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Not Much Rhymes With Everything's Awesome At All Times
Mark Kozelek
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Things were amazing when you lived in LA
Things were sublime up in the East Bay
Then you landed in England's grey London town
Again things were great
You say you're a writer but what can you say
When each night ends another perfect day?
When a week in a hostel was a fabulous stay
You're just too high to reach
It's hard to swallow your big bright pills
The one I want to ask, how do you really feel?
Can you dim the lights for just a few minutes?
Lose the phrases, the overused snippets?
You're living among the grime and the soot
A scene straight out of a Charles Dickens book
Ain't got no man to give you no love
A kiss on the cheek, a welcome home hug
You say you're a poet but I've not read a line
Just seen the notebook, the cover and spine
You say you're a poet but how much rhymes
With everything's perfect at all times?
You left for Rome and Paris, France
Came back home in a born again trance
You met me for lunch, so late one day
Out of breath with so much to say
We sat down together and I stared at your phone
I squinted hard but could not feel your tone
I looked on at endless two-inch frames
Thinking "Christ, they're all the fucking same"
What's beneath your glow and your gleam?
What's not in the picture baby?
Are there scars somewhere on your skin
And are there more deeper you're hiding?
Tell me about when you were a kid
Did someone you know drive off of a cliff?
Did you get picked on by your big brother?
What are you carrying? What are you smothering?
Is something crawling on you like bugs?
Is something eating away at your guts?
Is something slithering down in the drain?
Is something swimming around in your veins?
You say that you're happy here in this place
Staring off into internet space
Trying to hit a magic button
Wake up only next to no one
Next to your laptop and your slick phone
And your book of illogic poems
You're my friend and you know I love you
Open up, babe, no I won't judge you
I'm an artist, it's all that I've got
I know when I see one and baby, you're not
A poet knows that not much rhymes
With everything's perfect at all times
Say you're a poet but I've not read a line
Just seeing the notebook, the cover and spine
You say you're a poet but not much rhymes
With everything's perfect at all times
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