Lyrics!

All songs written by Micah Bucey & Nicholas Williams
(and pain-stakingly alphabetized by title)

A FRIENDLY THREAT

You think we’ve ended and your life is moving on.
Is that what you intended when you told me to be gone?
I see you seem confused by what I’m promising, my dear,
So here I’ll make a vow that now should make it rather clear.

You think I’m crazy?
You haven’t seen me crazy yet.
You haven’t seen how crazy I get.
You think all my calls a tiresome curse.
But just trust me, things get worse.
You think I’m needy?
You haven’t seen me needy yet.
You haven’t seen how needy I get.
You’ll soon regret the day we met.

I love that cute way you try to vary your stride,
When I go great lengths to stay right by your side.

You think I’m angry?
You haven’t seen me angry yet.
You haven’t seen how angry I get.
Your solo’s now a neverending duet.
Consider this a friendly threat.

You think he’s manic? (Uh oh!)
You haven’t seen him manic yet. (Do tell!)
You haven’t seen how manic he’ll get. (Don’t you forget!)
You think all his texts a little too long? (Well, I’ll just sing it in a song!)
You think he’s bonkers? (Cuckoo!)
You haven’t seen him bonkers yet. (Loo loo!)
You haven’t seen how bonkers he’ll get. (Get set!)
(You better bet you’ll pay your debt!)

I love that cute way you try to travel so far,
(But he’ll take five trains to stay right where you are.)

I think you’re happy. (He’s creepy)
I think you might not know it yet. (You just don’t know it yet.)
Some pray for love like you’re gonna get.
You’re playing quite a game of kissin’ roulette.
Consider this a friendly threat.

I love that cute way you try to stumble and stray.
(But he’ll be right there, to snatch you up and say:)
I think you’re lucky.
I think you might not know it yet.
Some pray for love like you’re gonna get.
I much prefer my partners breaking a sweat.
Consider this a friendly threat!

A HAPPY LOVE SONG

Gee, you make me so crazy,
I’m rather relieved.
See, I’ve always been lazy,
And never believed
In finding the one, so pardon the pun,
But under no circumstance,
When under the gun, would I ever shun
A shot at romance.

But you’ve got me so riddled
With bullets of lust,
Guts shoot out of my middle
And land in your dust.
I’m warning you now, that I won’t allow
Your powerful pull on me
To make me so wowed that I disavow
My staunch guarantee.
See:

I don’t write happy love songs.
No, I don’t write happy, happy love songs.
So you’ll have to wait until I hate you;
My creative energy flows only when I’m alone.

For I know what you’re doin’.
It’s perfectly clear.
Your intent is to ruin
My budding career.
But buddy, you’ll see my creativity
Will be key when I’m free of your charming embrace,
And then after you flee, and I’ve got only me,
You’ll be easily replaced.
But:

I don’t write happy love songs.
No, I don’t write sappy, happy love songs.
So you’ll have to wait until I hate you;
My creative energy flows only when I’m alone.

I suppose that I could write a song of tender support,
But I oppose the lies that might belong in songs of that sort
So I propose you try a wrong that might require a retort,
‘Cause I don’t know why such a bad guy’s got me trying love out as a last resort!

See, I don’t write happy love songs.
I still don’t write crappy, happy love songs.
I anticipate we’ll have to date
Until our state of misery grows into a song of its own.

ALWAYS BE THE FIRST TO LEAVE

It’s so sad to end a love affair,
Though it’s best, I should guess, to be the one who questions.
He’ll get mad, but act like you don’t care,
While the shame and the blame’s getting aimed in both directions.

Maybe it’s starts on a Sunday.
It’s rolling by Monday.
By Tuesday, you’re planning to dash and grab some cash and crash on someone’s couch.
Then Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, you’re away,
Where you stay till Sunday,

When you come back to end that love affair,
Though it stinks when you think you’re on the brink of lonely.
Still it’s best for both to be aware that it’s done,
And the one whose idea it was gets applause,
Just because love’s never fair.

AN EMAIL TO MOM

Hi, Mom. It’s me.
I hope you’re well.
Long time, no see.
Not much to tell.
One thing: I’m thinking I won’t be home for Christmas.

I’m sure you’re mad.
You’ll never say.
I’m sure you’re sad.
And that’s OK.
Here’s why I’m thinking I won’t be home for Christmas.

You know that guy I told you about a few years ago?
Well, we’re still going strong and his Mom’s invited me home and so,

Don’t cry. It’s good.
You know the deal.
It hurts. It should.
But hurt can heal.
Just think, your baby, he’s got a home for Christmas.

You see, his mom’s not scared to embrace me as family.
She says that love is love and her son should be who he needs to be.
I really try to give you the space to grow naturally.
But she’s just opened her heart and home and carved out a place for me.

Maybe next year.
Let’s try again.
Maybe next year,
And until then,
I won’t be with you, but I’ll be home for Christmas.

ANTI-CHRISTMAS CAROL

There’s a chill throughout the land.
Time for trees and toys and candy.
Perfect plans are being planned.
No more hibernating as we greet this high holiday,
Getting sauced with relatives we wish would stay away.

Here’s Aunt Lucinda, drunk on gin,
And from the smell, who knows where she’s been?
You hesitate to let her in, but she’s your kin.
Here’s Uncle Henry, drunk on scotch,
Fixated on your boyfriend’s crotch.
And you can only sit and watch them botch it all,
Letting alcohol flow under dead mistletoe,
While they’re blundering through the most wonderful time of year.
So for the night, you’ll have to humor their jokes like they’re new.
And you will endure, knowing their hearts are pure,
For that’s what Baby Jesus would do.

Here’s Cousin Clara, drunk on beer,
Asking again why you seem so queer.
And though you think it’s pretty clear, you persevere.
Lastly, your mother, drunk on pow’r, Christmas her very finest hour,
Uses her patent WASPy glow’r to sour it all.
So you all marinate in hot toddies and hatred
Of home, wishing you were alone at this time of year.
But for tonight, you’ll have to humor this humorless crew.
And you will succeed, for it’s family we need
To remind us what Jesus (Let’s all be like Jesus),
And that’s what Baby Jesus would do!

BE MINE (AN ORGASM WITH A STRANGER)

You don’t know me; I don’t know you.
But happy we, it’s just us two
Here in my bedroom alone.

And I’m not one for metaphor,
But I’ll go down this road once more,
Steering us toward the unknown.

I can’t say I respect you,
But I’ll give it a try.
Tonight, it’s you I elect to be mine.

You may not understand the way
I say I want to play today,
But I think we’ll both be okay if you shut up
And do that dirty, nasty stuff
I tell you I can’t get enough of
You’re no Einstein,
But you look divine,
Now won’t you be mine?

Touch here, moan there,
Poke here, Don’t fear.
You don’t have much cognitive ability,
But I’m smart enough to teach you how to please me.
Do this, right here, Nope, you missed, Yes, right there,
Take your hand and place it on my
Here, no, there, oh, that’s just right,
I love it when you, no, not that,
Right there, just move it, yes, you’ve got it,
Ah Ah Ah Ah
Oh Oh Oh Oh
Yes Yes Yes Yes
No No No No
Ah Ah Ah Ah
Oh Oh Oh Oh
Ah Ah Ah Ah
Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh Oh…

Now look at that. See, we’re all done.
Now wasn’t that a ton of fun?
No, I’m not crying. I’m fine.

So run along; it’s getting late.
There’s nothing wrong; I’m quite abated.
For just twenty minutes, you were mine.

BEWARE OF DOG

I saw you walking your boyfriend.
You seemed to have a ball.
No, I’m not stalking your boyfriend.
He’s not my type at all.
I’d heard you had a new boyfriend,
So I was curious
If you and this brand new boyfriend
Resembled the two of us.

And I’m glad I followed you,
Because I made a great discovery.
Yes, I’m glad I followed through,
Because I’m solving the mystery,
And I’m so glad to see he’s so much uglier than me.

Can he fetch?
Does he chew on your old shoe?
I’m a bitch,
But he seems to be one, too.
Does he match me on every single trait in the book but looks?
Bow wow.
Did he capture
Your heart with ferocious bite?
Does the pitch
Of his bark keep you up all night?
Does he match me on every trait but his thoroughly furrily, ugily looks?

Yes, I’m glad I followed you,
Because it gives me validation.
Yes, I’m glad I followed through.
I might be loveless and lonely,
So loveless and lonely,
But you can’t disagree: He’s so much uglier than me.

Can he fetch?
Does he chew on your old shoe?
I’m a bitch,
But he seems to be one, too.
Does he match me on every single trait in the book but looks?
Bow wow.
Did he capture
Your heart with ferocious bite?
Does the pitch
Of his bark keep you up all night?
Does he match me on every trait but his thoroughly furrily, ugily looks?

BLUE HAIR (for Jordan Bucey)

I can feel your scowl as I pass.
I stop. I wait. Then move on.
I can feel your glare burn through my back till I’m finally gone.
Maybe when I pass you again,
I’ll try returning your stare.
Maybe then you’ll feel more assured and ask me why I have blue hair.
Ask me questions. I’ll ask, too, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure I’d like to know you.

No, I’m not on drugs at this time.
I know. It’s strange. I’m not high.
And I’m too alert to not take note of your clear evil eye.
I’ve got friends who say I’m too shy.
I try my best not to care.
Bet you didn’t know there’s so much I hide under all this blue hair.
Ask me questions. I’ll ask, too, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure I’d like to know you.

Maybe someday, I’ll dye it back.
I’ll grow. I’ll change. I’ll mature.
But for now, I’m sure we’re both secure staying so insecure.
There’s a million reasons, I know,
Why we walk by unaware.
I’m so glad we’ve broken the ice with something as bland as blue hair.
Ask me questions. Then we’ll see, ‘cuz I’m pretty sure you’d like to know me.

CHRISTMAS IS MAGIC!

Something’s coming, something good.
Zip your coat and flip your hood.
Cover up your assets, lest they freeze.
There’s no need to quell your id,
As past holy rollers did.
Christmas time is now the time to purchase what you please.

Christmas is magic, so buy some stuff with glee,
When you’ve got a credit card, it’s like the stuff is free.
With plastic cash in Bethlehem, things might have turned out differently.
Falalalalala! Christmas is magic to me.

Christmas is magic, so charge it and you’ll see,
You’ve got years to spend before you’re forced to pay the fee.
With plastic cash in Bible times, things might have changed on Calvary.
Falalalalala! Christmas is magic to me.

What’s that you say? It’s not what Christ would do?
What’s that you say? My morals are askew?
With all the evil in the world we need more stuff to get us through.
Christmas should be magic to you, too!

Christmas is magic, so go and buy some more,
It’s not like made-up currency makes any of us poor.
With all our stuff we’ll have enough to stack right up to Heaven’s door!
In Excelsis Deo! Buying stuff’s what Christmas is for!

EVERYONE HAS A SHOW INSIDE

Hey, little boy, you’re out here in the dark.
Hey, little girl, you wish you felt some spark.
I know you yearn to burn so bright.
It’s time to man your own spotlight.
You may be ugly, but that’s no excuse.
Even the ugly folks are still of use.
We’re all attractive in the eye
Of that Great Big Broadway Producer in the sky!

Everyone has a show inside,
So you should advertise with pride.
There are no costumes and no set.
Forget all that stuff;
Just you is enough.
Critics may pan what you put out.
They don’t know what art’s all about.
Though you may think you can’t create,
Just wait till you find that big musical that shines in your mind.

People will tell you you don’t mean a thing.
People will tell you you can’t really sing.
If you feel caught inside their cage,
Just scrap it all and steal that stage!
So many schmucks are squawking on TV.
So many schmucks are belting with such glee.
I think it’s time we joined the din
Of that Great Big Broadway Production deep within!

Everyone has a show inside,
So you should advertise with pride.
There are no costumes and no set.
Forget all that stuff;
Just you is enough.
Critics may pan what you put out.
They don’t know what art’s all about.
Though you may think you can’t create,
Just wait till you find that big musical that shines in your mind.

The New York Times won’t even send someone to see.
But is a whore for glory really all you want to be?
It’s true we all look stupid. That should be OK,
Because we’re beautiful beneath the brazen bulbs of old Broadway!

Everyone has a show inside,
So you should advertise with pride.
There are no costumes and no set.
Forget all that stuff;
Just you is enough.
Critics may pan what you put out.
They don’t know what art’s all about.
Though you may think you can’t create,
Just wait till you find that big musical that shines in your mind.
You know every line, so you’re doing fine.
Just let your inner-musical take center stage and shine!

FIRST CHRISTMAS APART (Don’t Wait Under That Mistletoe)

I’m all alone this Christmas. You said goodbye.
Did you think I’d just hang my stocking up and cry?

Don’t come a-jinglin’ my bell.
‘Cuz I ain’t a-buyin’ any gifts you sell.
My rooftop froze, my chimney closed the day you trimmed our tree.
So don’t wait under that mistletoe for me.

Don’t rum-pa-pum on my drums.
‘Cuz you’ve been a-lickin’ other sugar plums.
This ho ho ho has got to go. My treats don’t come for free.
So don’t wait under that mistletoe for me.

I’m waitin’ for Santa, baby, now that you and I are through.
I’m waitin’ for Ol’ Kris Kringle.  I’ve got no time for a Grinch like you.

Don’t come a-lookin’ for love,
‘Cuz I’ve gone and found another turtle dove.
This inn is booked, this goose is cooked, I’m feelin’ miserly.
So don’t wait under that mistletoe for me.

I’m waitin’ for Santa, baby. Bubby, you and I are through.
I’m waitin’ for Ol’ Kris Kringle.  I’ve got no time for a Grinch like you.

Don’t come a-lookin’ for love,
‘Cuz I’ve gone and found another turtle dove.
This inn is booked, this goose is cooked, I’m feelin’ miserly.
So don’t wait under that mistletoe for me.

GOING GREEN (REDUCE, REUSE, RECYCLE)

Though right-wingers think there’s no need for such alarm.
I fear we’re at fault for all this anti-earthly harm.
Though I pride myself on moderation, both in politics and conservation,
I find I’ve overdosed on your abundant charm.

And now that you’ve left, I need to set some rules. (Set some rules)
I need to reflect until my self-respect refuels.
Since I’m aiming to retain resources, I’ve enrolled in urban planning courses.
They’ve taught me to rebound using three amazing tools:

I’m reducing all those pitter-pats I felt when you were here.
I’m reusing all my bitterness in every bitter tear.
I’m recycling all the angst you sent me as a souvenir.
I’m going green, thanks to you, my dear!

And when I have healed, and feel I can renew, (Can renew)
I’ll find a way to shed my hurtful, hateful thoughts of you.
But in keeping true to my condition, I’ll pursue this eco-friendly mission.
I’m just a bleeding heart and that’s the best that I can do.

I’m reducing all those pleasantries that now seem insincere.
I’m reusing all those lazy lies you whispered in my ear.
I’m recycling my addictions to most liquor, wine, and beer.
I’m going green, thanks to you, my dear!

I was led to think that it’s not easy being green. (But green can be really cool.)
There’s lots of evidence to prove it true. (Just think about Kermit the Frog.)
But maybe no one’s ever had a lover who’s so mean.
I find I easily turn greener when I’m thinking of you.

I’m reducing all my self-esteem and self-deceiving cheer.
I’m reusing all my selfishness and self-fulfilling fear.
I’m recycling self-defeating dreams that you’ll soon reappear.
I’m going green, not blue, but green,
I’m going green, thanks to you, my dear!

GONNA BE A BOY SCOUT

My badges cover up my sash. I’m being all that I should be.
I do my best and never tell a lie.
I walk old ladies, pick up trash, and ev’ry mom admires me.
I am the apple of my daddy’s eye.
Healthy competition makes me strong. Obstacles are opportunities.
And though we all don’t get along, I find combat comforting in fright’ning times like these.
For I am free in this homeland of security, pursuing patriotic purity.

I’m gonna be a Boy Scout. I’m gonna be a real man.
I’m gonna be a warrior and I’m gonna be American.
I’m gonna go to ball games and then I’m gonna run this town.
And soon I’m gonna get a gun and soon I’m gonna gun somebody down.

Success sustains my ev’ry thought. My daddy was a boy scout, too.
He taught me how to follow in his tracks.
See, it’s so easy when you’ve got your future all prepared for you.
Instead of thinking, you can just relax.
I’m so glad our daddies did it first. There’s a proud tradition to adopt.
And sissy boys are just the worst. They are anarchists and dangerous and must be stopped.
For in my troop, we promote a patriarchal loop that keeps the weak from weakening our group.

I’m gonna be a Boy Scout. I’m gonna be a real man.
I’m gonna be a warrior and I’m gonna be American.
I’m gonna go to ball games and then I’m gonna run this town.
And soon I’m gonna get a gun and soon I’m gonna gun somebody down.

Sometimes I’m afraid we’ve gone too far, making deviants our enemies.
But boys before me set the bar, so I swallow all my fears and follow policies.

I’m gonna be a Boy Scout. I’m gonna be a real man.
I’m gonna be a warrior and I’m gonna be American.
I’m gonna go to ball games and then I’m gonna run this town.
And soon I’m gonna get a gun and soon I’m gonna gun somebody down.

GREAT BIG BROADWAY OPENING NUMBER

Most folks say most little boys subscribe to certain schools.
They should play with certain toys and follow certain rules.
But most folks never dream of meeting boys like him or me,
Who, instead of balls, are hitting notes in perfect harmony!
We were born to entertain, and that’s why we are here,
Though you may find musicals a little, let’s say, queer.
Let’s leave behind those het’ro lives you won’t admit you hate,
For it’s much more satisfying when you cease to play it straight!

Who cares if they might call us names
Or choose us last for poker games?
We’ve reached our homo-genius aims.
Our flames are burning on Broadway!
Some think we’re stuck behind the times,
But we’re chockfull of randy rhymes.
So catch us in our fancy prancing primes.
Our crime’s just bein’ on Broadway!

Heaven-sent, and just a little bent,
We’re content when we’re making musicals seem relevant.

And be prepared to come along.
We’re so darn cute, it can’t be wrong.
Please join us in our throbbing drama throng,
We’re dawning nightly on Broadway!

They said we’d never make it.
They told us Broadway’s dead.
But now we’ll proudly shake it.
Nothing’s worth saying if you can’t sing and dance it instead!

Who cares if you can’t sing on-key
Or fear this brand of gaiety.
Let every freak inside you free.
Come be a fairy on Broadway!
We’ve all got songs inside our hearts,
And we’ve just gotta play our parts,
So we’ll recruit you through dramatic arts!
Our darts hit bullseyes on Broadway!

Since we’re gay, these showtunes are the way
That we may save the sorry souls of the great U.S.A!
For life’s a big proscenium,
And though a daunting thought for some,
Just look at what we homos have become!
From slums to stardom on Broadway!

Our course is charted to old Times Square,
So tread onboard and we’ll take you there.
Our fragile country is in disrepair!
But everything’s fixable,
If you’re in a musical,
And we’ve got the gall to carry the ball and trumpet the open call
To the Greatest Biggest Broadway show of all!

HEY, MARY!

Hey, Mary, rest your nerves. It’s been quite a day.
You don’t have to worry; your baby’s OK.
Open up your eyes, glance over,
And you’ll see that halo ringing his head.
That’s how you’ll know that God up above is his dad.

Happy Christmas Eve! You’ve started a trend.
Bet you can’t wait for all this excitement to end.
You were just a lowly nothing.
Now there’s wise men coming, led by a star.
Oh, what a lucky little virgin you are!

And if in thirty years they curse his holy name,
And if in thirty years they can’t remember why he came,
You’ll just look back on this cold night here in the barn
And you’ll warm. You’ll be warm.

But all those darker times are so far away.
You’ve so many years to become a cliché.
Someday soon you’ll grace so many
Canvases, you’ll think that you were the one
Who people love and worship, instead of your son.

And if in thirty years, you hide your head in shame.
And if in thirty years, you’re drowning in your fame.
You’ll just look back on this cold night here in the barn
And you’ll be warm. You’ll be warm.

Hey, Mary, I can see you’re thinking it through.
You can take it easy. There’s nothing to do.
A mother’s work may never end,
But if you take a break, I’m pretty sure that you’ll find
That you’ve done pretty well for the sake of mankind.

I NEVER KNEW (A Great Big Thank You To All Who Voted YES On Proposition 8!)

Bless us on this day of optimistic antimatrimony.
Guess we’ll kiss away all fears of kids, divorce, and alimony.
Thank you for denying us the nightmare we had dreamt we wanted.
Thanks for satisfying us with orders to move on undaunted.

I never knew how much I’d rather have anonymous sex than marry anyway!
So glad you’ve helped me to discover the anonymous sex I could have today!
I thought that I wanted all those silly rights,
But now I realize I’m not a citizen with plights!
I never knew, but thanks to you, I’m doing all I can do
To fill my role. God bless my soul, I’m finally whole, so
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

I never knew how much I’d rather rape a ten-year-old boy than marry anyway!
So glad you’ve helped me to discover all the ten-year-old boys I could rape today!
I thought that I coveted those silly rights,
But now I realize I’m not a taxpayer with plights!
I never knew, but thanks to you, I’m doing all I can do
To fill my role. God bless my soul, I’m finally whole, so
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you!

We see how you hate (Don’t deny it now!)
Your God-chosen fate (We won’t try it now!)
Now we’ve got the perfect excuses,
Enjoying abuses of church and state!

I never knew how much I’d rather die of HIV/AIDS than marry anyway!
So glad you’ve helped me to discover this amazing disease to kill me today!
I thought that I needed all those silly rights,
But now I realize I’m not a human being with plights!
I never knew, but thanks to you, I’m doing all I can do
To fill my role. God bless my soul, I’m finally whole, so
Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
We knew you’d come through.

MY BROTHER, ME, AND THE ELEPHANT IN THE ROOM

So my brother’s singing showtunes in the shower,
While I’m sitting here amazed by how he’s nailing every note.
It’s been going on for nearly half an hour,
While he covers every ballad Stephen Sondheim ever wrote.
And as he shifts to belt the greatest hits of Loesser,
And uses all his well-trained acting chops to make the sonic switch,
His velvet tone becomes a sweet, melodic stressor.
There’s something more amiss here than his oddly spot-on pitch:

My brother’s gay. I learned today.
My brother’s truly madly deeply very gay.
I think there’s time, so I’m about to run away
Before he towels off and blurts out, “Hey, I’m gay.”
Oh, God. My brother’s gay.

Now my brother’s cooking dinner in the kitchen
While I’m marveling at ingredients too scary to pronounce.
I’m attempting to rethink my first prediction,
But I’m losing ground as evidence supporting it surmounts.
He’s mincing merrily while mincing each potato.
And, with a flair, he’s flaming freely while he flames filet mignon.
I’m flailing desperately to focus, but I still know
It’s one specific fact I’ve got my misery focused on:

My brother’s queer. I learned right here.
My brother’s really abso-effing-lutely queer.
It’s not a crime. Still, I’m about to shed a tear
Before he fills my plate and blurts out, “Dear, I’m queer.”
Oh, God. My brother’s queer.

There’ve been movies starring Bette, Joan, and Marilyn Monroe.
There’ve been clothes so colorful they’ve made me puke.
But I’m his sister and I turned out pretty close to normal, so
This must be just some weird genetic fluke!

Now my brother’s sitting down to tell me something.
While I’m digging nails into my palms and trying not to faint.
Here we go! He says he’s got to tell me something.
So I brace myself to raise my voice in sisterly complaint.
But as he puts his arm around me, something changes.
‘Cuz he just smiles as if he understands what I’ve been going through.
I perk my ears for his confession, but what’s strange is,
Instead, he says, “No matter who you are, remember I love you.”

My brother’s me. We’re family.
We’re two bold branches building off one big, bold tree.
Life’s quite a climb, but I’m so glad that, luckily,
My brother might love men, but also, he loves me.
The fact he’s him allows me just to be more me.
And who knows? I may change my sexuality.
Thank God my brother’s gay!

NARCOLEPSY (AN ODE TO COMFORT)

I know the types who say: “Oh, God, our sex life’s dead.
He doesn’t even touch me and she never gives me head.”
It’s apparent they don’t understand the beautiful array
Of possibilities presented when not wasting time that way.
I remember when we couldn’t wait to roll around the floor,
But I’m so happy that we’ve finally rolled our way to so much more.

So let’s just close our eyes.
It’s all so surprising, but it’s amazing, too.
You’re inside me so deep,
I just wanna fall asleep when I sleep with you.
Now there’s no need to mourn,
For when we’re horny, we’ll have online porn!
Narcolepsy ensues. It’s not an excuse.
I just wanna fall asleep when I sleep with you.

Narcolepsy ensues.
It’s not an excuse.
I just wanna fall asleep when I sleep with you.

Then when we’re old and gray and blind and nearly dead,
We’ll take a look around, admiring the life we’ve led.
And I’ll be thankful when I take the time to look into your eyes,
To see you’re still a sexpot in a wrinkly, old disguise.
So I’ll hold your hand and lay you down upon our quilted bed,
And though we’ll want to touch and screw and such, we’ll fall asleep instead.

NUMBER TWO FAN

I’m the Judas to your Jesus,
I’m the lion to your lamb,
You’re the Cagney to my Lacey,
You’re the Anna to my King of Siam.
I take one look at you and I see
The person I wish I could be:
So calm, so in control,
And so completely the opposite of me.

You’re the Joker to my Batman,
You’re the Tarzan to my Jane,
I’m the Johnson to your Johnson,
I’m the Courtney Love to your Kurt Cobain.
I watch you twitch around and I see
The person I wish I could be:
So crazed, so off-the-cuff,
And so completely the opposite of me.

Now, I’m not saying I believe you’re better,
But together we have fuelled our common fantasy.
You may be narcissistic, but I see: 

There’s only one person who loves me with all that he can.
Only one person who’s proudly my number one fan.
And no, it’s not you, though I’ll finally face what’s true.
If my number one fan is me,
My number two fan is you.

We’re two sides of one coin,
Two sisters like Joiners or Pointers or Andrews,
Who can do anything!
We’re two sides of one band,
Two second bananas who stand up as fruits and who dutifully sing!

You’re the Siskel to my Ebert,
I’m the Sonny to your Cher,
You’re the Rodgers to my Hammerstein!
I’m the Carlton to your Fresh Prince of Bel Air!
With you, I see I’m not only me!
We’re tied by creativity! So naturally:

There’s only one person who loves me with all that he can.
One person who’s proudly my number one fan.
And no, it’s not you, though I’ll finally face what’s true.
If my number one fan is me,
My number two fan is you.
Let’s face it:
If my number one fan is me,
I’m happy my number two fan…is you.

OCCUPY MY HEART

So you’ve been out in the cold, conqu’ring each alley and park.
You’ve got a vision so bold, but passion’s been left in the dark.

You protest the complicated ways the world’s gone all wrong.
I protest the simple fact we’re apart.
So now you’ve occupied the city streets for so long,
Why don’t you try to occupy my heart?

You lament the days when people cared and movements could move.
I lament my lonely status instead.
So after you return from try’n’ to prove what you’ll prove,
Try stopping by to occupy my bed.

Revolution sure can stimulate.
That’s ninety-nine percent of what you’re dreaming of.
But there ain’t no revolution that can simulate the power pent in one percent of my love!

Let’s assemble our relationship and see where it stands.
For tonight, let’s just revolt from the fuss.
And once we’ve both agreed on all our common demands,
By God, let’s try to occupy just us.

Revolution sure can stimulate.
That’s ninety-nine percent of what you’re dreaming of.
But there ain’t no revolution that can simulate the power pent in one percent of my love!

You’ve been hating on politicos and corporate pigs.
I suggest you heed my rallying cry.
When all the fun and games are done and you need new digs,
Why not give my big, bleeding heart a try?
I’ve got just the thing for you to occupy!

REACHING OUT

I’m sorry if I’ve caught you at an inconvenient time.
It’s just I’m stuck with nothing else to do.
No, you don’t know me, I don’t know you, but it’s late at night, so I’m
Just sitting here, and reaching out to you.

Hey, don’t hang up. I’m not some weirdo looking for a score.
I’m just a guy who’s had it up to here.
I need someone to make me try to try again again and you’re
Not hanging up, so it seems very clear.

I saw your message on that bathroom wall.
It said, “If you’re looking for a good time, call.”
I sat inside my favorite stall and saw your note and knew.
I’m looking for a good time, so I’m reaching out to you.

I’m sure you’ll learn all of my quirks.
I’m sure I’ll love the things you hate about yourself.
I’m aiming for no more than simply just whatever works.
I’m really nice. Just be yourself.

I saw your message on that bathroom wall.
It said, “If you’re looking for a good time, call.”
I sat inside my favorite stall and saw your note and knew.
I’m looking for a good time, so I’m reaching out to you.

No problem, you can call me back. I’m waiting for the ring.
I know you’ve got a lot of things to do.
And next time when we talk, I hope you’ll tell me every little thing
About yourself. I’m reaching out to you.

RSVP ASAP

Oh, won’t you please come to my tea party?
Only we few are allowed.
We’ll have so much fun at my tea party,
Far from that alien crowd.
My guest list was born on American soil.
My settings are red, white, and blue.
Along with our tea, we’ll drink gallons of oil,
Because that’s what Jesus would do.
So won’t you please come to my tea party?
Although I don’t really much care.
I’ve only one seat at my tea party.
Perhaps you should bring your own chair.

Oh, won’t you please come to my tea party?
Only we few can get in.
We’ll have so much fun at my tea party,
Far from all secular sin.
I’ll only speak English while filling your plates.
We’ll dine while I’m loading my gun.
My table will feature one-sided debates,
For that’s how I’ll know that I’ve won.
So won’t you please come to my tea party?
Be sure to replace what you take.
I’ve only one pie at my tea party.
Perhaps you should bring your own cake.

Oh, won’t you please come to my tea party?
Only we few will be there.
We’ll have so much fun at my tea party,
Shielded by money and hair.
We’ll tout the same thoughts, values, blindspots, and hate.
We’ll spout spotty scripture all day.
We’ll shout about freedom of speech, arms, and state,
And while we’re all shouting, we’ll pray.
So won’t you please come to my tea party?
This offer has limits, you’ll see.
I’ve only so much at my tea party.
Perhaps you should bring your own tea.
At this party, what matters most is me.

SAME OLD LA LA LA

So there I go again. I did that thing again.
I told myself I’d never do that thing again and then
I did that thing again. See, there I go again.
I never think I’ll do it all again, but then again
I never understand that I don’t understand.
I do my best to do my best to understand it and
I think I understand, but I don’t understand,
I make a move and all I prove’s that I don’t understand.

Everybody’s singing the same old la la la,
Same darn dance, same frickin’ lyrics
Everybody’s singing the same old la la la,
We waste and work the same old hysterics,
Same old la la la.

So this is how it goes: I choose the choice I chose.
I never care from whence those choices that I chose arose.
I think I presuppose I’ve weighed the cons and pros.
I shun imagination, as my boring process shows.
I start a holy war, I call my ex a whore,
I get my fill of oil and sex and try to score some more.
I shop until I’m sore, I curse the folks next door,
I kill, I cuss, I pray, I fuss and never know what for.

Everybody’s singing the same old la la la,
Same darn dance, same frickin’ lyrics
Everybody’s singing the same old la la la,
We waste and work the same old hysterics,
Same old la la la.

Take a break from each new mistake.
Stop that same shimmy and shake.
Don’t you ever ache from
Those same old used-up, useless patterns you always make?

So here’s what I suggest: Let’s give it all a rest.
Instead of moving, let’s just take a moment to digest.
As our insight improves, we’ll conquer better moves
And we’ll enhance that dancefloor with our graceful newfound grooves.

Everybody’s singing a brand new la la la,
And everybody’s starting to mean it.
Everybody’s singing a brand new la la la,
We’ll know that pattern once we’ve all seen it,
Brand new la la la! Brand new la la la! Brand new la la la!

SECONDHAND GIFTS (for Margaret Wright)

I was young and unrefined. My desires were far from odd.
My Christmas list was merely status quo.
But I’ve come to change my mind. I think my childish wishes flawed.
So funny how that happens as you grow.

It’s that time of year again when money’s thrown around,
And, when I was a tot, that got me through.
But now, all I need is all I want and all I need that’s new
Is time to relive memories and time to make some more with you.

All we need is time.
All we need is time.
All we need is time.
All we need is time.

You don’t understand it, but you’ll see it soon enough.
For now, have fun with all that you accrue.
But now, all I need is all I want and all I need that’s new
Is time to relive memories and time to make some more with you.

All we need is time.
All we need is time.
All we need is time.
All we need is time.

And it won’t matter if the time we’ve got is short.
It’s not the span that counts. It’s what we do.
And now, all I need is all I want and all I need that’s new
Is time to relive memories and time to make some more with you.
And now, all I need is all I want and there’s one gift that’s true.
It’s time to relive memories and time to make some more with you.

THE AGENDA

Lately, there’ve been lots of questions circling ‘round the bold suggestion
That we fruits might, up our sleeves, possess some cold, undying need
To claw our way into the fabric of the nuclear family
And shake the homos out of every tree.

Now, I don’t wish to be the bearer of this news of sexual terror,
But since I’m an expert on this threat you seem to dwell upon,
I’ll open up and speak it plain; in fact, I’ll sing it merrily,
And offer up our hateful guarantee:

We’re gonna come into all your homes,
And we’re gonna turn your children gay.
We heathens have finally overthrown
The values of the good old U.S.A.
Freak out if you’re still devout
For your child’s about to show signs of doubt
Hey, all you hetero squares, prepare for Judgment Day.

We’re gonna come ruin all your lives,
And we’re gonna turn your kiddies queer.
Hold tight to your husbands and your wives,
You’re all about to face your biggest fear.
Your God’s an unholy fraud
And who cares a wad about your cheap façade?
So don’t look now, or shield your eyes somehow,
For the Apocalypse is here.

Our days spent recalcitrant
Have always meant that we resent how you’ve
Presented us, tormented us, cemented us as
Animals with moral values minimal.
We represent such a small percent
Of whom this country pays attention to.
It’s time to start lamenting all the men we intend to accrue.

We’re gonna come banging down your door
And we’re gonna turn your kings to queens.
They might have been royalty before,
But now they’ll be nothing but obscene.
It’s great; come on, celebrate!
It’s been quite a wait to overturn the straight.

Pretty décor!
And orgies galore!
And showtunes and more!

Your collapse is the theme of this brand new regime!
The American dream taken to the extreme!
See, I told you our team’s more like you than we seem.

THE BULLY SONG

When I was just five years old, I used to play with a doll.
And one day, Greg, a boy at school, he knocked me down in the hall.
“Why must you act like you act, boy?” That was all he said.
And as he kicked me in the face, I started to wish that I was dead.

When I was just ten years old, I used to dance to the beat.
And one day, Joe, a boy at school, he knocked me down on the street.
“Why must you move like you move, boy?” That was all he said.
And as he punched in the face, the following words ran through my head:

I bet this bully believes that he’s just like me.
Bully believes, bully believes that he’s just like me.
My mother tells me it gets better, so I guess I’ll wait and see.
I bet this bully believes, bully believes that he’s just like me.

When I was fifteen years old, I used to dress with some sass.
And one day, Scott, a boy at school, he knocked me down after class.
“Why must you look like you look, boy?” That was all he said.
And as he tore my clothes away, the following words ran through my head:

I bet this bully believes that he’s just like me.
Bully believes, bully believes that he’s just like me.
My father tells me it gets better, so I guess I’ll wait and see.
I bet this bully believes, bully believes that he’s just like me.

Please don’t ask me why I don’t try harder to fit in.
Please don’t tell me that you love me, but you hate my sin.
Because I can see you’re just as queasy stuck within your own skin.

And now that I’m all grown, I tend to think that I’m OK.
But someone else was kicked and punched, and torn apart today.
I’m singing songs, so they can stick inside his head,
And while he’s hoping he might die, I’m hoping he’ll think these words instead:

I bet these bullies believe that they’re just like me.
Bullies believe, bullies believe that they’re just like me
They always told me it gets better. I want to agree.
Til then I gotta believe bullies believe that they’re just like me.

THE MORNING AFTER

The morning after the night before,
I hear your laughter outside the door.
I let you in, we laugh some more,
And we’re back where we were before.

It seemed so tragic the night before.
We lost the magic inside the war.
But wounds don’t matter anymore
The mornings after nights before.

La la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la

I like pretending that we just met.
There’s nothing ending. There’s no regret.
Let’s not forgive. Let’s just forget.
No good or bad has happened yet.

La la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la

Let’s speak slowly, avoiding the dangers.
Let’s just watch what we say.
Let’s speak softly like when we were strangers.
Hey, we’ve got all day.

The morning after the night before,
I hear your laughter outside the door.
I let you in, we laugh some more,
And we’re back where we were before.

La la la la la
La la la la la
La la la la la la la
La la la la

THE PERFECT POP SONG

So you say that my songs
Get the market all wrong,
That they go on way too long
And aren’t strong
Enough to have mass appeal
Or make some teenager squeal.
Well, I’m so glad that you’ve revealed
The way that you feel (Clap, clap)

And I have to confess
I’m not trying to impress
Some eighth grader down in Fresno,
No, more or less,
All the music in me
Isn’t striving to be
In rotation on Z100,
But we

Can come to a compromise.
I’m perfectly willing to play along.
I’ll look at it through your eyes
And write you the perfect pop song.

La la la la laughing like children
Ha ha ha ha ha hope you don’t mind
Goo goo goo goo goodbye Norma Jean
Ba ba da da da ba da da da da
Don’t go breakin’ my heart

Now we’re on to verse two,
So it’s time to review
That same melody that you
Heard seconds ago.
And I’ll sing it again
While I try to pretend
I’ve no interest in transcending
Popular trends (Clap clap)

Cuz I’m starting to see
If I conveniently
Just abandon any
Creativity,
And I keep it four/four
And I try to ignore
That’s each line is just as boring
Just to be sure

I’ll now sing the bridge once more,
Inviting the listeners to sing along,
And go to their local store
To purchase my perfect pop song!

La la la la laughing like children
Ha ha ha ha ha hope you don’t mind
Goo goo goo goo goodbye Norma Jean
Ba ba da da da ba da da da da
Don’t go breakin’ my heart

Ahhhhh…

It’s perfect for radio.
Guess I should have known that all along.
But it’s nearing four minutes, so
I’m ending this perfect pop song!

La la la la laughing like children
Ha ha ha ha ha hope you don’t mind
Goo goo goo goo goodbye Norma Jean
Ba ba da da da ba da da da da
Don’t go breakin’ my heart…

TOURIST TRAP

See that fountain over there?
That’s where I broke up with Marty.
And he said he didn’t care,
So we still went to the party,
And whenever I walk by, I try to take a moment to recall
How beautiful New York was in the fall.

See that corner on the right?
That’s where I broke up with Hurley.
And it ruined our whole night,
So we ended it quite early,
And whenever I walk by, I try to spend some time remembering
How beautiful New York was in the spring.

New York, New York,
It’s a helluva town.
The people ride in a hole in the groun’,
And we just ride it down, down, down.

See that restaurant down the street?
That’s where I broke up with Gary.
And we tried to be discrete,
But I’m sure we sounded scary.
And whenever I walk by, I try to find beneath the grit and grime,
How beautiful New York was in the summertime.

New York, New York,
It’s a helluva town.
The people ride in a hole in the groun’,
And we just ride it down, down, down.

See this city and this man?
We’re both changing with the seasons.
We’re both following a plan,
We both have our many reasons.
We’ve both broken many hearts in parts we never take the time to see.
Now winter’s come to both New York and me.

UNDEAD UNDULATIONS (Dance, Zombie, Dance!)

I see you staring in the mirror.
You try so hard to look like who you’d like to be.
But let me make it somewhat clearer.
That fabled face will never grace that cracked reflection that you see.

Yes, we’ve all heard your tragic story.
But it’s a fairy tale that’s gone on way too long.
It’s just a gory allegory.
And now we hope that we can vanquish your vain viewpoint with this song.

We’re well aware you’ve never completely confessed
You think you’re just a six or seven, at best.
But worse, we think you’re thoroughly cursed and possessed
By a pestilence barely suppressed. Maybe that’s why you’re depressed.

We see the seed of your misgiving.
You’re just a zombie and that’s why you’re all alone.
Because a zombie isn’t living.
Because a zombie’s missing parts give it a tendency to moan.

But still the zombie fantasizes.
Its undead wish is that it might learn how to dance.
See, zombies never get surprises.
They simply shuffle forward in some kind of stupid zombie trance.

But we’re about to teach you to move with some grace.
First, wipe the spots of vomit and blood off your face.
Soon you’ll discover just what you need to replace
Your disgracefully lumbering pace.

Dance, zombie, dance!
And moan your own beat: Ra ra ra ra ra ra ra.
Take that chance and it’ll sound sweet: La la la la la la la.

So now you get the main objective.
At least you understand the central metaphor.
The human race is a collective
Of little zombies who stay grounded when they simply need to soar!

And though you think you’re not a zombie,
You’ve left the rot so long each limb quite plainly reeks.
You’re wearing Gap and Abercrombie.
So you can hide inside the trap set by your feeble fellow freaks.

But you can fight against all the demons you fear.
They’re worse than any zombie who’d ever appear.
And we can all agree to agree to adhere
To the queer theory clarified here:

Dance, zombie, dance!
And moan your own beat: Ra ra ra ra ra ra ra.
Take that chance and it’ll sound sweet: La la la la la la la.

So move along aware of how special you are.
It’s simple: Be a zombie or else be a star.
Now go, no matter if you go slow. Though bizarre,
You’re on par when you’re setting the bar.

Dance, zombie, dance!
And moan your own beat: Ra ra ra ra ra ra ra.
Take that chance and it’ll sound sweet: La la la la la la la

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