On a winter's Sunday I go To clear away the snow and green the ground below April, all an ocean away, is this the better way to spend the day? Keeping
I'm a legionnaire Camel in disrepair Hoping for a Frigidaire To come passing by I am on reprieve Lacking my joie de vive Missing my gay Paris In this
My name is Leslie Ann Levine My mother birthed me down a dry ravine My mother birthed me far too soon Born at nine and dead at noon Fifteen years gone
There is a city by the sea, a gentle company I don't suppose you want to And as it tells its sorry tale in harrowing detail Its hollowness will haunt
I have come a few miles I got blisters on my slippered feet As I rise As I rise California's okay But I think I might stay in the shade For a while For
My mother was a Chinese trapeze artist, pre-war in Paris Smuggling bombs for the underground And she met my father at a fete in Aix-en-Provence He was
Here's a hymn to welcome in the day Heralding a summer's early sway And all the bulbs all coming in to begin The thrushes bleating battle with the wrens
Sweet Anabelle, as seen reclining on an ocean swell As the waves do lather up to lay her down 'Til she's fast and sleeping Oh, well, I guess I'm something
They've come to find you, Odalisque As the light dies horribly On a fire escape you walk All rare and resolved to drop And when they find you, Odalisque
There are angels in your angles There's a low moon caught in your tangles There's a ticking at the sill There's a purr of a pigeon to break the still
In matching blue raincoats our shoes were our show boats We kicked around From stairway to station we made a sensation With the gadabout crowd And oh
Truly with his thorn in your side And you don't know why Julie dips her toe in the tide And you don't know why No, she don't know why She got all dolled
Big mountain, wide river There's an ancient pull These tree trunks, these stream beds Leave our bellies full They sing out I am going to stand my ground
I was meant for the stage I was meant for the curtain I was meant to tread these boards Of this much I am certain I was meant for the crowd I was meant
This is the story of your red right ankle And how it came to meet your leg And how the muscle bone and sinews tangled And how the skin was softly shed
I have snipped your wingspan My precious captive swan Here all clipped of kickstand Your spirit won't last long Don't you lift a finger Don't you snap
Get the rox in the box, get the water right down to your socks This bulkhead's built of fallen brethren bones We all do what we can, we endure our fellow
We set to sail on a packet full of spice, rum and tea leaves We've emptied out all the bars and the bowery hotels Tell your daughters do not walk the
