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AIN'T NO TIME TO BLEED
Stranded
in the wilderness
Heart
inside my hand
For
every act of wickedness
Add
another grain of sand
The
sacred hoop hangs in the sky
Great
Spirit’s on his knees
Where
the red and black roads intersect
The
sacred tree just bleeds
O
Father, if you see me
Crying
in my hour of need
Until
my time for dyin
Ain’t
No Time To Bleed
There’s
a town beyond Jerusalem
Built
of mud and brick
Somewhere
on the outskirts
A
sign made out of sticks
The
battle is still raging
The
wind left long ago
A
tattoo of a trumpet
On
the walls of Jericho
O
mother, if you see me
Crying
in my hour of need
Until
my time of dyin
I
got no time to bleed
See
the wounded darkened plain
It’s
a chaos and a curse
The
north is flames and ashes
The
sky has died of thirst
Joan
of arc stripped off her armor
Jesus
pawned his cross
So
much sold down the river
How
much do pawnshops cost?
O
sister, if you see me
Crying
in my hour of need
Until
my time of dyin
Ain’t
no time to bleed
The
rain will wash the river clean
The
clouds will clear away
The
sun will set upon the graves
Of
those who couldn’t pray
So
much to be done here
Do
we stop before we’re finished
Or
start all over again
O
brother, if you see me
Crying
in my hour of need
Before
my time for dyin
I
got no time to bleed
Standin
on this empty shore
My
life rolls in the waves
A
strange wind full of memories
That
weren’t mine anyway
Some
believe in accidents
Some
believe in fate
The
only thing i believe is time
Time
is never late
In
my hour of need
Until
my time of dying
There
ain’t no time to bleed
Until
my time of dyin
Got
no time to bleed
No
time to bleed…
Eric
Andersen © 2003, Wind and Sand Music
Adm.
Bug Music, ASCAP
BEAT
AVENUE
city
fell in shock
the
moment when it heard the news
the
president had been shot
me
stuck in phone booth
tryin
to call my gal
only
to hear -- crackly metal voice say,
try
again, sir, all circuits busy
what
in the world was going on
with
a feelin strange and lost
it
was haunted in the neighborhood
startled
words became a flood
tongues
gathered and soon began to flock
the
moment when they heard the news
the
president had been shot, shot, shot
me
walkin in space whistlin in the dark
I
didn’t have a clue
thinkin
about a new song
ramblin
down Beat Avenue
shot
. . . shot . . . shot . . .
shot . . .
who
come runnin up the hill
but
Billy’s cousin Joan
it
was the wildest, goofiest thing
(yeah,
we had a thing or two)
now
she was ziggin, zaggin
middle
of the street
comin
towards me
arms
flailin, horns were honkin
bigger
‘an life
a
crazy sight
until
she collapsed
on
parked car
blond
hair spillin
she
was sobbin, out of breath
lookin
up to me
as
if to speak
but
no sound came
just
tears
green-eyed
liquid pain
runnin
down her face
and
low animal groan
comin
from somewhere
deep
inside her throat
they
shot him, man, probably shot him dead
they
shot him, man, probably shot him
dead dead dead
She
gasped for angry words
pulled
her off the car
dropped
the wash
we
started down the hill
talkin
gray monotones
all
the way to her place
climbed
the stairs
while
tryin to utter the unspeakable
“at
1 pm Dallas time...
President
Kennedy died
at
Parkland Memorial Hospital”
in
a ghostly instant
memory
fused
wonderin
what would happen next
while
silence
blew
up the room
where
to go
what
to do?
everybody
glued
to
the breakin flames
blowin
‘cross the tube
as
bad news spread
mouth
to mouth
ear
to ear
blazin
down Beat Avenue
shot
. . . shot . . . shot . . .
shot . . .
3.
Where
was Jack
sweet
slumber Jack
where
was Jack tonight?
sweet,
crazy
dumb-saint
of the mind
our
alter boy
in
Northport darkened room
alone,
deep in armchair
in
front of flickerin blue tube
smellin
indifference
in
every mantra breath
Mama’s
leftover casserole
waits
cold on kitchen counter
and
crush empty beer can
tossin
it into trash
Ti-Jean
you
found the asphalt eye
and
Buddha’s heart
on
the road
you
were born knowin
and
blew as deep as you could blow
born
to see
and
make it new
you
loved and honored life
until
it
killed
you
now
as this day turns black and blue
still
it’s me and still it’s you
movin
to the dharma
looking
down Beat Avenue
shot
. . . shot . . . shot . . .
shot . . .
4.
Where
are you, precious Julie?
part-time
barmaid, part-time artist model
and
full-time kind
where
are you tonight
thinkin
you were my first
when
you closed the bar
found
me on the floor
huggin
the toilet bowl
we
sailed those foggy drunken hills
past
tunnel lights and twirlin stars
up
Russian Hills
and
creaky stairs
to
bungalow
candle
flame and jasmine
you
pulled the dress high over her head
threw
the fishnet stockings
on
the chair
study
of black on black
then
next
me
now sunk low in tub
of
warm fragrant waters
scented
fingers memorizin
bones
of my white body
spells
of deep opium
kisses
gleams
from your olive eyes
from
loins of gold
I
tasted the perfume
of
your morphine flesh
hair
of chestnut flames
made
a tent that
tumbled
down your breast
a
Modigliani . . .
fallin
free from the frame
my
every boyish wish came true
a
living odalisque
you
proved again what
Georges
Clemençeau once said
that
the greatest sin there is,
is
a soul
that
lacks warmth
that
wasn’t one of yours,
my
love
while
we drifted
on
the drunken boat
sheltered
from the blues
you
holdin me
me
holdin you
floatin
soft and true
chasin
my Van Gogh
driftin
down Beat Avenue
shot
. . . shot . . . shot . . .
shot . . .
5.
Before
the Coffee Gallery
and
Julie’s foggy rides
I
played in North Beach
streets
and doorways
playin
for wine and coins
a
skinny wide-eyed kid
to
JC’s’ lonesome blues
with
Gregory beatin shoebox time
JC
blew the harp
JC
Burris was his name
Sonny
Terry’s Georgia nephew
with
a big scar
runnin
‘cross his . . . neck
everyone
saw that
he
taught me how to kill a man
with
just one hand around
the
throat
Whoa,
JC Burris
you
blew for all
street
was your stage
where
you taught me the hand jive
we
played for cash and jugs of wine
one
night across the Golden Gate
you
sang and cried
500
miles... 500 miles. . .
Lord,
I’m 500 miles from my home
when
I played my payin gig
you
would stand outside and wait
we’d
sometimes
sometimes
split the take
then
one night
after
closin time
the
Big Chill
you
disappeared
maybe
gone for good
got
up and split one day
to
where I never knew
you
learn fast when things
just
come and go
up
and down Beat Avenue
shot shot shot
shot
6.
So
I headed for the Haight
for
a poetry read that night
went
up with my singin poet friend
David
Meltzer and his wife, Tina,
David
was a moonlight City Light book clerk
and
was heard to say-
the
mystery is the ordinary
and
the ordinary
is
the mystery
and
there ain’t no such thing
as
“coolsville”
climbed
those creaky stairs
and
sat in blackened room
dull
light strung over little stage
Allen
Ginsberg just returned
from
Buddha’s jukebox
Calcutta
and Saigon
he’d
been diamond sutra’d
Banged
and cocked
now
he was on Columbus Ave.
swathed
in smilin white
but
tonight the air was sick and bruised
he
was dressed in black
after
poets recited stuff
Allen
stood and read
all
nerve and breath
olive-wreathed
paper
in his hand
his
words spit rage
he
sang of dharma boomerangs
and
karmic kickback
of
open graves
and
worms crawling out of
assholes
of
dead presidents
in
a haunted room of silhouettes
we
were perched along the void
while
McClure stood under
naked
landing bulb
Ferlinghetti
deep
in thought
fingers
strokin chin
and
restless Neal
stalkin
his shadow
along
the wall
we
watched from the abyss
as
hope burned into ashes
while
Allens’s words gunned down
all
sorrow in the room
the
world caved in
the
room breathed out
every
word rang
hard
and true
howlin
down Beat Avenue
shot
. . . shot . . . shot . . .
shot . . . shot
7.
Now
the image of pink
and
a burned-out star
pale
in TV grays
a
wave, a smile
an
open car
Camelot’s
skull got
shattered
into pieces
then
a tarmac
on
a field called “Love”
we
saw her standin there
a
woman in the noonday Dallas sun
in
blood-spattered pink suit
her
face told it all
that
a dream had died
and
gone to shit
rainin
ashes on our hearts
freezin
winds just blew
blew
the flames apart
shattered
like the scattered leaves
blowin
blood
blowin
down Beat Avenue shot . . .
shot . . .
shot . . . shot . . .
shot
8.
It
was in the midnight hour
drivin
rag-tag through hills
to
Ferlinghetti’s bastion
up
steep steps
I
look behind
and
see the black bay below
surrounded
by
gleaming
jewels on black velvet
connected
by
neckaces
of sparkling bridges
everythin
looked the same
and
now nothin was the same
we
all stumbled down
Victorian
corridor
to
back kitchen
Allen
near Formica counter
stark
naked by the sink
wearin
only beard and
trademark
horned-rims
oak
table groaning with cheap jug wine
air
is thick with weed
Allen
sits next to me
on
neighbor woman’s lap
we’re
talking quietly
amongst
ourselves
in
somber tones
feel
a little too good
on
a night like this
Neal
Cassady appears
standin
in front of fridge
head
bowed down
clutchin
a shoe box
full
of clean
Mexican
weed
not
a seed or stem in sight
standin
taut-jawed
talkin
to no one
not
even himself
raw-boned
Juárez
jailbird
in
redline fever night
all
knitted brow
smiling
sweetly,
shy
. . .
like
a girl
Tina
rolls a massive joint
from
tissue thin Chinese newspaper
like
a rocket
travelin
hand to hand
smoke
drifts over
cheap
jug wine and cans
of
Green Death Rainier ale
then
I gotta pee
I
go down hall to the toilet
when
from behind the door
comes
soft, desperate knockin
I
zip up quick
standin
in doorway
I
see a naked holy man
holdin
cereal bowl
full
of wine and puke
I
step aside
as
he carefully pours
gut-freed
vomit alms
in
porcelain bowl
I
see and smell
wretch
and blood
soul-nausea
and cheap
red
wine
just
the holy man and me
standin
in the loo
waitin
for the shoe to drop
as
the ice just
grew
and grew
shiverin
down Beat avenue
9.
The
days wore thin
white
December days
mist
froze to my face
like
tears
just
walkin to keep warm and kill time
wanderin
Telegraph, San Pablo
Berkeley
avenues
into
Oakland wasteland
past
thrift shop desolation
abandoned
railroad tracks
overgrown
docks
seein
shaky hands warming
over
flames in oil drums
Oooooh,
it’s cold
beneath
long Calvary
strings
of power lines
above
storefront churches
salvation
army dreams
walkin
to the strains
of
Lightnin’s blues
ah,
to go back
far
from the fog and misery
yeah,
I left my home
a
diamond fire
burnin
in my head
saddled
on the hobo steed
to
ride the blazin
blazin
rainbow rails
to
a paradise
with
a terrible urge and longin
to
go back to someplace warm
a
place like home
safe
from jungle wars
a
place like New York City
fly
down like an angel
over
buildings and bones
and
try ‘n change the world
before
it started changin me
changin
me
so
I turn to face the rails
collar
to the wind
see
the lonesome road
goodbye
Julie
goodbye
fog
City
Lights, Vesuvio’s
Hot
dog palace
Market
Street
gonna
cross that bridge of sighs
so
if ya hear me singin
Lightnin’s
Rocky Mountain Blues
if
ya’ hear me singin
Lightnin’s
Rocky Mountain Blues
know
I’m back out on the road again
farewell…
Beat
Avenue
farewell,
Beat Avenue
farewell
. . .
Lyrics
and melody by Eric Andersen © 2003, Wind and Sand Music
Adm.
Bug Music, ASCAP
BEFORE
EVERYTHING CHANGED
My dreams they never fail
me
They never miss the mark
Sleepin at the strangest hours
Tryin to beat the clock
If a picture’s worth a
thousand words
A photograph proves that
How can you even picture love
If ya’ can’t afford to laugh
It’s changin like a roll of dice
Nothin’s really sure
Hate is spreading like disease
And there ain’t no easy cure
Below the blackened skyline
Beyond the smokin rain
Dreams never burned to ashes
Up until . . . until everything changed
Until everything changed
Well, I used to be an optimist
Used to play the lottery
Now I don’t even bother
To lock the front door when I leave
My bed’s a worn out boxing
ring
My life’s rundown gym
What once was Charles Bukowski
Is now Emily Dickinson
My future has moved out of town
It’s that emptiness you hear
The silent empty tower
shouts
The coast was never clear
Well, I look out on the
highway
Things are gettin strange
Didn’t it all seem so familiar
Before . . . before everything
changed
Before everything changed
Sittin
in this sad cafe
Starin
in your eyes
They’re
lookin good but changed to me
Lookin
old and wise
Sidelined
by the future
Leaves only us to blame
The future wins and soon forgets
The future don’t explain
Don’t
need illumination
Don’t
need no poison pen
Words
can live their own life
They
know exactly what they meant!
Well, I miss you more than
I did before
Nothin feels the same
Didn’t we all feel vain and self-assured
Right before . . . before
everything changed
Before everything changed
It’s
dark and clouding over
The
river’s risin fast
I
knew it wouldn’t last
I
heard the midnight special
Pass
by an hour ago
Is
there something here to get me high
The
clock ain’t turnin backwards
The
sands blow at my feet
If
you ever hear from the Man upstairs
I’d
love to hear him speak
I’m
cashing all my chips in
Too
dumb to play the game
I
used to plan an hour ahead
Up
until . . . till everything changed
Until
everything changed, until everything changed
Until everything changed
Eric Andersen © 2003, Wind
and Sand Music
Adm. Bug Music, ASCAP
BLUE ROCKIN CHAIR
Goin
down to the henhouse
down
to where my chickens lay
see
if the eggs are hatchin
that’s
what the rooster say
Went
out to my stable
to
find my pony there
she
left me for the station
I
couldn’t find her anywhere
Goin
back into the kitchen
Check
on my jelly roll
(I smell somethin cookin . . .)
I
said, if you’re bakin any doughnuts, baby,
Oh,
don’t let them holes get cold
Hey
mama, now look at this
Who’s
on the levee doin the double twist
Come
on in, you’re gettin dirty now
You’re
tryin to be a bad girl but you don’t know how
Wild
women they don’t worry
Wild
women know what to do
Wild
women they don’t worry
Ah,
wild women don’t get the blues
(Now
boys, listen to this)
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