Words

A Year and a Day (By Sergio Barile)

I can't say that I'm ok
with how things changed
since we first met.
A year and a day
adds up to nothing.

Of all the things I said,
and all my past mistakes,
one thing that I regret
is wanting to hold on to you
a year and a day.
I can't hold on to you.

You have said, "don't you worry
we'll soon be dead,
and all the things,
when they have gone,
will be forgotten."

But who's to say
I won't hurt you anyway.
I think I'll let you go
'cause it's getting cold
so watch out!

Of all the things I said,
and all my past mistakes,
one thing that I regret
is wanting to hold on to you
a year and a day.
I can't hold on to you.
No.

Goodbye (By Mike Cuffaro)

She'll be moving away from her home.
She'll be building a home of her own.
She won't cry when she says her goodbyes.
She'll be gone in the blink of an eye.

Oh, when the breeze
runs through the grass,
catches her hair,
she'll look and smile,
night on her face,
moon in her eyes,
sun in the sky.

She won't cry
when she says
her goodbyes.
She won't die.

She's gonna get married.
She's gonna get hitched up now.
She's gonna get married.
Leave the cradle underneath the bough.

Oh when the breeze
runs through the grass,
catches her hair,
she'll look and smile,
night on her face,
moon in her eyes,
sun in the sky.

She won't cry
when she says
her goodbyes.
She won't die.

When We Were Young (By Mike Cuffaro)

Hey little dream,
so far away,
down in the place,
where I want to go.
I want to be
standing on a bus,
fishing out my change,
looking at your face,
like when we were young.

We were young
when the sunshine
broke in
through the window.

Walking on my feet,
back on level ground,
still I think about,
when I could love you
once in a while.
I think I can see.
I think I can taste.
I think I can feel.
And I think I'll go

back where you'll be:
where the sunshine
broke in
through the window.

When we were young,
and I was old,
and you were dear,
and you were here.
White on a bus,
gold all around,
rock in my chest,
blood gushing out,
that day in May,
when the sun broke
through the window.

Let the sunshine
break
down the window.

Differences (By Alex DiNucci)

Do you remember
lying in that bed,
so hopelessly paralysed,
feeling trapped in those blue sheets?

Well unfortunately I do.
When you heard my voice,
and you turned around,
I knew your time had come,
leaving with our differences.

I can't forget.
Was it frustration?
Was it your only wish
to have a perfect creation?

When you heard my voice,
and you turned around,
I knew your time had come,
leaving with our differences.

I can't forget.
Was it frustration?
Was it your only wish
to have a perfect creation?

Leaving with our differences,
you couldn't give yourself in.

Was it frustration?
Was it your foolish pride?
You'll just have to believe
I have no regrets.

I can't forget.

Fade to Blind (By Mike Cuffaro)

There she stands
'fore my eyes.
Silk sweat runs steaming down her thighs.
On her knees,
on her back,
she'll crouch and wait for the attack.

'round and up,
down and 'round,
she spreads her legs and comes on down.
Long and wet,
stripped and stretched,
A scarlet gem in milk white

Flesh. I can't see
where I am. The
fog is thick a-
round my face. My
skin is turning
dead, cold, pale. I
don't know if I'm going blind.

Running lost
on my feet,
I stumble in and close the door.
I get down on my shaking knees.
I reach out and I flush it

Down. I can't see
where I am. The
fog is thick a-
round my face. My
skin is turning
dead, cold, pale. I
don't know if I'm going blind.

Blind, I can't see
where I am. The
fog is thick a-
round my face. My
skin is turning
dead, cold, pale. I
don't know if I'm going blind.

Child (By Sergio Barile)

Would you remember me
if I asked you not to forget?
Things that I never got done,
those that I did sometimes, I regret.

I try to run
but my legs don't move me.
I'll hang around
but only for a little while.

You'll have to forgive me
if it seems that I'm not making sense.
I woke up one morning
with my life in the palm of my hands.

I saw my past
tightly under cover and
I shed some tears,
but only for a little while.

Child, watching you speak
reminds me of good intentions.
I know you still believe
things can only get better.

I can relate to anyone
I come across.
Do you know my name?

Can you ever sympathise?
Don't try and answer,
I'll love you just the same.
Child, watching you speak
reminds me of good intentions.
I know you still believe
things can only get better.

Home (By Sergio Barile)

Early that morning he wakes up and sighs,
"Nothing left for me here, guess I'd better get out."
Fog patch is lifting, revealing the sky.
"I can hardly believe things are passing me by.
Don't need them I can stand on my own.
Don't need them I can fend for myself.
Don't need anyone, I'm fine all alone." That's a lie.
He crosses the border. He leaves them behind. She says,
"You'll come back to us soon, it's a matter of time."

Mother, take this knife from my back.
I can hardly believe my luck.
It was dark when I kicked her.
And I turned right around.
Never thought that she had the guts.

Outside my open window
there's some people trying to get in,
and I want to get out.

Laying in this bed,
I can feel so many faces,
and I know
that they're staring back
at me.
Waiting, watching,
knowing that I'll be
the first one
to go down.

Outside my open window
there's some people trying to get in,
and I want to get out.

I can hardly remember
your face
from my own.
And home
is the place I return to
when I'm lost,
and I don't know which way to turn.

Where Did You Go? (By Sergio Barile)

Where did you go when you had gone?
Why did you leave me all alone?
Why did you take me to that place?
What is that look upon your face?
I never wanted this to end,
but you said we're through.

I tried to call you on the phone.
I wandered 'round you were not home.
This situation is all wrong.
I shouldn't have to sing this song.
Am I the only one to blame,
when you said we're through?

And if you listen to this song,

Pull a Lever (By Mike Cuffaro)

Do you pull a lever when you need
to change the weather? Do you feel
it when you bleed?
Do you cry
out. Do you scream?
Do you indeed?

Do you wear dark glasses in the sun?
Do you walk around town with a gun?
And when you meet
the girl of your dreams,
and you're having fun,
do you put one on?

Sure you follow all the latest trends,
and you ride in your Mercedes Benz,
and when you get
her on the bed,
you turn around,
and then she screams.

You'd better run.

Doesn't look like you got very far,
next morning when they find you in your car.
And there you sit,
your glasses on,
all drenched in blood.
All drenched in blood.

Were You Looking Right at Me? (By Sergio Barile)

Were you looking right at me
when you told me
you were leaving?

I just thought I'd make believe
and pretend that
I was dreaming.

Oh, then it felt like
it was raining
down on me.

Books in a Page (By Mike Cuffaro)

Sometimes I feel like I'm walking away from the
triumphs and troubles I felt yesterday when I
wanted a woman and struggled so hard
for the time of my life and I drowned in a well of
false promises made between friends after dark when the
moon hits the gallows and tears you up and you hear
dogs in the backyard just over the fence
bark and howl at the passers-by walking along down the
streets in the city that scribble around as they
draw their way up to the centre of town where the
men in their black coats and grey business suits
kill some time in a call-girl in some hotel room and you

fly
through the blue and white air,
through the red and cold sky,
off of clifftops and breathe
in the sun-soaked hot rain;
you're so anxious to see
over hilltops and clouds
as you rush toward the ground.

Painted up silver nails,
big-heeled black boots, and her
radio tuned to the latest diseases;
she foundered and stuck
in a run of bad luck,
but everyone knew she just wanted to
find the right man. She could play with my
head when she wanted to,
crack ope' my skull and take all that she wanted.
My life was in tears,
four stinking hot years;
my pride and my chequebook were deep in arrears, and then
day after day,
we'd break ourselves into small pieces
around paper walls that could climb up
incredibly high.
We'd laugh and she'd cry.
I picked up my books and I left her behind.

Fly
through the blue and white air,
through the red and cold sky,
off of clifftops and breathe
in the sun-soaked hot rain;
you're so anxious to see
over hilltops and clouds
as you rush toward the ground.

Turning some kind of new page in some
kind of new life but we're still the same young boy who
cried for his mother when she was put
up on display,
patiently, quietly,
lying in
state your case plainly so all the
attorneys can hear
when you finally embark upon your career
and then put on your vest,
your black double-breast;
tie up your running shoes
stroll through one page to the next.

My Own Ground (By Sergio Barile)

What would it take
for me to show that
I'm not looking for direction,
I just need a place to stay.
And what would you say
if I had told you,
I don't think that I can stay here,
so I'd best me on my way.

Can I stay here for a while?
The sun will wake, and I will rise.
It's ok.

I think I'm going to have to wait
for another revelation,
to pretend that things will matter
when there's not that much to say.

Can I stay here for a while?
The sun will wake, and I will rise.
It's ok.

Take me over my own ground,
my own way.
Let me know things as they are.
Away from all that I have done,
and I hope that if I wake up,
you'll catch me when I fall.

Make it Easy on Yourself (By Mike Cuffaro)

I know everything.
I know you.
I control the streets.
I control you.

If you make a stand,
I'll confront you;
I'll destroy your name;
I'll destroy you.

Make it easy on yourself;
just keep quiet,
don't complain.
Let me hold you in my arms;
let me soothe away your pain.
Take your piece out of the pie,
and I promise, when you're old,
you'll be well looked after;
I'll give you a home.

They're all the same;
they just want a piece of you.
I can make them pay
for everything they take from you.

Make it easy on yourself;
take a piece out of the pie.
Bring it home to feed your family,
maybe start a small company.
Come join us in the world;
we'll welcome you with open arms.
Don't you know that you're a valuable commodity?

Is This a Dream (By Mike Cuffaro)

Though I pretend to be distant,
I hear every word you say;
and though I pretend to be frowning,
my smile always gives me away.

You're on my mind in the morning.
The day with you is like a dream;
it fades away into night-time,
the shade of my dark reality.

Oh girl, I don't think I'll deny it anymore;
I want you beside me when I'm sleeping.
Oh girl, I hear the music of your footsteps on my floor,
but I'm not sure if I'm dreaming.

Though I pretend I don't need you,
though I pretend that I'm free,
my legs begin pining when I leave you,
my feet keep them rooted to the street.

No, girl, I don't think I'll deny it anymore;
I want you beside me when I'm sleeping.
Oh girl, I hear the music of your footsteps on my floor,
but I'm not sure if I'm dreaming.

A Long Way from Home (By Mike Cuffaro)

Standin' on the bank of the great, deep, wide blue river,
sunshine warmin' up every hair on your head,
starin' at the man lookin' at you from the water;
it's such a long way home.

She looks at the river, says "you can call me daughter."
She looks you in the eye, she says "you can call me Jeanne."
"Let me lend a hand with that load upon your shoulder,"
"for you're such a long way from home."

Go, get along.
Be on your way.
Carry this song.
Take it a long way from home.

Walkin' with the rain, fillin' in your footprints,
drippin' through the clothes upon your back.
Lookin' at the river, you don't see your reflection;
you're such a long way from home.

"Today," you say, "I have seen it shinin'."
"Today," you say, "I have seen the rain."
"If I open up my eyes tomorrow,"
"such a long way from home."
"it will be risin', risin' again."

Go, get along.
Be on your way.
Carry this song.
Take it a long way from home.

Tears (By Mike Cuffaro)

Tears,
spread out against the sky,
they stretch away for years,
and years,
and years,
and years.

Tears,
they fall as you go by;
you match them stride for stride,
for stride,
for stride,
for stride.

Tears,
they fall as you go by.

Everyone is looking at you,
pointing at you, laughing at you.

Tears,
they fall as you go by;
you match them stride for stride,
for stride,
for stride,
for stride.

Tears,
they fall as you go by.

Everyone is looking at you,
pointing at you, laughing at you.
Everyone is laughing at you,
laughing at you, laughing at you.

Tears,
they fall as you go by,
spread out against the sky;
you match them stride for stride,
and all you see is years,
and years,
and years,
and years.

Tears,
they fall as you go by.

Tears,
they fall as you go by,
spread out against the sky;
you match them stride for stride,
and all you see is years,
and years,
and years,
and years.

Tears.

Tie a Ribbon (By Mike Cuffaro)

Three thirty-six a.m.,
drivin' down the road.
   Drivin' down the road,
   runnin' through the cold.
Cheap whiskey on her breath,
makeup slidin' down.
   Slidin' down her face,
   smearin' 'round her eyes.
Lead her up to a room,
lay her on the bed.

You wake up in the mornin' and she's
fast asleep.
You pick your clothes up off the floor and you
comb your hair.
You tiptoe 'round the spot where she
threw up, wash your face, and then you leave,
and shut the door.

Nine twenty-two a.m.,
take another toke.
   Drivin' down the road,
   rollin' past the rails.
Sun shinin' on your face,
cruisin' through the glare.

She wakes up in the mornin' and you're
nowhere to be found.
She picks her clothes up off the floor and she
combs her hair.
She stumbles through the spot where she
threw up, downs some pills, and then she leaves,
ties a ribbon in her hair.

Spin (By Mike Cuffaro)

When I feel like laying down,
turn down the lights, turn up the record player.
Let it spin around,
'round the room;
forget all my trouble,
all my care.

When the needle hits the top ...

All around, 'round and 'round,
voices are calling me,
dancing around my head,
head over feet. They'll spin
up 'round the chandelier,
down 'round my ankles;
they're spinning around and 'round;
all around, 'round and 'round.

When the needle hits the top ...

I'll cry when you
go, don't leave me.
Don't leave, maybe
I won't stay strong.
When you take your
last step look back;
I'll be on the
porch step waiting.

When the night is cold and bright,
and the road runs straight away;
when you feel like layin' down,
then you'll hear me calling out,
everytime the air's thick,
everytime the trees snap,
everytime the wind claws
'round and 'round the steel walls.

When the needle hits the top ...

I'll cry when you
go, don't leave me.
Don't leave, maybe
I won't stay strong.
When you take your
last step look back;
I'll be on the
porch step waiting.

Where the Contradiction Lies (By Mike Cuffaro)

They tell me that my mind is analytical,
that I can understand the words they speak.
Though they don't mean to be so very cynical,
they ask me what does reason say to me.

Do right by your woman and your family.
Think about their welfare for a change.
Forget all the things you think you need to do.
Grow up, man, and put your toys away.

But I don't see where the contradiction lies.
Maybe I ain't as bright as they say.
And I don't see why I need to end my life,
or live out the rest of my days in dread.

I have always been so very logical.
I've always been one to think things through;
and I'd rather have my babies live than die of fright.
Tell me what does reason say to you?

I can't lay down my responsibility.
I can't quit my work until I'm through.
I'm a creature born out of necessity,
and I must do what I've been made to do.

For I won't sacrifice my babies to their lies.
Maybe I ain't as bright as they say.
And I won't let anybody end their lives.
I won't let them live their lives in dread.

I can see that there ain't any mystery.
I don't need to sail across the sea.
I don't need to fly up way into the sky.
I know all I need is here in me.

I can see my road is here in front of me,
and I know it's the path that I must tread.
And though my destination still is hid from me,
I've no fear for my lord walks ahead.

No I don't see where the contradiction lies,
but I know I ain't as bright as they say.
And I don't see why I need to end my life,
or live out the rest of my days in dread.

Molly and Me (By Mike Cuffaro)

For Molly and me,
it feels like we're never far from
sky. We hit the top and take the
long way down.

When we look over the
horizon and we see dark storm clouds,
we light the fires and close our eyes.

Hold me
closer in your arms.
Keep me,
keep me next to you.
Hold me
closer in your arms.
Keep me,
keep me next to you.

When daylight shines the colours seem to fade away.
Under night sky they fill the range from black to grey.
But at the close of day,
as the sun fades away,
the colours rise.

For Molly and me,
nowhere to leave our traces.
Nowehere to stand upon the mountainside.
Nowhere to be,
nowere to play our dark song,
nowhere to leave our wings behind.

Free to be here,
free to be anywhere,
free to slide,
free to climb,
free to fly,
free to take the
long way down.

Poems

In the City (By Mike Cuffaro)

The sky is black.
The moon is pale.
The streets are grey and cool. The wind
is calm. The stars are gone. The street-
lamps' white-green-yellow eyes look on.

Her skin is wrapped on every face;
on footfall and on every trace
of lady's step her voice sings clear
and calls for me
to look for her.

The shadows wax and wane beneath
the eerie light of lamplit streets.
The crescent moon behind the clouds
does mock at me
and hides its face.

The stars are burning bright. The wind
is brisk. The moon is clear
on a stretch of country road
in a country far from here.

All Dead (By Mike Cuffaro)

Blood and blood,
and brains and blood
were strewn about the field where they,
in many ages long ago,
did lead their mighty peoples there
to battle on the fair broad plain
where sandy grasses brown and tall
did grow beside the purple sea;
and there they fell,
both armies, down
and passed in to the nameless void;
the starless night,
beyond the light
of sun or moon or any eye.

Lightning struck
and ripped, and broke
the land and opened wide a gap
that reached down to a deep abyss
where black and bloody fingers groped
for bone and flesh and grass and flower,
moth and bird and sun and sky,
but swiftly drowned in purple water
rising higher, higher, higher
toward the brink, toward the cliffs
where vultures circled 'round the dead.

Over sword
and over scabbard
over every blade of grass,
the flood rushed in and cleaned them all
and bore them thither to the sea
where friend and foe now take their rest
and dream about a world to come
where open hand and open pocket,
eyelid wide and uncurved tongue
take their long usurpèd seats
and sit in judgement nigh the throne
and shine a light for them to see
to guide them on their journey home.

The House (By Mike Cuffaro)

She walked along the garden path
that wound its way through sunburnt grass
and withered oak trees
broad and weak,
decayed bare branches,
fast asleep.

She walked along the garden path
Upon dry pavement, hard and cold,
through moonless night
so black and thick
the flame upon
her candle's wick

would lead her down the garden path
towards the sturdy iron walls
that rise up from
the grey stone floor
where now she knocks
upon my door.

Pretty Good Looking (By Mike Cuffaro)

She's a beautiful blonde
wearing faded blue jeans
and a navy-blue sweater
with navy-blue sleeves.

Her hair's 'round her shoulders
and through it protrude
the tips of her ears
like an elf in a wood.

Rings on her fingers,
a spring in her step
helped, no doubt, by the
rubber-soled sandals she wears
on her feet, unadorned and unpainted,
unlikely to be;
she's a beautiful girl.

She has no pressing need
to put on a face,
for the face she has on
is not out of place

And I don't know her likes, her dislikes,
or her manner, or even her name!
or anything else to detract from
the beautiful image I see
when I look at her there.

Oppressed (By Mike Cuffaro)

It's vicious and quick
and it stings like a whip
and before you're the wiser
it's gotten you licked
and it taunts you to pieces.

Everywhere, anywhere you turn
it's there; won't go anywhere;
you can't go anywhere
that it won't be.
Nought but nothing you do
to deceive it;
delude it;
or hide from it seems to be working!

So just grab it and break it in half and be done with it.

Electric (By Mike Cuffaro)

O with such awe full force
Do these mean works
impress themselves upon the savage mind,
That by them so confounded,
Seems it natural
That it should turn forever blind to humbler things;

For in the dull spectacles of life,
Is there any sight that is not blurred
By the imaginings of the heart?
Nay, but paths are cleared,
And bridges built
By the working of man's art.
Is there a mountain,
Lake,
Or stream who holding life in its cold bosom,
Doth outshine this forged and tempered steel?
No.
None but one so fashioned
Will a true reflection yield.

It is in these internal articles
That man has found his truth;
And begging so, beneath the table,
He seeks to quench his thirst with meagre things
That calm his savage mind.

Lo,
And flying thus
Upon the thunder,
It seems that all of Heaven's torn asunder,
As his endless toils,
In vain produce more rhymes;
While a tower is rebuilt upon the sands
To pierce the watery veil
And set an unaccustomed eye upon the sun.

In a Train Station (By Mike Cuffaro)

It's black and grey and all around
The passengers embarking on
Their forlorn trips to who know's where
Are sitting on their waiting stools.

And there is me and Mother there,
And in her hand a ticket for
An eastbound train to God know's where;
Can't hardly wait to check it out.

So "All aboard!" the speaker says,
And Mother leads me into line,
And puts the ticket in my hand
And kisses me. Her breath is cold.

"But Mother aren't you coming too?"
"No I can't come, my Michael son.
I must stay here
In black and white;
In coal and grey,
In cold white night."

"No Mother, no! Please let me stay!
I will not go! I won't!" "You must.
Go now my son, don't tarry here.
Go now. The train won't wait for thee."

And dawn was past the station door.
It's smell was open, torn and raw.
And morning birds were there about.
And morning air was fresh and cold.

But on the ground the grass was green,
And on my face the golden sun,
And all around me, everywhere;
The colour of the dawn blue sky.

But just beyond the station door,
Stood Mother; there in black and grey,
Upon her lips a warm sad smile;
A tear rolled down her cheek. And she was young.


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