..."need a dump truck, baby, to unload my head"...

...My computer recently went kurplunk...so out of fear of losing a life's work of writing, I'm going to start posting stuff I've written...from memory...

...The following song was not finished, nor completely memorized...as of now this is what I remember of it...after reading, please comment on what you think...

AND LET THE BLUES...

And let the blues become a soundtrack
That another lonesome boy steps to
And let my ideas become a path
That we will one day walk through
And on the other side see its footprints

And let unfinished lyrics remain hidden
In the "Rubber Factory" album
And one day someone will find 'em
And they can sell 'em
Under my breath
I'll always be whisperin'

And let feet keep stompin'
So neighbor's ceilings start shakin'
And they start actin'
Actin' like they mad
But can't help nod their head
Because the rhythm-beat's so intriguing
And let their neighbors become angry
And let me keep repeatin' - "and let"
So the audience gets so annoyed
They start repeatin'
Like them on radio rotation
And let me be patient
But not your patient
For I'm the one supposedly deliverin' the medicine
And let Kevin Bacon become the symbol - we are one?
Or don't
And let an overanalyzed artist's toilet become a monument
Or don't
If you want to be that way
And let a lyric be placed out of place

For a metaphor for what we've all felt before

And let the blues become a soundtrack
That another lonesome boy steps to
And let my ideas become a path
That we will one day walk through
And on the other side see its footprints...

And let us continue travelin' across this track
Music that'll intoxicate you
But to reality it'll shoot you back
And when it's time to snap back
Music will be used as a supplement for what we lack
Like a perception of what it must of been like to grow up on another side of a track
And let this be -
A footprint to your ear
So you know that we were here
And let songs be documentation
That we were a part of building this nation
That we were a part of creatin' what this present generation's facin'
And let a man just sing his song
And on and on and on and on...

And let the dust!
Be blown off old records
So there will be records of the troubadours
And let the youth judge that static
But one will more than just reinterpret
And to the artform
Add another form
And let these words
Be as they should be
And that is not to be for naught
But they may never be to quote
For the - a - creator never spoke
And let the first ones to find 'em
Try to recite 'em
They stutter, they choke
Arrive, not gain a damn penny
Yet - um - leave less broke
And let me bang on this instrument
Until destiny is infinite
And let me always keep these lyrics in my pocket
For when reality snaps out its socket
I just reach in
And, well, I'm back again
And let 'em play a harmonica
Like a freakin' train screechin' to a hault
But his breathe doesn't supply enough friction
To stop the reality of what he's livin'
The clock - it's continuin' on, it's tickin'
And let us believe everything happens for a reason
Even though you can't comprehend the present state you're breathin'
Inhalin' this mist of stagnation
Becomin' paralyzed by indecision

And let 'em think of death when writin'
But live to see future generations recite 'em

And let your vision of your past
Become more visable from the now youthful laugh
He smiles and reminds you of yourself

And let the judged judge those that judged
And now I'm glad everything's resolved
And let those who believe, believe
And when their gates open they can breath
And let me believe that I don't have to believe
Words can't express
Because I've got only one string left
And I'm gonna recite with every breathe 'til I ain't got nothing left

And let me continue searchin'
For I'm searchin' for a voice
And maybe this is the platform I can place it upon
And if there is an empty stage across this land
Then I shall travel on
And at a later date
You'll hear about the journey
As I sing in song

And let these words no longer be stranded thoughts
But become nothing more than strands of thought

And let a mother cook a daughter
A home cooked meal
When she comes home from war

And let Armegeddon already be done and gone
And the only thing that's left
Is an ol' record player
And out its speaker
A man's singin' his song -
"This land is your land"
And let a man just sing his song
And on and on and on and on

And let the unrested mind keep joggin'
Yet its throbbin'
And let the party participants keep dwindlin'
But the conversation continues into mornin'
And let the song be written
As the sun is creepin' into view
And let me not leave
Until I leave...
And let me not leave
Until I leave
This audience struck
Like oh remember
Oh remember
When Michael J. Fox played Chuck.