And the clock on the wall is a bore: take 2 and 56

Father of my morning,
Once my child to the night
I see that you have minds to cop
And I can only watch the sickened sorrow

Little do you know
Of the progressions that you teach
The people that you reach are tired
Of livin' in a world of elastic towers

Dance with them and sing a song of changes
And talk with them of life and all its dangers
Surround yourself with now familiar strangers
Who kiss and who hug and eventually mug you of your time

And the clock on the wall is a bore
As you wander past the door
And find him lying on the floor
As he begs you for some more, you frozen smile

You cannot ever picture me
You know me by my thoughts
A file for your travelogue
Oblivious to the night, the fog around you
The germs they are ridiculous
They bother you at night
The blood that rushes to your brain
The ticket on the plane you're never catching

The price you pay exclusive of your taxes
To chop you up inside with tiny axes
The girl looks up to you from floors she waxes
And speaks to your belt with tears among her eyes

And the clock on the wall is a bore
As you wander past the door
And find him lying on the floor
As he begs you for some more, you frozen smile

The metaphysic wrinkles in the face of what you face
Are hidden by the fake-up man
Who lives inside the sterno can beside you
Now climb ye to the mountains
As the sun is almost gone
Escaping from your other selves
Your brothers hide among the shelves inside you

The games that people play can only bore you
But only those that know you don't ignore you
How many times have I come there to restore you
And caught you lying on the couch with father time

And the clock on the wall is a bore
As you wander past the door
And find him lying on the floor
As he begs you for some more, you frozen smile

Visit Margaret's Amazon Author Page!

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William Shatner performs "It Was a Very Good Year"

Strange stirrings

I was enthralled by this song when I was a young girl. Little did I know I wasn't going to be a young girl for much longer. Feelings were surging through me, inexpressible. I knew what they were, and feared them. Those feelings are still with me. I know what they are, and fear them. We have music for this, like a remedy for an illness, a long illness with an inevitable end.

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I'm turning Japanese (I really think so)

I've got your picture of me and you

You wrote "I love you" I wrote "me too" 

I sit there staring and there's nothing else to do 

Oh it's in color 

Your hair is brown

Your eyes are hazel

And soft as clouds

I often kiss you when there's no one else around

I've got your picture, I've got your picture

I'd like a million of you all 'round myself

I want a doctor to take your picture

So I can look at you from inside as well

You've got me turning up and turning down

I'm turning in I'm turning 'round

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

I've got your picture, I've got your picture

I'd like a million of them all 'round myself

I want a doctor to take your picture

So I can look at you from inside as well

You've got me turning up I'm turning down

I'm turning in I'm turning 'round

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

No sex, no drugs, no wine, no women

No fun, no sin, no you, no wonder it's dark

Everyone around me is a total stranger

Everyone avoids me like a cyclone Ranger

Everyone...

That's why I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

[guitar]

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

Turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so, think so, think so

I'm turning Japanese

I think I'm turning Japanese

I really think so

FLEE! FLY! FLO!: the Fe-M@il version

Flee!

(Flee!)

Flee Fly!

(FLee Fly!)

Flee Fly Flo!

(FLee Fly Flo!)

Fista!

(Fista!)

Cumala Cumala Cumala Fista

(Cumala Cumala Cumala Fista)

Oh nononono, (not) a vista

(Oh nononono, (not) ca vista)

Ennyminey desaminy punana warraminy

(Eeny meeney deci meeny oo na na walla meeny)

Yip belly wapum bapum bobo wa hipum

New Style New Style we got the new style,

Freestyle Meanwhile sister got it by a mile,

Lifestyle, girls smile, we can do it all the while.

Telephone dialing, rub-a-dub styling.

On a really cool tip, You can be a part of this trip

All you gotta do is this, I said, All you gotta do is this. 

(Ooooooooooooh!) Read my lips!

Cumala Cumala Cumala Fista

(Cumala Cumala Cumala Fista)

Oh nononono, (not) a vista

(Oh nononono, (not) ca vista)

Ennyminey desaminy punana warraminy

(Eeny meeney deci meeny oo na na walla meeny)

Yip belly wapum bapum bobo wa hipum

Watch me do it, you can do it this way

North and South and East and Westway

Monday to Sunday, gotta be a funday

We don't care what anyone's gonna say

On a really cool tip, You can be a part of this trip

All you gotta do is this, I said, All you gotta do is this.

All you gotta do is this, I said, All you gotta do is this.

Flee!

(Flee!)

Flee Fly!

(FLee Fly!)

Flee Fly Flo!

(FLee Fly Flo!)

Fista!

(Fista!)

Cumala Cumala Cumala Fista

(Cumala Cumala Cumala Fista)

Oh nononono, (not) a vista

(Oh nononono, (not) ca vista)

Ennyminey desaminy punana warraminy

(Eeny meeney deci meeny oo na na walla meeny)

Yip belly wapum bapum bobo wa hipum

Oooooooooooooooooooh! Re-fry this!

BLOGGER'S NOTE. It was only a matter of time until I found alternate versions of Flee Fly Flo. This is a great one, and I was all set to post a video of it as an example, when I read "subtitles" which said things like "fist my lips" and "don't fist your girl friend". As far as I can tell, fisting is a rather repugnant sexual practice which I don't associate with a wholesome, upbeat song like this one. So I didn't post it, then realized the subtitles were a hoax. Or at least I hope so. Maybe a dirty mondegreen, who knows.

Anyway! I found this other version, the original, which is pristine and has no mention of inserting bodily parts where the sun don't shine.  I like pop versions of these old things because it gives them an extended life in kids' minds. Immortality, if you will. The Clap-Clap song brought back to life my old "rubber dolly" rhyme, along with "three-six-nine, the goose drank wine," which for some reason reminds me of "down by the bay".

I also love the way the lyrics are set up, in word-sculptures, sort of like certain poems by Dylan Thomas (which I'll have to find. . . oh dear, there goes my afternoon).

Crying for the sadness

This was a case of one of dem-dar songs that gets into your head, and won't quit playing.  I knew it was from the '60s, one of those moody, philosophical things we all loved to dissect ("what do the lyrics mean??"), sometimes over a joint or a forbidden glass of wine.  I mainly remembered the lines, "From a distance, from a distance/ You can hear a crying angel sing,/She's crying for the sadness tomorrow's sins may bring."

I haven't had time to research this song, to figure out who wrote it. There is at least one other song called From a Distance, more recent and more famous than this one, which is why it took me awhile to find the original recording. I don't really know who P. F. Sloan was either, though he may have been one of dem-dar one-hit wonders.

The song is still quite pretty to my ear today, though a bit sappy, as I feared it would be. It attempts to sing of faith, which was pretty rare in those days, more rare today.  I remember another moody, opaque song called Everyone's Gone to the Moon, much more dysphoric and even nihilistic. We discussed that one to death. This one is merely melancholy, and earnest.

Looking back, everything ended almost before it began, though we thought the ethos of the '60s would go on forever and change the world. It didn't. In fact it eventually became a laughingstock. Everything reverted to crassness. The bellbottoms were put away, to be replaced by the Mint Green Polyester Leisure Suit of our worst nightmares.

Kids wear '60s tshirts now: peace, love, and all that stuff that got left behind. Now it's just sort of an affectionate (maybe) sendup, or a way to recycle old logos. I see it all from a distance. I know, that's cringe-inducing, but it's really how it is. This song got recorded in my brain so long ago and was buried so deep I didn't even know it was there. Then, some random set of circumstances, or something someone said, or even just a turn of the sky, pushed "play".


http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.com/2012/01/synopsis-glass-character-novel-by.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

This life is bittersweet

 

Now all of the planes have landed
The soldiers are in their beds
 

Smoke rises from their clothing
And sweet dreams through their heads

Truth faced leaves a strange taste
When joy and sadness meet

 

A country rain on a city street
This life is bittersweet
 

The boy with the bloated belly
Hears today's trucks arrive

 

He puts down his baby sister
And makes his way outside
 

 

Truth faced leaves a strange taste
When joy and sadness meet
A country rain on a city street
This life is bittersweet
 

 

Everyone's a novelist
And everyone can sing
But no one talks when the TV's on...

 

 

The lightning flashed, and the thunder rolled
Dark clouds filled the sky

A country rain on a city street
This life is bittersweet 

 

Moxy Fruvous