lyrics file for all hail west texas
the best ever death metal band in denton.the best ever death metal band out of denton were a couple of guys, who'd been friends since grade school. one was named cyrus, and the other was jeff. and they practiced twice a week in jeff's bedroom. the best ever death metal band out of denton never settled on a name. but the top three contenders, after weeks of debate, were satan's fingers, and the killers, and the hospital bombers. jeff and cyrus believed in their hearts they were headed for stage lights and leer jets, and fortune and fame. so in script that made prominent use of a pentagram, they stenciled their drumheads and guitars with their names. this was how cyrus got sent to the school where they told him he'd never be famous. and this was why jeff, in the letters he'd write to his friend, helped develop a plan to get even. when you punish a person for dreaming his dream, don't expect him to thank or forgive you. the best ever death metal band out of denton will in time both outpace and outlive you. hail satan! hail satan tonight! hail satan! hail hail!
the fall of the star high school running back.sophomore year, you rushed for an average of eight and a third yards per carry. all eyes were on you. junior year, you blew your knee out at an out of town game. nowhere to go to but down down down. nothing but the ground left for you to fall to. by july, you'd made a whole bunch of brand new friends, people you used to look down on. and you'd figured out a way to make real money -- givin' ends to your friends, and it felt stupendous. chrome spokes on your japanese bike, but selling acid was a bad idea. and selling it to a cop was a worse one. and the new law said that seventeen year olds could do federal time. you were the first one, so i sing this song for you, william stanaforth donahue, your grandfather rode the boat over from ireland, but you made a bad decision or two. yeah.
color in your cheeks.she came in on the redeye to dallas-fort worth. all the way from sunny taipei. skin the color of a walnut shell, and a baseball cap holding down her black hair. and she came here after midnight. the hot weather made her feel right at home. come on in, we haven't slept for weeks. drink some of this. it'll put color in your cheeks. he drove from in from mexicali, no worse for wear. money to burn, time to kill. but five minutes looking in his eyes and we all knew he was broken pretty bad, so we gave him what we had. we cleared a space for him to sleep in, and we let the silence that's our trademark make its presence felt. come on in, we haven't slept for weeks. drink some of this. it'll put color in your cheeks. they came in by the dozens, walking or crawling. some were bright-eyed. some were dead on their feet. and they came from zimbabwe, or from soviet, georgia. east saint louis, or from paris, or they lived across the street. but they came, and when they'd finally made it here, it was the least that we could do to make our welcome clear. come on in, we haven't slept for weeks. drink some of this. it'll put color in your cheeks.
jenny.you roared into the driveway of our southwestern ranch-style house on a new kawasaki, all yellow and black fresh out of the showroom. our house faced west, so the big orange sun positioned at your back, lit up your magnificent silhouette. how much better? how much better can my life get? 900 cubic centimeters of raw whining power. no outstanding warrants for my arrest. whoa-whoa. whoa whoa. the pirate's life for me. i hopped on back of the bike, wrapped my arms around you. and i sank my face into your hair. and then i inhaled as deeply as i possibly could. you were as sweet and delicious as the warm desert air. and you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon, we were the one thing in the galaxy god didn't have his eyes on. 900 cc's of raw whining power, no outstanding warrants for my arrest. hi diddle dee dee. god damn! the pirate's life for me!
down here where the heat's so fine i'll drink to your heath and you drink to mine as we try to make the money we scored out in vegas hold out for a while. we drink, vodka from russia we get our chocolates from belgium we have our strawberriest flown in from england. yeah but none of the money we spend seems to do us much good in the end. i've got a cracked engine block, both of us do. yeah the house and the jewels, the italian race car they don't make us feel better about who we are. i've got termites in the framework, so do you. down here where the watermelon grows so sweet where i worship the ground underneith of your feet, we are experts in the art of frivilous spending. and it's gone on like this, for 3 years i guess and we're drunk all the time and our lives are a mess. and the deathless love we swore to protect with our bodies is stumbling across its bleak ending. but none of the rage in our eyes seems to finish it off where it lies. i got sugar in the fuel lines, both of us do. yeah the fights and the lies that we both love to tell fail to send our love to it's reward down in hell i got pudding for a backbone, so do you! la la la la. hey hey!
balance.two tall glasses of sweet iced tea underneath the sweetgum tree, and the love we once nurtured, you and me, disintegrating violently. stick your tongue out. catch the pieces as they drift down the air. i am too slow to catch them all, not too far gone to care. two slow summer hours spent picking at the bones, figuring the interest on delinquent loans. speaking in sad and mournful tones, trying to squeeze tears out of mute stones. wet your finger. place it toward the wind. feel disaster in the air. we are far too slow to outrun it now. not too far gone to care.
pink and blue.wind out of oklahoma this morning smelled like blood and smoke. and the crows discuss their future in the branches of their louisiana live oak. the limbs are strong and heavy and its leaves are all aglow. and the branches brush the upper air, but the roots reach down to where the bad people go. and what will i do with you, pink and blue? true gold. nine days old. nice new clothes on you and old carboard produce box for a cradle. i mashed some bananas in a coffee cup and i fed you there at the kitchen table. crows outside complaining about the finer points of local politics. strange wind all full of new smells -- rust and fur and reception sticks. and what will i do with you, pink and blue? true gold. nine days old.
riches and wonders.we live high. our love gorges on the alcohol we feed it. and it grows all fat and friendly we have surplus if we need it. we hold on as hard as we can. our knuckles are white. we write letters to each other, invent secrets to confess to. i learn foreign and exotic terms of endearment by which to address you. we feed fresh fruit to one another. we stay up all night. i am healthy, i am whole, but i have poor impulse control. and i want to go home. but i am home. we are strong, we are faithful, we are guardians of a rare thing. we pay close careful attention to the news the morning air brings. we show great loyalty to the hard times we've been through. we are filled with riches and wonders, our love keeps the things it finds. and we dance like drunken sailors, lost at sea out of our minds. you find shelter somewhere in me, i find great comfort in you. and i keep you safe from harm. you hold me in your arms, and i want to go home. but i am home
the mess inside.we took a weekend, drove to provo. the snow was white and fluffy. but a weekend in utah won't fix what's wrong with us. the gray sky was vast and real cryptic above me. i wanted you to love me like you used to do. we took two weeks in the bahamas. went out dancing every night. tried to fight the creeping sense of dread with temporal things. most of the time i guess i felt alright. but i wanted you to love me like you used to do. but you cannot run and you cannot hide, from the wreck we've made of our house, and from the mess inside. we went down to new orleans one weekend in the spring. looked hard for what we'd lost. it was painful to admit it, but we couldn't find a thing. i wanted you to love me like you used to do. we went to new york city in september. took the train out of manhattan to the grand army stop. found that bench we'd sat together on a thousand years ago when i felt such love for you i thought my heart was gonna pop. i wanted you to love me like you used to do. but i cannot run. and i can't hide. from the wreck we've made of our house. from the mess inside.
jeff davis county blues.after three nights in jail, i head north from toyavale. switch to 285 in pecos, head up to red bluff. my walk's real steady and my eyes are real cold but i feel like i'm all of sixteen years old -- lost in the travel lodge, with the television on with the sound down, i don't feel so tough. old issues of sunset magazine to read, sleep for twelve hours, and dream about home. i have no place to go, so i drive up to new mexico. fix my eyes in the rearview when i cross the state line. and i panic, i guess. and although it's quite late, i take the first exit to 128. i am coming back to midlind. i hope you won't mind. polaroids of the two of us scattered on the passenger's seat. i drive slowly and evenly and i dream about home.
distant stations.i found an old rock in the dry dirt outside the door of my motel room. it was a triangle with soft rounded edges and a split down the middle of one corner. it was darker than english moss. green like the soft frills of a peacock's plume. i waited for you, but i never told you where i was. it was you who taught me how to write these kinds of equations. i waited on the steps for you, and i hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot. you taught me how to listen to these distant stations. distant stations. i saw the sky break. i threw a rock at a crow who was playing in the mulch of some rose bushes by the motel office. missed him by a good yard or two. i sang old songs from nowhere. los angeles. albuquerque. i said a small prayer for the poor and the naked and the hungry. and i prayed real hard for you. i waited for you, but i never told you where i was. it was you who taught me how to write this kind of equation. i waited on the steps for you, and i hid in the bushes whenever a car pulled into the parking lot. you taught me how to listen to these distant stations. distant stations.
blues in dallas.will i see you there when that final trumpet blows? will i see you there when that final trumpet blows? if i don't see you there, i will run a comb through my hair. and i will wait. i will wait. i will wait. will you walk on in when the angel summons you? will you walk on in when the angel summons you? if i don't see you go, i will let the minions flow. and i will wait. i will wait. i will wait. down in dealey plaza, the tourists mill about. down in dealey plaza, the tourists mill about. and i am far from where we live, and i have not learned how to forgive. but i will wait. i will wait. i will wait. yeah.
source decay.once a week i make the drive two hours east to check the austin post office box and i take the detour through our old neighborhood see all the chevy impalas in their front yards up on blocks and i park in an alley and i read through the post cards you continue to send where as indirectly as you can you ask what i remember i like these tortured deviced from my old best friend well i'll tell you what i know like i swore i always would i don't think it will do you any good i remember the train headed south out of bangkok down toward the water. i always get a late start when the sun's going down and the traffic's filling out and the glare is hard to take i wish the west texas highway was a mobius strip i could ride it out for ever when i feel my heart break i almost swear i hear it happen in fact clean and not hard i come in off the highway and i park in my front yard fall out of the car like a hostage from a plane think of you awhile start wishing it would rain and i remember the train heading south out of bangkok down, down towards, the water. come in to the house put on a pot of coffee walk the floors a little while set your postcard on the table with all the others like it start sorting threw the pile check the pictures and the postmarks and the captions and the stamps for a sign of any pattern at all when i come up empty handed the feeling almost overwhelms me i let a few of my defenses fall and i smile a bitter smile it is not a pretty sight to see i think about a railroad platform back in 1983 and i remember the train heading south out of Bangkok down, down towards, the water.
absolute lithops effect.after one long season of waiting, after one long season of wanting, i am breaking open. my insides are pink and raw. and i hurts me when i move my jaw, but i am taking tiny steps forward. and i... i feel sure that my wounds will heal. and i, i will bloom here in my room. with a little water. and a little bit of sunlight. and a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy. the big trucks come up the highway. and the big wheels rattle my windows. and night, night comes to texas. after one blind season alone in here, after one long sweltering summer, i, i'm going to find the exit. and i will go to the house of a friend i know. and i will let myself forget. with a little water. and a little bit of sunlight. and a little bit of tender mercy, tender mercy.