Topo Gigio

Lyrics

Last night we tried to watch Manchester by the Sea For the second time we tried to watch it, we fell asleep But last week, we watched Palo Alto starring James Franco We got through it, now that was a good one Today is my day of listening Today is my day of not speaking Today is my day of writing Today is my day of reading Today is my day of reflecting Today is my day of silently thinking My quiet meditative day My cat is on her green quilt on the coffee table looking over the bay And the rain pours and it pours and it pours It's a season of rain But now it's a new night But now it's another night And I'm back to work singing While the musicians are bringing Lovely music to my singing And at the parts where I am speaking Player setting for me, it's beautiful automatically How can it not be? How can it not be? Eeney meeney miney moe Catch a tiger by its toe If he hollers, let him go Eeney meeney miney moe And now begins my time of quiet Now is my time to let the music do the talking To let the piano and the drums and the hollow-bodied guitar do everything It's time for me to pause and to just breathe, to let the music be Now I feel it's time to be singing The same good thoughts to sing, before they heal To wish for all countries to stop bombing To wish for the starving to be eating To remember being young and catching snakes in the field I walked to North Beach and back silently Grossly, where nobody knows me Where nobody stops me Over the Trieste to get an iced tea Where nobody knows me Well I wasn't there, the world turned without me Nobody knows me A girl walks into Trieste, all curvy Every guy's head turns, she's got a big ass She walks away and an old guy says "We'll see if those jeans still fit her in ten years" Guys with guitars were playing "Hotel California" When I got to Trieste, the corner of Grant and Vallejo By my own eyes I got the last sweet roll of villo And I listened to them play as I took the sandwich from the bag It was sitting on my lap It was beautiful and I don't even like the Eagles They remind me of the most painful and boring corners of suburban life Backseat of my mom's car, bored crazy crazy bored On the way to my aunt and uncle's house They killed my pet pig out there They said they didn't know he was my pet pig They said they cooked him up They said they didn't know the pig was my pet Topo Gigio They cooked him up with the farmhouse And I cried and I cried and I cried like a baby at my aunt and uncle's farmhouse If you're a songwriter and you're having dry spell I don't want to hear about writer's block, that sounds like a living hell If you can't find the poetry, I suggest you walk around the block If you can't find it, then write about when you were a kid and you got the chicken pox If you grow marijuana, then write about your marijuana crop If you like animals, then write about the ocelot And if it's raining outside, then write about the raindrops I still smell the Ohio farm pig smell melding with the smell of the corn crops I'm a person who, knock on wood, hasn't suffered a lot of writer's block For better, for worse, this is my lot in life I'm not afraid to lose my spot in the cafeteria With the Tiffanys and the jocks Were you afraid to sit alone in the cafeteria? I'm not, for to be an artist is to not be a conformist That is the meaning for me, of being a true artist I'm a sparrow fluttering around, unafraid of the bows and arrows darting around I'm a sparrow, not afraid to take an arrow And to bleed like Pablo Picasso Did Lou Reed care what people thought? Did Muhammad Ali care about what lessons The United States thought he needed to be taught? I look at the cactus in the coffee shop I look at the succulents in the Spanish clay pot That cactus might have more left in it that I got I walk around around around around around around around the block I see poetry in the trash in the parking lot I see the strip club and I see the neon signs all lit up I see young girls hanging outside with their juicy thick butts I ain't no deadbeat pup And these guys playing guitar, piano, and drums sure are not Listen to them play, listen to them play Now is my time to stop singing To let the piano and the guitar and the drums do the talking And now me, myself, and I and me Are going to jump into this bacchanal with some vocal harmony Okay, now it's time for me to start talking again Because 59 Tomahawk missiles just launched to Syria And the mother of all missiles just went down in Afghanistan And North Korea and the USA are making a stand The tension is escalating, the tension is escalating Watch out leaders, how you know one of your own Isn't going to sneak up behind you with a wire And choke you out, and choke you out And choke you out, and choke you out And choke you out, and choke you out And choke you out, and choke you out And choke you out, and choke you out And stomp you out, and stomp you out And pull you out, and pull you out This is the sound of chaos, this is the sound of war This is the sound of the wounded and the suffering And the buildings burning and collapsing And the cities being bombed And the men, women, and children are being tortured And leaders will be assassinated This is the sound of war, this is the sound of war