The Words of Don Falcone

When the first page comes alive
A lull or an edge in the time of your life
You get to choose who to love and lose
Whether to beg, steal, or pay the dues

Then the next page turns around
And still, you remain, in your long survive
But will you have
  what your mother weaved
Or will they substitute
  with make believe?

When you’re in the future
You’ve got to move
Time to time, it’s… what you do
When you’re in the future
You’ve got to move
Change for change
  can make things new

When you’re into the future
And into the past
Who has the secret
To make everyone last?

You mix desires, charms, and cheer,
Your freedom is the fashion here
Make virtue and love the thing to try
Before you live, you’ll have to die

When you’re in the future
You’ve got to move
Time to time, it’s… what you do
When you’re in the future
You’ve got to move
Change for change
  can make things new

You’ve changed man
You’re not the same
As the god I knew
At the end of time

You’re a changed man,
Dressed in black
With a gavel and a wig
That anyone could dig

I’ve got another man
  Also in black,
It must be a fad
  When the things go bad.

And he says…
“I’ve got a new dead friend
Plus one invisible one
So sad, it seems
He’s the dead friend’s dad”

In-sanity
  Your lie for me

You’ve changed Lord Jag
  You’ve got a new name
And your body language
Is a foreign tongue

But our lady is here
  And you are here

With two old friends
We can go back

What’s that she says?
“It’s all right now”

What’s that she says?
“They will not believe the truth”

What’s that she says?
“No one would”

What’s that she writes?
  “I do love you”

I’m a changed man
  I might not be
the dancer I was
  At the end of time
I’m a changed man
  I might not be
the dancer I was...

I’ve got old friends in high places
I’ve got old friends with new faces
I’ve got old friends up in heaven
I’ve got old friends down in hell

“I’m on a wooden rig, a primitive time
machine… I’ve got a hood over my head,
and I’m ready to travel in time…
they just want me to hang, and I,
I just want to move…”

I’ve got old friends in high places
I’ve got old friends with new faces
I’ve got old friends up in heaven
I’ve got old friends down in hell

Thank you for the cold air blowing
(through the time machine’s ruptured wall)
Thank you for the darkness (beyond the crack)
Thank you for the hard
  man-made surface (at the water’s edge)
Thank you for the flight
  (steps leading through the mist)

Thank you for the dim… light
Thank you for the fog
Thank you for the gas lamp
Thank you for the river Thames

Thank you for the alley
  (it leads to shops and homes with treasures)
And the more intense light ahead
Thank you for human… figures
Thank you for the black beast
emerging from the fog

4, 3, 2, 1
“A horse,” he cried, “It is a horse!”
He had often made his own, but not an original
He heard a shout, so he shouted back,
cheering and waving his arms

The horse, he drew, so picture this!
A tall black carriage and a man with a whip…
He was shouting

And the Horse stood on its hind legs, Waving
Then a strike to his head made him… Fall down
As the horse and carriage clattered past…
  and Disappeared into the fog

Do you know what happened to me?
After taking a translation pill

“Swore he was a foreigner”
Said the first to give their take
“You was knocked darn by an ‘ansom
You waved and made it rear up, didn’t you?”

Now I know what happened to me
After the painted lady helped me up

“That’s all right lovey
‘Ad one too many myself... I reckon”

A kind snoozer calls me a lord
Then dresses me up for a trip
To room and board with a
  view of the river
(Thank you for the river)

Two travelling bags, he unpacks
  in our room
loaded, all loaded, with empty bags
Lights go out and he disappears
Returning until each bag is full

Snoozer says it is swag
And do not call me snoozer!

Do you know what happened to me?
After smiling, and the bill was paid

A boy appears to help us
Takes our load to a carriage
I say “thank you” and tell him
They’re “full of Snoozer’s swag” (yeah)

Now I know what happened to me
After someone says “I’ve been robbed!”

And here comes a bang!
And Snoozer’s shot brings one officer down

Thank you for the cold air blowing
  (through the getaway’s moving path)
Thank you for the carriage
  (beyond the chase)
Thank you for the little candles burning
  (in houses flying by)
Thank you for the flight
  (steps leading through the mist)

Thank you for the hideaway
  and nothingness
Thank you for the fog
Thank you for teaching me the rhythm
  Of fear

Thank you for the noises, one morning
  (they seem to be making for me)
Thank you for the strong grip
  on my shoulder
Thank you for leading me
  (to your paddy wagon)
Thank you for the relief
  (of leaving this prison, this misery,
  this past)

“Don’t thank me, lad,
They’ll ‘ang you for this one”

This is the earliest part of the day
Where it's easy to slide from me to you
This is the coolest part of the sun
Where it's easy
  to sway from me to you

I'm riding over the city
Like an angel full of pity
Please see me through
Please rid me of this pity
It was just a setback
But now . . . I'm on fire

If everything seems upside down
It's because we've loosened the chains
If everything keeps coming around
It's because we hold to the reins
But now I'm feeling so much better
My line of sight
  is so much better

I'm riding over the city
Like an angel full of pity
Please see me through
Please rid me of this pity
It was just a setback
But now . . . I'm on fire

I have two names, I have two names
I give two names, I give two names
  (in peace or in war)

Step from the light to disappear
So I can see all that’s near
I want to know just for myself
That I can be . . . without your help

I have two names, I have two names
  (seem ready for more)
I give two names, I give two names
  (in peace or in war)

I show my face, I’ve got no hood
I’ll always be one open book
I hear your words and I reply
So you can know just who am I

I hear your words, I will reply
I hear your words, I will reply
I’ll let you know

I have two names, I have two names
I give two names, I give two names
  (in peace or in war)

I hear your words, I will reply
I hear your words, I will reply
I’ll let you know . . .

I have two names — Hawk and Hunter

I have two names — Hawk and Hunter

I give two names — Hawk and Hunter

I give two names — Hawk and Hunter

JigSawMan flies a JigSawShip
Living away in his JigSawHouse
JigSawMan flies a JigSawShip
Living away in his JigSawHouse

Laid, laid out . . . on a desert canvas
Far, far out . . . on a Fool’s planet
Far, far out . . . on a foolish planet

All made up, made from scratch
Pieces that fall, fall from the sky

JigSawMan serves JigSawWine
To wash away the Supper Time
JigSawMan speaks JigSawLines
To wash away the Supper Time

Laid, laid out . . . on a desert canvas
Far, far out . . . on a Fool’s planet
Far, far out . . . on a foolish planet

They dress me up
With a uniform
Saying if you can get
From point A to point C . . .

You can live, live, live, live,
Live Forever!

They’re taking off
With me onboard
That should come as no surprise
When you’re the first to believe . . .

You can live, live, live, live,
Live Forever!

Your world, my world, let’s collide
Who’s the tin can, who’s the orange?
Peel away — and there we are
We’re dressed and ready for a new year

I’ve got a take on an incoming ship
A two-man crew and they’re going to die
One piece at a time at the go-in rate
It’s Code Blue and on-the-fly

They’re kind of young,
  so let’s give them time
To play with speed, to play with space
A miracle here or a bad dream there
To keep hope dangling in their face

This is the rehash, like late night
For people like us,
  who hit the first deadline
This is the crash, like snakebite
For people like us who still need a lifeline

I’ve got a stake in this flying mass
And what’s left of this two-man crew
They come with treasures
  from their past
They come with baggage of their
  futures too

They bring change to my life at last
And not just to my planet’s face
They bring a path for me to cast
Into their sea, into their space . . .

I’ve got an update on our dying bird
It’s first rate and bearing a flame
A sign of the times and lives to come
One light to see through,
  to the next frame

When you finally take to writing
instead of talking
I see you less
And I see it in the lightning
your eyes fighting
hold back my distress

  You're right, right, right on the mark
  I'm in too far

When you start to speak in whispers
giving answers
I'll never recall
And we start to meet in spaces
where there are traces
and that is all

  You're right, right, right on the mark
   I'm in too far

Then you circle for a moment
slow movement
your thoughts take shape
And I never move a muscle
as you start to pull
the last thought escapes

  You're right, right, right on the mark
  I'm in too far

I hear you, though your whispers barely there
Speaking within my dreams
We’re too many miles apart

I write to you, expressing the way I feel
But words on a paper just
Lose their appeal
We’re too many miles apart
Too many times forgot . . .

There’s a pain within my heart
Burns like a flame within my heart
Each day I yearn for you
Well, my fire burns for you
So Strong is Desire
So Strong is My Fire
So Strong . . . so wrong . . .

I touch you, I touch you for the last time
Now I reach out my arms to hold you
Embracing only the cold air
We’re too many miles apart
Too many times forgot . . .

Well there’s a pain in my heart . . .

I still remember, something about you
Oh I remember, something about you
The look in your eyes
The touch of your skin
All the memories
Everything about you . . .

Oh, there’s a pain within my heart . . .
Burns like a flame within my heart
Each day I yearn for you
Like my body it burns for you
So Strong is Desire
So Strong is My Fire
. . . for you . . .

I didn't expect to see you…
... in this time, this space

(You are trapped in the time,
  where you were born!
So strapped in the time
  where you are reborn!)

Cloak your dreams and no one sees
You’ve got a key to a destiny
Mask your heart and no one gets hurt
Still your chance at eternity
  (So still your chance)

But run the race we run and we’ll know you
That line you take away may fool you
Take care, and good speed, may kill you

When you do these things, we move you
It’s no vacation, it is permanent

You are what you wear,
  and you’ll be wearing it soon
You are what you feel,
  and you’ll be feeling it too
You are what you see,
  and you’ll be seeing it soon
You are what you hear,
  and you’ll be hearing it too

When you do these things, we move you
It is not prepared, it’s an experiment
You are what you . . .

Cloak your dreams and no one sees
You’ve got a key to a destiny
Mask your heart and no one gets hurt
  So still our chance . . .

Run the race we run and we will know you
That line you take away, it may fool you
Take care, and good speed, may kill you . . .

Red lights pulse through shadow trees
Pitch-black eyes in last year’s leaves
“Snakelings tug, liquid coils,
from ground to limb
And all the spices hint: the day begins!"

White wings flow through buffalo clouds
Returning soft lake into salty wilds
“Dreaming how our moon has changed
Since we have strayed . . .”

Fingertips tap their code as they are bathed in light
Light that sways, black and back to white
Fingertips tap . . . “a skyline signal”
Lights obey . . . “a skyline signal”

Metal stays, its poison strong
New fires close to no one's back
Skin-curled leaves, ripple below
Thinly-veined, slow motion sap

So eternal, this concern
Where chips of bone
And layers of cold
Slide up your stone

Fingertips tap . . . “a skyline signal”
Lights obey . . . “a skyline signal”

Accept what you can,
Change what you can’t
Ready each breath —
To kiss these lips
Before they go!

Cannot see myself today
So I can do what I want
I have to sin today
I have to sin today

I must end what I begin today
It's my time
And now I'm sorry, sometimes

Think I see a clearing in the forest
Think I see a like city in your mind
Think I feel a lover on my back
Think I feel your fingers scratching at that

Every opera needs a waterfront
And my opera is no different from yours

Cannot do it today, I am too strong . . .

You say you want to eat
That you like the taste of deceit
You walk right to where there's food
And hope someone's in the mood
Say you want me to disappear
That I am the one you fear
You say you want to touch
You just hope it doesn't cost much

You're pulling it off again
The sheets that hide the crime
You cannot pretend
This isn't the time
This is the real time . . .

You say you want to live
You want the water, the one that gives
And you see it running down your back
Giving slack along our attack
And you hope someone's in the mood
And he says hey baby can I please
You're my prisoner and you must escape
I've sure you've got some dinner on the take

You're pulling it off again
The sheets that hide the crime
You cannot pretend
This isn't the time
This is the real time . . .

Looking at our history
I don't see no mystery
It never mattered who would win
We would call off the sin

Looking at our history
I don't see no mystery
I could look you in the eye
And I knew I would not . . .

This is the real time
This is the real time

What's going on with this case
When it fits
What's going on

What's going on with these lights
When they're fixed
What's going on

A full moon rises at his back
Dressed like a mobster in a pool of black
The spotlights switch to the man on the stage
The one with the edge-(he's got) all the rage

He raises a raygun
Up to the sky
He plans to rub out
This private eye

Neither man nor women
Anything to add . . .
They'll sleep it off.

What's going on with this scene
When it's heard
What's going on

What's going on with these lights
When they're fixed
What's going on

Digital blues
The high-tech craze
Same-old lies, same old dreams

In alien blues
That set ablaze
The air lip-stained by whiskey steam

Strafed by a UFO at night
It's the only way to go
Strafed by a UFO at night
It's the only way left to go
Strafed by a UFO at night
It's the only way

What's going on with this case . . .

. . . Just one more twist in the wind
To pull it off!

The train is in your way
She's no good for you
The train is in your way
She may light up, but still be true

The gift horse is a Trojan horse
Her mouth is full of snake
My love, you may go to sleep
Lay your trust in me, and I'll stay awake

The midnight dream is an endless dream
Whispers die in an ocean of steam
My love, you may go to sleep
Lay your trust in me, and I'll stay awake

Lay your trust, lay, lay, lay your trust in me

The train is in your way
She's no good for you
The train is in your way
She may never reach, but stay in view

The child home is a priceless home
The wind can cradle and metal can shake
My love, you may go to sleep
Lay your trust in me, and I'll stay awake

Lay your trust, lay, lay, lay your trust in me

Please focus, before you shoot
I wouldn't want to see you do me wrong
Picture me, but hesitate
Once you get me there's no turning back
Make the most, here comes my fade from black
Please focus, before you shoot

Focus, before you shoot
I wouldn't want to see you do me wrong
Don't overlook, or estimate
I wouldn't want to be like that for long
I only ask when I'm starting to get strong
Please focus, before you shoot

Each time you look, each time you touch
There is a mark you make
Each time you look, each time you touch
There is a love you hate
And it takes years to recover and misplace
Yes it takes years to discover and replace
This mark you make when you misfire
This mark you make when you misfire

(i) Luana Doom!
Luana, Luana, doom!
Luana, Luana, doom!
Luana, Luana, doom!
Luana, Luana, doom . . .

(ii) Luana The Duchess
Duchess of hard
And all of her dukes
Frame by frame, she’s still
Living in the song

Duchess of hard
And all of her dukes
Snapshot within our History Web
She’s left for dead on the Editor’s Block

Her real life forever locked
So, so many lost tick tocks
Time to roll, get ready to go
To the next chapter, but not alone

Get ready for . . . amazing sounds

Galaxina, Doom Fighter
Fantasy abounds
Amazing sounds

To the next chapter now
But not alone
Galaxina, Doom Fighter
Fantasy abounds

(iii) A Preacher For Luana
There’s a man with a gun
And he fires lots of word
Is he good or is he bad
What does he want with us

Reading and writing is what he learned
How will he use it
Reading and writing is what he learned
Now he will use it

Sights a girl as evil
Because she wears denim tight
Is he laughing with us
Why does he laugh at all

Reading and writing is what he learned
How will he use it
Reading and writing is what he’s learned
Now he will use it (to show the world his way)

You can call him the preacher
You can judge him as he judges us
He’s a willing servant to a god
He believes in and trusts

We can call him the preacher
We can judge him as he judges us
He’s a willing servant to a god
Who believes in and trusts

When you're sitting on a goldmine
sign on the dotted line
and don't forget the flashlight
be sure you'll want some more

When you're sitting on a goldmine
do all things in their time
and decorate your hearts delight
be ready for the tour

Heavy . . .
Heavy the mind when your soul weighs a ton
Heavy . . . Heavy the mind . . .
when your sitting on a goldmine.

When you're sitting on a goldmine
chop off a piece for the little ones
they can sit by your side, with their mouths open wide

Heavy the mind... when your soul cannot die
Heavy the mind... when your soul cannot die
Heavy the mind... when you’re sitting on a goldmine

When you're sitting on a goldmine
do you have to pull apart
the day from the dream

When you're sitting on a goldmine
are you stepping up or down
to high esteem

When you're sitting on a goldmine
chop off a piece for the little ones
they can sit by your side
with their mouths open wide

Heavy the mind . . . when your soul weighs a ton
No one can kill the things that cannot die
Heavy the mind . . .

Turns to gold . . .
Don't you see what's happening?
Our dreams are changing
The lines of life in our hands

Shiny and cold . . . Gold . . .
It’s a curse what makes it worse is your desire
It’s a curse what makes it worse is your desire
Your desire -- The Midas Touch
This is what's occurring, dreams are turning
The lines of our hands, are forever burning

Turns to gold . . .
Don't you see what's happened?
My dream has changed us
And your lines of life . . .
Touch, touch, touch
Aaaaah The Midas Touch . . .

Inside, tied to me
Better hope the water's lying
Better pray I'm not carrying
Nurturing, encircling
  Blood is false
  Skin is teasing
  Life, a life, alive . . .

Could I be bringing
A creature into this world?
Oh, could I be carrying
A creature into this world?

Watch out for sparks!
That tear, and scar
That leave a mark
That burn and char

Inside, tied to me
Better hope the water's lying
Better pray I'm not carrying
Nurturing, encircling
  Blood is false
  Skin is teasing
  Life, a life, alive

Could I be bringing
A creature into this world?
Oh, could I be carrying
A creature into this world?

Watch out for sparks! . . .
Ahhhhh . . .
Pray, pray and pray, pray and pray
I'm not ever, a host or a home,
No, not a mother
Pray, pray and pray, pray and pray
for a baby . . .
Pray, pray and pray, for a baby,
maybe . . .

Take a look at me over here
I cannot move, but I'll always be near
Because you're the same,
  you're with me
We've been playing a serious game
A lot of time has passed us by
No one remembers just when we died
Somewhere upon the beaten track
This spirit you love may not
  come back

You are so right when you pray
Only with hope can we stay
You are so right when you pray

I've got a message today
I think it came from a place up high
I never see just what you say
But it's written here in ink that's dry
I wish that you could come to me
I wish that I could go to you
If they turn me round I know I'll see
Something old and something new

You are so right when you pray
Only with hope can we stay
You are so right when you pray

It’s just the wind...
  she whispers her dreams...
She whispers her dreams, weaving
  her doubt
sitting within, she's never been out
Believes in the dark, because of the night
sweet candlelight, she holds to it tight

As I walked up the road, I looked into
  the window of the record shop
And you were there, you and him
and you were laughing and you
were singing, laughing, and singing
  …whispers...

She whispers her dreams, weaving her doubt
sitting within, she's never been out
Believes in the dark, because of the night
sweet candlelight, she holds to it tight

Dreamers are dreaming, all the things
  that they know
but she is breathing, living to grow
Footsteps are falling, down in the snow
no one will enter, but the footprints won't go

Caught in the fire…

Caught in a fire, unsteady flame
eyes never tire, of watching your game

Caught in the fire, unsteady flame
eyes never tire, of watching your game
Breeze on your face, window ajar
for a moment dark moves, the dream
  not so far

Dreamers are dreaming, all the things
  that they know
but she is breathing, living to grow
Warm air cools, outside is yours
you take it to hand, open the door....

...you open the door...
…open the door... child growing
...child growing... child growing..
...child growing... child... child growing...
...open the door

Two friends sitting here in the dark
Waiting for the rain to go
Plenty to say, nothing to do
We look inside, we look at you
Look inside, look at you
  Talk about people we have known
  Bring them all back to life
  What went wrong, what went right?
  Knowing where to go, knowing
    what we know

Two friends sitting here in the dark
No matter what they need
Draw a little closer with each breath
Let the rain be their melody
Rain be their melody
  Bear our souls down to the ground
  We’ll be honest, we’ll be free
  Let our eyes shoot in the dark

  Light a light for you and me
  Light a light for you and me

You turned your cheek when we
  kissed good night
But yeah, you laughed on cue
  at all the lines

We’re gone for days and we stay
  out of touch
But yeah, we’ll talk again
And we’ll say so much
When the time is... right

You turned your cheek when we
  kissed good night
But yeah, you laughed on cue

Two friends sitting here in the dark
Waiting for the rain to go
Got plenty to say, nothing to do
But look inside, and grow
Look inside and grow

Talk about people we have loved
Bring them all back to life
Bear our souls down to the ground
We shot so far, we shot so far,
  yeah, we shot so far...
Shot so far, shot so far, shot so far...
  oh no!

Dig a the, Dig a the, Dig a the earth . . .
Dig a the, Dig a the, Dig a the earth . . .

It's an alien injection
That's what she needs
An alien injection
for all our infections

One little boost
To see the up and the coming
A solution we pray
Help! is on the way

Saw her today, she looked dead
It could be, I heard she died
Scan the paper, touch the ink
She finally got her name in print

That's all I see, that's all I'll read
I don't know time, I don't know space
Lots of creatures just like her
They dance with rhythm, then they pull away

Rattle and reach -- I come apart
Rattle and reach -- to put together again
Rattle and reach -- make images
Rattle and reach -- to dig out . . .

Send her flowers she can't wear
Send a card that she can't read
This happens when the children stay
out too late and really start to play

And the boat that she rows on the delta narrow
is an antique ship that salt water will rip
And the scarf-covered course that once bridled a horse
soon tames a black cat and makes others grow fat

Rattle and reach -- I come apart
Rattle and reach -- to put together again
Rattle and reach -- make images
Rattle and reach -- to dig out . . .

Dig a the, Dig a the, Dig a the earth . . .
Dig a the, Dig a the, Dig a the earth . . . It's an alien injection
That's what she needs
An alien injection
for all our infections

One little boost
To see the up and the coming
A solution we pray
and Help! is on the way

Rattle and reach -- I come apart
Rattle and reach -- to put together again
Rattle and reach -- make images
Rattle and reach -- to dig out and dig in

(Just give it a day, help is on its way)

I like to wear my alien close to my heart
It's such a cool t-shirt, I bought 2 right from the start
I guess you could say I treat it like a piece of art
This alien that I wear so close to my heart

I've got a (little) round alien ball to boot
She comes to life when I squeeze her roots
I keep it in a box in a closet in a room in a house
in a country in a world in a planet
and I hope she'll live forever
Mmm... I hope she'll last forever . . .

Rattle and Reach . . .

The toys you're playing with
Are made too break and steal
The games you're playing out
Teach how to shout and kill
The money in your hand
Will buy your food and clothes
The paper forms you fill out
Each truth and lie they slowly show

Can you handle the future memories
Can you handle them one by one
Can you handle the future memories
Can you handle them one by one

The girl you're looking at
You know you want to use her
The girl you're going with
You know you're going to lose her
The only friend you've got
Is leaving in the morn
The only life you've got
Starts to die when you are born

Can you handle the future memories
Can you handle them one by one
Can you handle the future memories
Can you handle them one by one

The hawk in my room
Won't leave me alone
Choose your friends well
To get to the heart
The hawk in my room
Won't leave me alone
Choose your friends well
With time to depart

In my room of privacy
A voice takes me to fantasy
Go to bed boy and we will dream
Go to bed boy from here on out

The hawk in my room
Won't leave me alone
He's here on the wall
He's here in my soul
He's the worse thing that I've ever owned
He cuts to the bone

Learn to tear and learn to die
Anger from the core he makes me fly
Just a start of eyes of fire
Don't know why I never tire

The hawk in my room
Won't leave me alone
He's here on the wall
He's here in my soul
He's the worse thing that I've ever owned
He cuts to the bone

The hawk in my room
Won't leave me alone
Choose your friends well
To get to the heart
The hawk in my room
Won't leave me alone
Choose your friends well
With time to depart

Give me a shot of your drive-by poetry
a haiku, a rhyme, or a form that's free,
give me a shot of your drive-by poetry
give me a shot

Here comes another cosmic cluster

dive in
down far
swim out

Here comes another cosmic cluster

black hole
hot star
blind spot

i'm drowning in space
but i still might get out

dripping in space
from my soul to my mouth

and I sight a band of muses
they're shifting light, and playing night
on a dry (bed of) space beach

who knows what they are all about

who knows what they are all about

You open your eyes, and you will see
You'll see the walking shadow arrive
You open your eyes, and you will see
You'll see the walking shadow alive

the ass ass mass ass
of oof oof roof oof
folds his ong ong song ong
under the ench ench bench ench

could it be love?

/luther oother an
lois ois, ooper eroes all/ (2x)
/a pure tan from opera opera one/ (2x)
who owns who owns who owns
a truth from the makers
of a hollar dollar mahler of fistfuls

and how much should a hero get paid?
ipso facto
kribtoe crabtoe
be air fool
where you step

ipso facto
kribtoe crabtoe
be air fool
where you stop

(beautiful stealth)
in a church . . .

the ass ass mass ass
of oof oof roof off
folds his ong ong song ong
under the ench ench bench ench
where we

we watch from the ands
with our ands
folded over our ands

I've got a secret
A secret invention
I've got a secret
It goes like this . . .

I want to keep out the noise, keep it pure
I want to keep it concealed, keep it to myself
It's deep in power and it's deep in wealth
But I wouldn't want to lose it in a sea of stealth

I've got a secret
A secret invention
I've got a secret

I want to keep out the noise, keep it pure
I want to keep it concealed, keep it to myself
It's a tool for all ages, with an eye to progress
But I can't reveal the truth -- I'm in the middle of a test

I've got a secret
A secret invention
I've got a secret
It goes like this . . .

I want to keep out the noise, keep it pure
I want to keep it concealed, keep it to myself
It doesn't need a god, and it doesn't need law
I can give it life, I can give it my all

I've got a secret
A secret invention
I've got a secret
It goes like this . . .

Look to the center of the tallest tree,
look to the top of the sky
I see faces that move like they're trying to cry,
I feel a chill, and I grow old

I put my hands in the middle of a pool of dirt,
reach for the treasure inside
I let them sing like they never have sung before,
I hear a sound, and it's my voice

I speak to the wind of what I don't know,
I speak to the wind, I may never know

Roll over dig down, open lips make sound,
speak like you want to say something new
Roll over give ground, open lips make sound,
speak like you want to say something new
Roll over dig down, open lips make sound,
speak like you want to say something new
Roll over give ground, speak like you want to,
roll over give ground, speak like you can

I choose my place, outline of flesh
remember my name, purpose of fame
to dance around the spin of birth

Comes the flash, new lease on life
stir to wake, pause to love
I like the feel for what it's worth
I like the feel for what it's worth

We take from the hand
and give to the world the unknown

When we like the night we like the moves
we know we're right when we forfeit our dues
we want to hold it all for all time

Control of ease on top of the world
get to the soul and make it roll
knowing it all makes it fine
knowing it all makes it fine

We take from the hand
and give to the world the unknown

What works for years should work for less
what's in your heart is the place to start
and the words you choose should never lose
because gods they come and gods they go . . .

We take from the hand
and give to the world the unknown

dig, dig, dig a thee earth,
digi, dig, dig a thee earth,
digi, dig, dig a thee earth,
dig a thee earth

dance, in the bunkers, cuz a you, cuz a you, cuz a you want

gather cloth scatter cloth
one piece to wear to wear,
one piece on your sleeve, to wear

and soon, I will tell, I will tell you,
it is safe to touch, to,

digi, dig, dig a thee earth,
digi, dig, dig a thee earth,
digi, dig, dig a thee earth,

as no one listens

dig,

dig

touch,

we are out,

we are out,

we are out,

earshot

The eye is a window to the world.
Beyond this window is a craft.
It wears wings and makes thunder.
This is our crash.
This is our spaceship eyes.

secrets in books put away
some freefalls and lovers
and boxes of winter and play
no breathing, no sleeping . . .

I never realized
the length of string
I don't comprehend
all the rubies, all the rubies

tomorrow's the biggest day
the warmest, the wisest
here comes the moment of sway
no hiding no sliding . . .

I never realized
the length of string
I don't comprehend
all the rubies, all the rubies

this one is me . . . that one is you

one crams the dream
the other the soul
like a cool cream
that takes its toll

these things our hands can hold
these things that can blind us
we hold these things to light
some pass, some don't

all the rubies, all the rubies, all the rubies
for better or worse

no one keeps mum
we tell all, all we know
no one keeps mum
we tell all

cannot see myself today
so I do what I want
I have to sin today
I have to sin today
and now I'm sorry,    sometimes

think I see a clearing in the forest
think I see a like city in your mind
think I feel a lover on my back
think I feel your fingers scratching at that

I must end what I begin today
it's my time
and now i'm sorry,    sometimes

think I see a clearing in the forest
think I see a like city in your mind
think I feel a lover on my back
think I feel your fingers scratching at that

every opera needs a waterfront
and my opera is no different from yours

low riders
casual riders
street racers
riders rule
don't kill my bruth
low riders
casual riders
street racers
don't kill my bruth
er disco
su
don't
lowri asual street erru
lowri asual el lobo
lowri asual street erru

(el lobo)
kill my lo el diab
el diab kill my
pover my dog so sigh
el diab
blo
cut
feed
el pover el tea
kill my low diab
el diab kill my
pover my dog my knee
crow
rat
pig
lowri asual street erru
lowri asual el lobo

Let the slide and sway of my voice
Melt the mask
Put in place at your birth
Your body
Is now fully revealed
And disappears
Into the void
My voice mirrors this illusion
My tongue slips
My words drift
And my voice becomes clear
-- It hangs forever
Be here now

Don't be afraid of shadows
The answers you seek, are at rest, in the shadows
Become one with all that is hidden
The mystery will make you happy

Listen for the pulse of your soul
Let this pulse guide your wisdom and your passion
Become one with your ethereal self
The mystery will make you happy

Don't be afraid of the pulse
This pulse is at rest in the shadows
Become one with all that is ethereal
The mystery will make you happy

Let wisdom be your guide
Don't be afraid of your passion
Become one with your passion
The mystery will make you happy

In a circle 
we gather our possessions, 
our earthly goods: we drink gasoline 
and build a flame to burn sharp the past 
until all that remains is the earth

Balance is alive
and sensitive to touch
Balance is abstract
It is surreal,
Balance is strong yet weak, faithful yet ignorant.
It is the hope
That vice and virtue
Find themselves, in an
Eternal juxtaposition.
Balance is a disease
Balance is a must.
Balance occupies our minds and our souls,
Refusing to release its hold
Balance is what it is
By birthright, by name.
We have great need for balance.

We breathe a light we bring, in a vast and awesome universe
We breathe alive we breathe, the most promising way to search, and it shines

We breathe a language we live, and wait to receive
We breathe a superb magnet.

Breathe out, the breath of life, breathe in, a shower of voice
Breathe out, the reflected light, breathe in, a shower of voice

We breathe a light we bring, in a vast and awesome universe

We breathe alive we breathe, a sequence of loops,
suspended in a line of vision

We breathe a quiet we live, and bring alike;
We breathe a concentrated light.

White Eagle... Red Lion...

Rub the belly of Venus
Slide to the other side of Mars
Rub the belly of Venus
Slide to the other side of Mars

Sparingly in a tunnel of allure
Rich in high frequencies
and curved in metallic light
We place the seeds . . .

Sitting way back on your father's chair
Watching the TV breathing
Feeling the love your mother gave
You know she's upstairs sleeping.
And when you go to sleep, the world is turning
The fire in your dream, it starts to flicker
And when you go to sleep, the world is turning
You are just one spirit burning.

Rush of a car going past your house
And the trees are blowing
Someone on TV is getting shot
And the blood is flowing.
And when you go to sleep, the world is turning
The fire in your dream, it starts to flicker
And when you go to sleep, the world is turning
You are just one spirit burning.

We shade our ambient in sound colors light and dark.
Signals in and out of the calm and stillness of what
is left unsaid. Treasured roadmaps. Coded experiments.
We retouch the mindset of the past and turn to the
future. We 360. deeply in space. we craft. and we flow
onward. Here are new stories for each rhythm of sun
and moon to earth and back. This is where the weave
of light is one world. the weave of dark another.
Together. they form a voice of contrast. Illumuniation.
Connectivity. Immersion. Clarity. This is the music that
forever drifts in our soul.
This is our silent renaissance.

Hidden in sleep, we discover a silent channel where we breathe life into spheres, borders, arrows, cycles. Identities for these dreamforms, and the dreampaths they take, are defined by experience. We channel energies from our first conception to our current one - who we are into who we might become, be it in a familiar world or an unknown world. When sleep ends there is an illusion: The silent channel is gone. It is not. Consider our ability to hear, and how listening can induce an awake dream to reopen the channel.

Listen to seawater touching land, then letting go, to tools of sound, silent, then alive. Become aware of the channel that flows within: where your mind gives life to shapes. Slowly interpret the sound. Let memories descend to open hands. Listen to parts of sound that you have not heard before. Consider lifepaths not taken. Shape, reshape.

Hearing allows us to open mechanisms seemingly closed when we are awake. But unlike sleep-induced dreamlives which often disappear, the life we give to a sound, and the redefined life we experience for ourselves, become imbedded in our mindscope. When next we listen, we will do so differently.

All meaning is floating. Life forever changing. For as we breathe, so flows the silent channel.

Ambient music is a living spice, weaving through each earth-mind. We hear its tune when human beings recreate the sounds of ritual, the weightlessness and void of the solar system, or any energy that is heavenly. It is a phenomenon that usually begins with a naïveté. Instead of levitation, we fall. Instead of opening doors to new rooms, we discover walls that keep us in the old ones. we cannot deny who and what we are. Yet, we invent the wheel, turn it upside down, inside out, and continue to create a new ambiance.

Some minds may feel the natural disasters of the late 20th century signify a coming Armageddon. That if Babel was the watershed were communication went awry, then the science of modern civilization that preaches a telecommunications superhighway, is in fact food for the gods to show renewed wrath.

Other minds, unite in a belief that the ever-growing ambient soul of society can interpreted as a tribute to the best that is human. And that understanding between different entities can only be achieved through a communication that weaves in more than one direction.

What has always been our strength, our excitement, is the spices around us. From the taste of ginger, to the crisp sound of autumn leaves beneath a gentle walk, to the pulsating white of a full moon. Spices are everywhere, forever weaving.

Ambient music is one of these spices, and as one, is inherently shared. Built from the perceptions of musicians, incorporating sounds that occur in the world, naturally and unnaturally, it begins as an open door. Listeners are invited to assimilate floating ambient sounds in the traditional way: listen, dream, levitate. Furthermore, listeners can communicate more intimately with the music by becoming part of the music. Ambient music is a voice which attempts to inspire listeners to become pro-active, to help breathe new life into its eternal dialogue, by ceasing to be a listener only. It is time to speak a voice and become part of the ambient weave: be it via acoustic or electronic instruments, be it with skill or naïveté, be it with television or radio, be it with any sound or non-sound.

The Ambient room is an open room, now and forever.

We trace our deepest reactions to the ambient sound around us through non-invasive imaging. Highlighting the blood, so it can be seen in the brain at the moment of listening, we can study the patterns that emerge over time. Patterns formed during a single listening experience (e.g., a song) can be considered a map to understanding our aural sensors. By placing various maps side by side, we discover similar maps, similar reactions. This repetition may suggest a plural intelligence within each of us, or the revelation of past lives, or astrological potentials, or simply a like moment in time of which we are an integral part.

In this spirit, exists Spice Barons, Patternclear, Satellite IV, etc., combining natural and electronic sounds so that they make a perfect sense. All that we are emanates from the same seed. But how the flower is picked and assimilated remains random. In listening to the ambience that surrounds us, there is always the potential for shared experience. There is also the potential for individualized impressions which are constantly redefining the ambience. This occurs when an aural composition moves further and further from the maps formed by its initial listeners (i.e., its godly or human creators). For better or worse, our ambience will float away from us, toward the plural you -- in enough directions to keep it eternally unidentified.

To read the full article, navigate to Hawkwind.

Throughout earth's timeline, from acts of heroism to creating test tube concoctions, special moments occur that invigorate our beliefs in the human spirit. Perhaps, the Robert Calvert that dreamed of being tightly nestled in a cockpit while protecting his country in wartime and peace saw his future brightly in this manner. The young Calvert may or may not have realized his lifepath was tied to rock 'n' roll, and that from this base, he could truly fly.

We can now look into the crystal ball of the past and sight Robert Calvert, the artist, at times heroic, often inventive, forever singing. It is truly a crystal ball for many, because the visage remains a prediction of sorts; many who look, can never meet the physical man, never talk one-on-one to him. We experience him in isolation, in our living rooms, our dens, through loudspeakers, headphones, and now on the internet, through computers. The language hinted at in his lyrics is alive for as long as we wish to keep it alive.

Initially, we can only reap from the past: spoken and sung words, written works, music, and the pictorial and verbal memories that have survived. It becomes the task of those who have been inflicted with the best of his poison pen, to make sense of this past, to welcome all to the present, which eternally becomes the future.

I remember going to see Hawkwind and telling my wife that anything can happen at a Hawkwind concert. Maybe Bob Calvert will show up, I said. Dave Brock put to rest all hope when he spoke up: "We'd like to dedicate the next piece to the late Bob Calvert." It was an irony the singer might appreciate. But while I got an anecdote, a man remained dead and unwittingly died again. A rock fan would do well to remember to temper their emotions. It's fine to mourn the loss of an artist, but one should acknowledge those who have lost more: a wife, a child, all those who were a part of his daily breath.

Still, in life, Calvert made every effort to reach all of us. Not as a pilot of planes, but as an adventurer of art, specifically within the rock motif. While Silver Machine speaks to our child-like primal fantasies, each subsequent work of Calvert tempts us to dig deeper into other art-forms, closer and closer to a world that has less to do with rock music and more with redefining our lives.

Like many sci-fi rock fans, I graduated from Marvel Comics to sci-fi/fantasy paperbacks. I was already reading Michael Moorcock when I was introduced to the breathtaking tribal chaos of Hawkwind's Space Ritual. Throughout this sonic expedition, lurked this voice, at one turn calm and clear, at another slightly deranged, so that we might partake in both future states perfect and imperfect. In this beginning, Calvert and company took me deeper into Moorcock's New Worlds. This would soon change.

I was aware that Moorcock greatly admired writer J.G. Ballard, but it would be Calvert's lyrical adaptation of Ballard's High Rise that finally persuaded me to check out the original. I suspect Calvert influenced many of us to read Hesse's Steppenwolf or to view certain films (Damnation Alley). Some of Calvert's lyrics created their own story, like Spirit of the Age (marrying two of his poems, one about a clone, the other an android); It's spin of unexpected words asks us to exercise our minds in the same manner, albeit a shorter format, that Ballard or Hesse might. In the world of 'serious' poetry, New York poet John Ashberry was busy breaking expectations from line to line (in direct opposition to the language required when he wrote technical manuals for a living), and digging deeper and deeper into a minimalist linguistics. Calvert was also breaking the language, on one hand twisting lines in a clever manner, but moving headlong towards the minimalistic voice of the city and it's cold machines.

Over time, the original search in space (outer, then inner) becomes an expanded adventure. For me, it would be Calvert and the Hawklords' onstage mechanized persona which introduced me to Japanese Noh Theater. It was track's like Automoton that really prepared me for minimalist music works by Philip Glass, Steve Reich, and even the dark ambient works of the 90s. So much so that I might one day pursue ambient soundscapes with Thessalonians and Spaceship Eyes.

Calvert prefaces early industrial music and acknowledges inspiration from Bertolt Brecht and his 'sprechgesang' (Speechsong) "which gives a very Germanic feel to our machine-gun lyrics. . . a lot of people who live in the cities are influenced by what goes on with them, we're influenced by the cities themselves."

As one deciphers the influence that Hawkwind has had on musics like punk, new wave, metal, industrial, ambient and techno, one can then begin to see that Calvert laid down much of the early cement, or at the very least, got us to look at where the cement was being created. Calvert's adventures, in a Joyce-like manner, say: Check it out, follow me and check it all out, because everything that has existed can lead us into everything that can and will exist. His adventure asks us to travel beyond rock and conventional art-forms. For fans who have become artists, be it rock or otherwise, Calvert is a teacher, a mentor in absentia.

However, life is not just an adventure, or a box of yea and nay Pandoras to be studied and reshaped. Seeded in many of Calvert's work's are messages, however coded. We can believe the hype, in that we acknowledge that hype exists. We can believe in science that we realize there is both good and bad in this venture. We can see that fantasy and fiction are viable paths that can indeed lead to reality, but that the opposite is true.

Calvert is never about absolutes, only possibilities. His message, at it's most serious, is that the human condition is plagued with problems, regardless of whether we can wrap it up in neat little sci-fi/fantasy packages.

It is at this moment that Robert Calvert becomes the hero. Not as a soldier in armor, but as a rising voice that looks into its own crystal ball, with the text of the world by his side, preparing to pour out his findings. The hero, here, has but one request: Listen. Listen to the sounds.

Working Down A Diamond Mine, Acid Rain, Picket Line. The adventurer at his twilight now asks us to follow him into reality and enlightenment: Perhaps, if we acknowledge the problems, the fears, then we can begin to deal with them and find solutions.

At the heart of any inventor, is the drive to find solutions. But what happens if there exist personal demons along the way? For Calvert, sometimes described as a hypo-active, manic depressive, these are potent artistic death traps. He can be admired that he continued to experiment and present musical solutions in such a state.

For those who are afflicted, this is heroic in its own manner. The drive in his vocal delivery, even the lyric/poem on paper, is forever tied to the challenge of feeding this mental duality.

Another great challenge to Calvert, aside from securing record deals and support for artistic endeavors, is the battle for acceptance. Robert Calvert never asks to be considered a hero or even an adventurer. As a musician and poet, his actions suggest that he desires to be acknowledged as an artist; more than just a rock icon. One reason I believe this: I too began writing poetry before I played music. And as I've had a certain level of success musically, the poet side of me cries for a greater legitimacy for both my music and a poetry I have done little to cultivate in recent years. For better or worse, rock, at its pinnacle, most often does not fit into the serious art circle; though many have tried to make it so.

Calvert understood this. He understood that music is one form of language. And language is at the heart of serious art. Calvert, with his Morse code music, his shortwave samples, his megaphone maniacal deliveries, and his cool mechanical computer rhythms, sought to expand his and our personal languages and our experiences with language. The language of the space pioneer begat the language of the scientist which begat the language of the city which begat the language of the worker.

Given that his lyrics were becoming more serious, and his inner self might have been craving serious recognition, one might expect Calvert to totally leave the muse of rock. However, at the time when he was furthest from the lyrical language of his Hawkwind origins, his music swung closer to the simplicities of rock 'n' roll than ever before. One should not be surprised. If nothing else, Calvert never fails to surprise. Or, perhaps, he was beginning to accept that he was and always would be, a rock 'n' roller.

I often wonder what Calvert might have accomplished if he would have pursued the topic of non-vocal music throughout one album; perhaps we would have gotten an ambient adventure of sorts, or even a serious new music. We do have other paths of language that Calvert realized publicly; in theater, in poetry. But because Calvert is rarely remembered as a poet or as a playwright outside of rock circles, he seems to float endlessly as a tragic figure - an artistic Hamlet if you will.

I was asked to help start a space rock band in the early 90s, as the resident poet. Two years later, Melting Euphoria were still a 3-piece; with a great rhythm section, my keyboard rhythms, leads and pads were required much more than any vocalizations. However, live and on the band's premiere CD, I got to take on the Calvert poet/vocal threads. Much like he did, I used poems that were not originally written for a rock motif. And like him, I tried my hand at various emotions. I felt the best Calvert performances were dark clear intonations, the voice futuristic, but striking at the core of our existence. I don't know if my performances on Melting Euphoria's 'Through The Strands Of Time' succeeded toward this goal, but I would not have another opportunity within Melting Euphoria's walls, as I soon quit the band and continued onwards with instrumental projects.

Since then, when I've spoken on record or CD, I've considered the following: Calvert, as his career continued, seemed intent on not just speaking future texts or current issue texts for the sake of it: There was always direction, purpose. I hope that all artists consider this lead.

There is another Calvert influence that permeated into my earlier works, as well as my current work with Spaceship Eyes and space rock band Spirits Burning. For example, during the Melting Euphoria sessions, I would breathe into a straw aimed towards the mike to produce an eerie wind; or breathe into a straw placed inside a plastic cup containing just a little liquid for a micro-sized test tube concoction; I placed a metal ball with an internal bell on a pillow and recorded the soft tinkling motives of it as I gave it a virtual magical carpet ride. I don't know if I would trace this type of experimentation only to Calvert. But I do know that it this sense of play from the lyrics and musics of the Calvert's and the Eno's that has influenced many musicians who have followed.

We are often too serious in our artworks. Within Calvert is this: The message may be serious, but that does not need to prevent us from being playful in its presentations, or from attempting new strategies that seem child-like and wide-eyed in their approach.

The rock forum was perfect for Calvert's mental adventures and heroism. Calvert is not a reknown poet in most poetry circles. His output in theater was rather minimal. His legacy is in Hawkwind and as a solo rock musician. Herein lies the heart of his artistry. And each day seems to produce a new Calvert convert to this work, breathing new life into it. Simply put, Robert Calvert, for those who have looked and those who will be welcomed in the future, is an artist who attempted much and achieved much. The scales on which we judge this success does not matter. What does matter, is the chord he struck for many, and that it continues to resound.