I.
Because my hands are laid upon the table
and tied till tomorrow,
I cannot allow these words to carry
too far, too loud into and through
the coffeehouse blues.
I am traveling Buddha-style,
Never-never caravan cream,
Grey Mystic Eldorado and Bad Ass Muthafucka
tattooed across the bumper.
With a Cheshire-pot smoke smile
like I-know-ego what I just gotta say.
In a matter of moments my +alternative+ life style
could kinda turn Retro,
kinda turn Grunge,
kinda turn Beatnik,
kinda turn Hip- Hippie,
kinda turn fresh.
I don+t really wanna know.. gotta know.. do I know?
Don+t care.
My mind slips from a random frame
and breaks like Dalhi in a Mazda Rotting Maseritti.
I know the Smurfs were Communists
but I ain+t gonna tell.
I ain+t no Traveling Blue Chateau Mushroom Cloud.
I am only tied hard and prepared to speak out loud..
..Tomorrow.
II.
I got a hand gun cannon
in the deep of my skull
Waiting to wander
with this weapon.. not in silence.
I can not believe that all these whispers
are quick interludes gently dispersed
in and through-out my multiple personal deaths
I experience day in..
I experience day out..
I remember each slowly in turn to the table,
allowing anything to drift before society.
Gotta click-bomb hidden
somewhere in my soul (cliche, I know)
And publishing like empty lock-tight mansions
somewhere in the world.
I got a big motherfucking problem.
I+m planning on standing atop
the highest coffeehouse in town
and screaming out at 12AM:
I got a whole lot of motherfucking problems
and a shit load of answers to match.
All you gotta do is hear me.
All you gotta do- big world-
is un-lock the mansion
and I+m ripping out my hand-cannon
with the bullet-quick answers to match..
..Tomorrow.
III.
The wicked green witch
spun around in my hurricane brain
When I took a hit of her from my bowl.
Tomorrow is symbolic of the damn grand time
when the world finally understands
exactly where I+m coming from.
I am traveling personal style
in so many different modes
that getting a handle on me
is walking a dog in reverse.
The rusty gears grind back and forth
and back and forth
and back and forth
And the Radioman says:
+You gotta see these lazy youth+s to believe +em+
No! All you gotta do is hear us to believe us.
And the Radioman continues, saying:
+They ain+t gonna lead no where!
They ain+t got no future,
no spirit!+
I say, Radioman, you ain+t got no mind.
You ain+t tuned in at 12AM.
You ain+t spun the turn table
with up-right blues
or recombobulated Waits.
It is you who are hand-tied hard,
it is you who are truly restricted
by your inability to believe,
to hear,
to understand.
And should my click spring today,
it is you who will regret your activities..
..Tomorrow.
IV.
The Radioman looked up through the moonlight
up on top the highest coffeehouse in town.
He thought at first that he could judge
an entire society by one simple set
of moralistic values.
The Radioman learned at 12AM
that all of his answers were not contained
inside once single leather-bound book.
It is stored in the trunk
of a Grey Eldorado,
it is swirling in
a Never-never Caravan Cream,
it is traveling Buddha-style peace.
And when it arrives on your doorstep,
Radioman, your values will understand.
You will hear me in a Greenwich frenzy
telling you straight out
that I will not wait until..
..Tomorrow.
I am ready now.. I am speaking now,
speaking to you.
Speaking what I feel and what I see..
what I react.
Speaking- Radioman, Grey Eldorado.
Speaking- Radioman, Bad muthafucka today.