Noah says it was hard to look up from the table. 
He said there were ghosts all out on the floor. But from that little island the world became stable,
 so nobody noticed me drifting from shore. When you go down, water surrounds you and floods 
through your mind—a sense of self of just any old kind, 
I could not hardly find. Noah says a bond, it had formed rather quickly— 
four nautical flags spelling out the word, “JOIN.” 
I was singing my sad songs off in the corner, and from these frail little lips, I could hardly find form. 
I know I did shout, but I think nothing came out,
 and I searched for your eyes— I remembered the very first time
 they took me by surprise.

 (sunflower melody) It’s easy for things to build up in a moment: the fear that is rapping then pounding your door.
 One ghost hangs ‘round at the end of your mattress, 
it’s easy to spot in the room fifty more,
 and you know they aren’t real, but his hands on your hands 
become more than just hands—first they’re lips, then they’re teeth,
 then they’re glands, and my head’s in the sand. Sunflower, don’t run.
 Sunflower, don’t run, 
I just want to hold you 
up to the sun, and I’m scared
 that when the day is done
 I will stumble, and fumble,
 and fall. And I know we have not yet reached the end… 
and I know you’ve said you’ve found peace inside, 
and I don’t think that I have found it, but I really want to find it 
with you… Noah says it was hard to look up from the table— 
everyone was laughing and carrying on. 
It was a friendly and warm and inviting environment, 
and it was hard to focus on drab little songs. 
A string or two down, and my heart had near drowned, 
and I’m spinning along—it’s hard to hang in that space
 for too long and not think something so wrong. But I know that I’m in love with you,
 and I think that you’re in love with me.
 And for what it’s worth, Noah and me
 talked about it and he agrees—he said 
you could tell through everything, yes Noah says 
you were proud of me. Noah says it was hard to look from the table— —but you did. (sunflower melody)

Daddy’s got a girl— 
paper smooth skin and her eyes are pearls. Daddy’s got a girl— 
hanging out the pocket of a starch white shirt. Sister, don’t you cry— this girl’s just an alibi. Sister, you can cry— but when the morning comes, I want to see those eyes away. He’s gone away, but if you need me, I’ll be there. 
Gone away, he’s gone away, but if you need me, then I care. Daddy’s got a girl— oven mitt dress and a head of curls. He licks his lips when she needs to change,
 undoes the velcro-stitched latch and he’s in a world. Sister, don’t you cry— this girl’s just an alibi. Sister, you can cry,
 but when the morning comes, 
I want to see those eyes away. He’s gone away,
 but if you need me, I’ll be there. 
Gone away, he’s gone away, but if you need me, then I care. Oh, where does he go? 
Oh, where does he go when his thoughts get cold?
 Well, he takes her out for a drink,
 and pours the wine in a thimble… Daddy’s got a girl— Daddy’s got a girl— hanging out the pocket of a starch white shirt. Sister, don’t you cry— Well, all right, Sister, you can cry, but when the morning comes,
 I want to see those eyes away.

 He’s gone away,
 but if you need me, I’ll be there. 
Gone away, he’s gone away,
 but if you need me, then I care. Away, he’s gone away,
 but if you need me, I’ll be there.
 Gone away, he’s gone away, 
but if you need me, then I care.

 Yes, if you need me, then I care. 
If you need me, then I care… (I care.)

We all know the kind of girls who like to go out
 with the guys that like to treat ‘em like dirt. 
I guess I’m a bit that way, I’ve got some tendencies,
but only when it comes to girls. 
I might look like a big, strong man,
 but I guess there are some things you should know.
 I don’t like to be roughed around,
 but I like to be controlled. I had this girlfriend, put my hair in pigtails, 
so to be a public surprise.
 And I didn’t want to wear ‘em, but she held my hand,
 and looked deep into my eyes.
 So I said, “Oh well, I guess I’m her little baby, and I told myself I’d be okay.” But I guess I was a toy, and a nervous boy, when she dumped me on the second date. And I guess it goes up, up, up, 
and down, down, down,
 that’s the way the story goes.
 And I guess it goes left and right,
 and ‘round and ‘round, 
like a rabbit on a country road. 
And I guess she looks bri- ii- ight, toni- ii- ight, with a swirl of purple paint in her eyes. 
And I guess she’ll be see- ee- een in my dre- ee- eams,
 when I drift off into sleep at night. Christy was a painter, her face was like the paper, 
and her hair was an assortment of swirls.
 She didn’t like to paint her face with lots of makeup, 
but I thought she was a pretty girl. 
Christy had a way of commanding attention,
and she’d paint the guys she thought were hot. 
I wanted my atoms to be disassembled,
 put together as a piece of her art. 
Then one fine day, to my surprise,
 she said, “Come on, boy, come my way.”
 But I guess by plan, I’ll die a nervous man,
never to make it past the second date. But hey, oh well, if it wouldn’t have happened,
then I wouldn’t have a song to sing. 
I guess that’s just the way the cookie crumbles;
 I was twenty, she was seventeen. And I guess it goes up, up, up, 
and down, down, down,
 that’s the way the story goes.
 And I guess it goes left and right,
 and ‘round and ‘round, 
like a rabbit on a country road. 
And I guess she looks bri- ii- ight, toni- ii- ight, with a swirl of purple paint in her eyes. 
And I guess she’ll be see- ee- een in my dre- ee- eams,
 when I drift off into sleep at night. Come on baby, come on girl—
 grab that brush and give my eyes a swirl. Come on baby, come on girl—
 grab that brush and give my world a twirl. Come on baby, come on girl— 
grab that brush and give my eyes a swirl. Come on baby, come on girl— grab the brush, grab the brush,
 grab the brush now… 

Grab the brush… And I guess it goes up, up, up, 
and down, down, down,
 that’s the way the story goes.
 And I guess it goes left and right,
 and ‘round and ‘round, 
like a rabbit on a country road. 
And I guess she looks bri- ii- ight, toni- ii- ight, with a swirl of purple paint in her eyes. 
And I guess she’ll be see- ee- een in my dre- ee- eams,
 when I drift off into sleep at night.

There’s this wickedness in me—
 inside a sea of strangeness wanting to be free, 
it’s been trapped so long. 
And I think it’s coming back— 
my skin’ll snap, and then it will emerge in tact, I believe it is a fact, and yes, 
in only time, it will fall into place, I’ll be erased, and leave no trace except the sand 
beneath my feet. And I used to be so sweet, 
but now that boy who loved to dream is just a memory, 
drowning, drifting upstream, yeah… She don’t care at all— 
I might as well be singing to a wall,
 (which is what I’m doing).
 Shaking in my sheets—
 later I’ll be so fucked up I’m almost asleep,
 on the street, drinking deep.
 And I’ve been such a little slut—
 I even sucked a dick behind a bar in an alley way.
 I can’t recall his face, but he said he couldn’t take
 the pace. I said, “Why not? When all that keeps
 me from a coffin is that I don’t like tight places.” Lay it on me now— 
if you don’t want me then you’ve got to let me down,
 or I’ll keep on flying high into the sky.
 No one will blame you if you can no longer try, 
it’s so easy to see why. Long before she died,
 my mother said she’d have me institutionalized
 before I’d live in squalor.
 “The path you’re going down,”
 she said, “it’s not as unrealistic as it sounds, you’re so fucking weird and such a god damn mess.” 
I must confess, if there’s a test to being put together, 
I’m sure that I would fail. 
I have this dream that when I wake 
a score of ants is all in place to eat my face, and the Raid’s not working. Lay it me now—
 if you don’t want me then you’ve got to let me drown,
 or I’ll keep on floating, just right above the sea. 
No one will blame you if you cannot love on me,
 it’s an easy thing to see. *** Mother was right, mother was right,
 mother was right, mother was right,
 mother was right, mother was right, 
mother was right, mother was right,
 mother was right, mother was right, 
mother was right, mother was right,
 mother was right, mother was right, 
mother was right—! (I’m gonna be sick.)

I knew that your body
 would taste so sweet.
 Yes, I figured your body
 would taste so sweet. I knew that your body
 would taste so sweet,
 does it taste like candy? I see you walking— girl, your body shouts.
 When I see you walking,
 you know, the demons rip right out.
 I’d try to tell you,
 but I think you already know
 that men flock to you like sheep,
 no matter where you go. I knew that your body
 would taste so sweet. Yes, I figured your body
 would taste so sweet. I knew that your body 
would taste so sweet, 
does it taste like candy? I saw you at the party,
 wearing a thorny crown. 
I made a blanket
 out of dead leaves on the ground.
 I cried out, “Mother!”
 but the wind made not a sound. 
I cried out, “Mother!” 
but your hips blew me around. I knew that your body
 would taste so sweet. 
Yes, I figured your body 
would taste so sweet. I knew that your body
 would taste so sweet,
 does it taste like candy? Oh, darling—
 when you come around,
 darling— my mind, it hits the ground.
 Oh, darling—
 when you look into my eyes,
 darling— 
I could never feel more alive. Waited by the bathroom— 
in the shadows in the hall. 
Engaged in foreplay
with the pictures on the wall.
 By the time you came out,
 I had split between the waist. 
I ran right through the door— didn’t want to see your face. I knew that your body 
would taste so sweet.
 Yes, I figured your body 
would taste so sweet. I knew that your body
 would taste so sweet,
 does it taste like candy? Yes, I think you’re a pretty girl,
 from your hips up to your face.
 But if God knew all of my sins,
 well, I tell you I’d be erased. 
So just walk away from here,
 and just put out my fire.
 And don’t come here no more, 
even though it’s what I desire. I knew that your body 
would taste so sweet. 
Yes, I figured your body 
would taste so sweet. I knew that your body
 would taste so sweet,
 does it taste like candy? 

(into “Hallelujah”)

Words and music by Leonard Cohen. http://leonardcohenfiles.com/album8.html http://leonardcohenfiles.com/album11.html##G

Words and music by Everclear. http://www.hungryandhollow.com/old/smfta.html#11

Big lights shine on the river, down by the floating house where the chips fly. A thin red line wraps round the city; I feel so lovesick, and I don't know why. Because in my mind I can see faces, and everybody's always smiling. But I don't feel quite connected, at least not how I'd like, so I'll just drift a while— Kate Chopin style, in the water. If I had a gun, I would cock it back, I would cock it back. If I had a gun... I remember finding a revolver in my closet when I was a kid. What I remember most about it was its weight. Thinking back, I am surprised I was not more intrigued—I was just paralyzed, so I left it in its place. Even so, until the time it was discovered, at least a hundred times I would drift up from my bed, open up the closet door and stare into the nothing—into the nothing— in the blackness, you could hardly see, but you could sense it, it was there— smooth and clean: the perfect machine. If I had a gun, I would cock it back. If I had a gun... If I had a gun, I would cock it back, I would cock it back. If I had a gun... If I had a gun.... If I had a gun.... If I had a gun... If I had a gun... I would cock it back, I would cock it back, I would cock it back, I would cock it back, I'd cock it back and pull the trigger.

Right now I don't know if I can take it, every vein in my heart is about to burst. At times like these, you can only say it naked, rivers of words only leave with you thirst. Even so, I've always got some, and if I could make my tongue tie itself in rungs, then I'd use each word to climb into your beautiful eyes where I used to feel freer than the skyline. And on a bad day I think of dumb things: the way your hair laid, the way your voice swayed, the way you bit your lip and I could tell that you were lying. Maybe I'll swallow the tail of a comet, maybe I'll pass out drunk and I'll vomit, maybe the Apocalypse will make me sole resident, maybe I'll clean up my act and be the president, maybe I'll make like a sponge and be soaked through, maybe I'll lap up the paint to the statue, maybe I'll cry out my eyes in the bathroom, maybe I'll just hang around in this cocoon. You already have a child, you don't need two, you already have a child, you don't need two. I’ll say it twice, and if I need to I'll shout it at you, it's one thing that I know I'm going to get through. I remember one day I was in your arms. Before I could help myself I said, “I love...” And I was going to end it with you but the words never saw their way through. And now I'm standing in this cast, no, I'm a worn out shoe without a last, or maybe just a piece of glass—face it, I'm in pain no metaphor can explain and all I want to do is lay in bed and say it naked… Maybe I'll swallow the tail of a comet, maybe I'll pass out drunk and I'll vomit, maybe the Apocalypse will make me sole resident, maybe I'll clean up my act and be the president, maybe I'll make like a sponge and be soaked through, maybe I'll lap up the paint to the statue, maybe I'll cry out my eyes in the bathroom, maybe I'll just hang around in this cocoon. You already have a child, you don't need two, you already have a child, you don't need two. I'll say it twice, and if I need to I'll shout it at you, it's one thing that I know I'm going to get through.

Heading up to those northern lights, trying to stick to that thin white line, I know I will see your face when I reach the other side. You damn near put me inside my grave when you said those things I know you needed to say. Well, I guess at least it's a grave that I can safely call a grave. I don't want to try and tell you how you should feel. The heart wants what it wants, but real recognizes real, and I know it was real if only from one side, or only for a brief moment when you let it slide, or maybe it's a thing that I can't define, couldn't catch it in a bottle and seal it tight. I like to find myself as an honest man, but in the end the truth is I'm just a man, and I can't face what there is to see—maybe someday I'll be the kind of friend who brings you ginger tea. I held you closely on your birthday, it was my birthday, too, and in a special way I knew, though I was caught up on the moon, it wouldn't last forever. You drank a lot that night and got real sick, so I brought you ginger tea, you said it helped with your stomach. You said you still drink it now when you get ill—I think about it sitting on your window sill… I don't want to try and tell you how you should feel. The heart wants what it wants, but real recognizes real, and I know it was real if only from one side, or only for a brief moment when you looked so right, or maybe it's a thing that I can't define, couldn't catch it in a bottle and seal it tight. I like to find myself as an honest man, but in the end I know I am just a man, and I can't face what there is to see—maybe someday I'll be the kind of friend who brings you ginger tea. *** Tea, tea, tea... I'll bring you tea, though you're not in love with me… You have to understand I fall in love with ghosts, and when we're lying in bed, they start to pull me close, I try to kiss them, but their lips dissolve in mists of smoke that I breathe deep in my throat, I begin to choke. And I dream about the moon and the sun and the sky, and as I'm floating by I float into your eyes. Then we're riding in your car and I start to cry, you hand me melting ice, and tell me,
"Sometimes it rains…" Sometimes it rains... Sometimes it rains... Sometimes it rains... I wish I was the one you'd want to hold real close when your world was on fire and you couldn't cope, and I could make real life out of these memories, and you would want my heart, and you would want my body. But maybe someday I'll have the strength to see that love is also found in all the simple things, and when you're old and sick you will call on me, I'll cross a thousand seas to bring you ginger tea. I'll bring you tea, tea, tea... I'll bring you tea, though you're not in love with me... Tea, tea, tea... I'll bring you tea, though you're not in love with me…

I best say this quickly, 
otherwise I will not say a word. 
I’ve been so good at burying my love—
 to stop at this point now would be absurd. So after this I will return to silence— 
I’ve lost too much of myself, I’m moving on. But I heard a song that made me think about the times you seemed to love me…
 Maybe I will sing it later on. I just can’t hide behind this sad, translucent smile
 and pretend that I don’t often think of you. You’ve said before that you wanted to forget— 
does that mean you’re sometimes thinking of me, too? Well, either way, I’m tired of the heartache,
 of writing the same mistake over and over in song. 
And I know that I surely am a drag to be around—
 I’m a narcissistic male who sulks and longs—
sulks and longs—sulks and longs— 
I’m a narcissistic male who sulks and longs. Well, all right…
 (hums dat song) I’m not like you—I want to remember. I want to remember every little thing: walking down Franklin Street in February, holding hands and listening to Sketches of Spain 
in the rain— 

I know that it was wrong to call you Sunflower, 
I only should have called you by your name. And I would say it now, but in this final hour, I’m sure you’ll be glad I’ll skip it all the same. All the same—all the same—
 all the same— 

Yes, you’ll be glad I’ll skip it all the same…

It’s hard for me to not be too intense—
 I’m always reaching high above my fence. 
I want to see life in all its many shades
 to the extent that all I see is gray,
 because gray is the color of it stuck together, where it bends and it blends and it makes for stormy weather.
 And I must ask, “What can be made of this?” When she is missed, I’m lying naked, and I’m waiting for a kiss. And I could cry, but I don’t think she’d listen— it would only be a desperate way to cling on more.
 Should have used my intuition,
 should have figured she had heard it before. But I’m an old soul in a young body— 
I’ve seen the Bastille fall and the Guillotine.
 An old soul in a young body— 
I’ve seen piked heads and shaved legs 
and everything in between. Sometimes you’ve got to learn to let it go and not be concerned with the “even though,” the art of holding an umbrella when the rain changes 
shapes and patterns, and you can’t hesitate, you have to change with it, and move it around, 
and find the right angles so that you don’t drown. 
You’ll probably find in time it doesn’t mean a thing…
 And if it does, well—I guess that it means everything. And I could cry, but I don’t think she’d listen— it would only be a desperate way to cling on more.
 Should have used my intuition,
 should have figured she had heard it before. But I’m an old soul in a young body— 
I’ve seen the concepts of categories take shape. 
I’m an old soul in a young body— 
I’ve seen tight heads and tossed beds 
and all these mortal lips can taste. It’s easy to say that it doesn’t matter,
 but I think it might matter to you. 
And I know that you say you need to chase the rain,
 and if that’s true, well, then do. It’s easy to say that I don’t really matter, 
but I think I might matter to you.
 And I couldn’t say if you wanted to stay,
 but if you do, well, then do. And I would cry, but I don’t think she’d listen—
 it would only be a desperate way to cling on more. 
Should have used my intuition,
 should have figured she had heard it before. But I’m an old soul in a young body— 
I’ve seen Lucy in the sky, upright in the swamp.
 An old soul in a young body—
 I’ve seen the atom get split and created, ‘cause I’m an old soul in a young body— 
I know that we are made of stars in endless rings.
 An old soul in a young body— 
someday I will radiate and resonate throughout this galaxy.