How does it feel when you reach rock bottom?
When pain turns you twenty shades of blue?
When you've run out of pride, and you're screwed-up inside?
That's how I feel about you

I remember the day you traded me in
For someone different, someone better, someone new
Nice going, friend, but you'll pay in the end
That's how I feel about you

I'm out of control, going out of my mind
Out of luck, and out of time
If you ever trace my footsteps, and I hope you do
You'll see that's how I feel about you

This new girl you found, does she blow your mind?
Does she write poetry, too?
There's nothing left to say, nothing I can do
That's how I feel about you

 Come dance with me, Darling, put your hands around my waist

Lean over here and give me a taste

I want a taste of your love

This feels so grand, dancing slow and holding hands

There's certain things that time can't erase

Like the taste of your love

    You know I want you

    You could always tell

`  I like the way you flirt with me

    When you ring my bell

You look so fine, hold me closer, you blow my mind

I'm tripping over the grin on your face

I need a taste of your love

    You know I want you

    You could always tell

    I like the way you flirt with me

    When you ring my bell

Please stay all night, say you will, darling, say alright

We can keep up this leisurely pace

With just a taste of your love

I take you up

I smoke you out

I find a weed

I choke it out

My fingers bleed

My breath is hot

The thing we need?

Forget-me-not

When I was young

You put me down

Thought it was cool

To call me clown

You sowed a seed

I almost bought

The thing we need?

Forget-me-not

Take a stand

State your case

There's nothing here

Time won't erase

Set it up now

Your best shot

The thing we need?

Forget-me-not

The moon is full

The night so quiet

We all need love

And then deny it

Some call it greed

But I think not

The thing we need?

Forget-me-not

Walk with me, we're going to daddy's garden

Walk with me, we're going down today

We'll pick the pretty flowers in the garden

"Forget-me-not"  was what I heard him say

"Forget-me-not" was what I heard him say

Whose girl is this?

Whose girl is this?

Was she smart, was she witty?

Was she loved, or was it pity?

Whose girl is this?

Whose heart is this?

Whose heart is this?

Was it pink with lace upon it?

Did she hide it in a locket?

Whose heart is this?

Whose love is this?

Whose love is this?

Was it bruised, was it busted?

Was it someone she once trusted?

Whose love is this?

Whose bed is this?

Whose bed is this?

Was there laughter in the morning?

Did it hit her without warning?

Whose bed is this?

Whose life is this?

Whose life is this?

Was it short, was it heavy?

Was it really necessary?

Whose life is this?

Whose song is this?

Whose song is this?

Does it end up bright and cheery?

Does it leave you sad and teary?

Whose song is this?

My church is made of people,

My church is being built.

My church is made of the finest grade.

My church is like a quilt.

I want to live out on the water.

I like to look up at the stars.

I like to be alone for hours.

I like to play in crowded bars.

The best songs make me weepy,

But true love makes me strong.

I'm gonna figure out what it's all about.

I'm gonna write another song.

I see you in the mirror.

Sometimes I see you in my dreams.

You're with me here forever,

That's what the story means.

Do you know how much I love you?

Can you feel it in the air?

By the fireside, late at night,

In the music that we share.

I want to thank you again for coming,

And filling up my life.

We live in the land of plenty,

I make a happy wife.

My church is made of people.

My church is being built.

My church is made of the finest grade.

My church is like a quilt.

Dream voice asked "Do you want to BE Lucinda Williams?"
I answered "I can't be Lucinda. I'm Buddha's Little Flower."
But I can download her,
Her voice, her songs, the words, the band.

I can't be Lucinda. (I'm Buddha's Little Flower.)
But she is my age, just a little older, a few days.
Just a little better, a song or two,
A word here or there.

I can't be Lucinda. I'm not anything like her.
I don't travel around on a bus/metal firecracker.
I don't have tattoos on my body,
She's the High Priestess Painted Lady, I'm Buddha's Little Flower.

True story about the dream.
I don't want what I can't have.

I'm not Lucinda.

Who said I loved you?
It is not a question of love.

Perhaps, I wish to envelop you,
Most assuredly I would protect you.
What I might do to make you laugh,
I would avoid all that might make you cry.
Of course I would stare at you,
Never with a blink.
Perhaps, an embrace might last a proper 1000 years.

Perhaps, I might brush your hair
Until the Sun quits exploding.
Then the moon with clarity
And thanks will reflect
A different cascading light.

Who said I loved you?

She looked at clouds,
And saw things.
I looked at her,
And did the same.

A shoulder uncovered,
Hair everywhere,
So much for fine fashion
And permanent press.

She touched me
To make a point.
What better way to understand me.

Tiffany and Cartier,
Paris and London.
But the memory is
Watermelon and cold ice cream
On a dusty Ridge Road.

We play a game
From start to end.
Put names on things,
Learn to pretend.

The game unfolds,
With stops and starts.
No one's immune,
Each plays a part.

Legs of the table,
Arms of the chair.
The eye of the storm,
Coming up for air.

Neck of a bottle,
Bend of the knee.
A baby's breath,
A lover's leap.

Lip of the cup,
A woman's touch.
The green-eyed monster,
The widow's watch.

A soft caress
And watchful eye,
The hourglass,
All things die.

Wings of a prayer
And broken glass.
Words unspoken,
Home at last.

I walk in this body,
I dress this body,
I have a chance to express
And a desire to impress with this body.

I smell the air and see the stars
And bathe in warm water with this body.
I taste red wine with this body,
This mouth, this tongue.

And when in sleep I dream,
It is this body that trys to run away;
And these arms that ache to hold
Those dear ones lost to death.

After the dreams of night time pass,
I step into the world of waking and dressing,
Sorting through piles of details and material goods.
And it is this body that moves with me through time,
Bearing witness to the rise and fall of seasons,
A rush of years, and perhaps a scattering of tears.

Things move within this body.
Beneath my skin there’s a life teeming with motion.
My heart pumps with such a low sound,
A drum that keeps the steady beat,
The base that supports my legs and feet.

I walk in this body,
I dress this body,
This lovely bag of bones,
This fragile flower on a stem.

This body.