Flushing
The grass is always greener on my side.
But oo, has there ever been a tree like you?
Green, like you, a plastic tree, standing in the lung of a big bloodbath.
I can read the news faster than you, you wanna know where our little friend went?
Struck by Siberian avalanche. Paralyzed, left to die. It's a sad day.
It's one of these days when you don't wanna go outside. You don't even wanna see the rocket ship take off, or the park.
Or the people who go there. Or the fashion show, in the park.
A few minutes pass. I hear a brave raging lunatic, ringing words of wisdom into the ears of a balding sociopath.
And I smile. And it comes to mind, that in a few years, we will all get together and laugh at this chicken-scratch.
Down in December, love grows on trees.
And in the sewer, joy and shattered leaves.
Tornado in Brooklyn, money in Manhattan.
Helicopter to Jersey, stop flirting with me.
Dance to the rats. Dance to the rats.
Sleep with the roaches. Dance to the rats.
Up, upon November, there's a brand new sewer rat.
Sleeping with the sleeping. Flushing in Flushing.
Magic, like a sunset in a parking lot.
A big, bad rocket ship takes off.
From Brooklyn, New York, to Flushing, Queens, where a deadly visionary was hatched.
About Nico, I can read the news.
You wanna know what she's up to?
Extending the upper limit of her vocalization range, for Lou, and Jim, and Jimi, and Satan.
Today, I got tired of you screaming at me, and eternally stroking your ego, so I'll go
off to play a Bushwick Antifolk show for the bartender, walls, and weirdos.
Run down Avenue A, take the J train, and I realize I was right, all along.
I'm Cannonball Statman, on the J train, and you just wanna be a character in one of my songs.
My favorite thing in the world to do is chase the muse.
I chase it every day.
Stop electricity, cars, firetrucks, congress, barfights, dust mites, and red birds in my pursuit of it.
I'm losing my mind in the best possible way, 'cause I know I ain't never gonna catch it.