final steps.
She only wished to see the stage rest.

But still, the pieces kept on falling.
It was never her or even the crowd calling.
Oh, it was the rain above and warm summer air
That left the stage in a state of despair.

A soul no longer trapped by the crowd ahead
Or being the cause of the stages death—
Hearts move on to carry other burdens,
How will she think for herself with no more curtains?

You gave me a boat—
A boat made of paper.
You painted it blue,
I preferred green.
You poor soul, couldn’t have known

Oh, You gave me a boat—
I said it was perfect,
And I knew it was paper,
Yes, I swear I did.

But I put it in the water,
Even quickly named it June,
A quiet way to remember
The day you forgot soon

And I knew it was melting—
And I know you did too

But god gave me a heart
Gave you one too
Though yours is for beating
And mine is to feel


Still—
I went in the boat,
Oh, I didn’t want fighting.
A few feet later,
I felt the water flow.

I swam to the shore,
And yes, I saw you laughing—
But still, I swam to you,

For I could not call for help
Help from the warm murky water
No I will not anger you.
And I didn’t choose to drown,
For I cannot bear it.

Bear to see you suffer,
Like I would have for you.
Though you do not deserve it,
And not for forever— I hope
I swim back to you

Sputters in the thick of night
setting the pathway ablaze!  
Flavors of foretimes return
bittersweet as my spirit;
A street lamp pours out sweetly,  
upon my shoulders of bare.
Recalling honey-dew words
I weep, ...bitter tears for you.