WINGS AND PARTS 1

Your bags are packed
But you don’t even know if you’re coming back‘Cause Rat is on the ground

You can fly
But you might start to wonder why
’Cause Rat is on the ground

He’s been up for forty hours
Don’t need plugs
Ignore the tower

Live and shave
Assuming you make it the entire way
’Cause Rat is on the ground

No delays
The skies are clear, not a thing to fear
’cause Rat is on the ground

Boston on the radio
So long hippies
I’ve got a show

Your bags are packed
But you don’t even know if you’re coming back
‘Cause Rat is on the ground

A BOY CALLED RAT

Oh, what future will this poor boy have?
He’s asleep with those headphones on, again

What kind of noises does he seek?
What if the voices start to speak?
What will we call him if he blows?
No one knows

It’s the sound of a thing in pain
It’s the sound of an aero plane
It’s the sound of a…

I’m just a simple son
I learned my chords, I had my fun
This music’s dead, I’m through with that
Now you can call me Rat

What kind of songs play in his head?
What are those tapes under his bed?
Is he a Mozart for today?
Who can say?

It’s the sound of a Marshall stack
It’s the sound of a heart attack
It’s the sound of no turning back

I’m just a simple son
I learned my chords, I had my fun
This hippie shit is dead and gone

I’m just a simple son, I’m just a simple son
I’m just a simple son
I learned my chords, I had my fun
This music’s dead, I’m through with that
I’ll clear the room and won’t look back
Now you can call me Rat

FRANCIS IS SPECIAL

Francis is sleeping
Lives in a dream
Likes to count horses
Francis was not a mistake
He’s got a purpose, A reason for being

Since he was small, there was a tiny light
Francis was not afraid
He kept his mouth shut tight
His eyes were alive…

Francis is dreaming
Lives on a cloud
Vessels like castles
Head like a velvet sponge
He’s got a purpose, A reason for being

He is unknown

Now he’s awake - there is a tiny light
Francis is not afraid, no
He keeps his mouth shut tight
His eyes are alive

He is unknown - He is unknown - He is unknown
He is unknown

TAKE OUT THE KEYS

I’ve broken my piano
I’ve snapped some keys in half
To tune it like Sinatra
I’d take out all the black
There’s a distinct sound you get
When you stick it in a box
And fill it up with paper
Torn from the letters that I got

You can carry your tune over your shoulder
But it’ll never be a cross
You’ve got to drive the good ones crazy
Till the bad ones hit the spot
And all your polish will not save you from the hot, hard rain
Let’s see how you sound when the rust gets to your brain

I’ve broken my piano
But I’d shatter my guitar
To tune it like Sinatra
I’d play half the fucking strings
Yeah, I’ve got intuition
But that’s just asking for a cliff
You’ve got to jump off of curbs in South Beach
Before you’ll ever write a hit

YOU'LL WRITE GOOD COMMERCIALS

You’ll sell a lot of cars
You’ll sell a lot of beer
You’ll captivate the country
With your beat and your veneer
The heart of the heartland
The best of the Midwest
You’ll pull it all in

You’ve got it right kid, You’re gonna be a star
You’ve got it right kid, You’re gonna be a star

You’ll sell a lot of soda
You’ll find fortune and fame
Yeah, you’ll be a darling
You’ll be known by your first name
And at the festival you will upstage
The clown with the balloons
And the baboon

You’ve got it right kid, You’re gonna be a star
You’ve got it right kid, You’re gonna be a star
You’re a winner, you know who you are
You’re gonna be a star
You’ll sell lots of cars

ASLEEP AT THE BOARD

Rat takes a nap
And the tape goes on and on
Rat takes a nap
And the take is over
Rat takes a nap
And all I’ve got here is a 12 minute song
And a maniac

Who will stop the tape?
Who will end this take?
Who will stop the tape?

Rat takes a nap
And the bartender stole my guitar
Rat takes a nap
Go visit Antonia
Rat takes a nap
And the chorus just goes on for miles

Who’s going to rewind the tape?
Who will stop the take?
Who will end this take?

Hey Rat!
Hey Rat!!!
Wake the fuck up!

OUTSIDE THIS BAR

Outside this bar, there’s a man screaming at the top of his lungs
There’s a man, screaming not to go down this road
Not to do what you’re told

In the bedroom, on the microphone
He’s holding to the lamp post
He’s grabbing on to major chords
And popping all the strings
And you can hear him sing
If you’re outside this bar, on a Friday,
At a festival, he goes…

In a town which all the partiers were thrown off of balconies
Into mediocrity
And pop tunes that kill brain cells
But sell lots of Chevys

“Outside this bar, there’s no one alive
Outside this bar, how does anyone survive?
Outside this bar, outside this bar…”

A GIRL WHO PAINTS

She’s smarter than you know, he said
She’s got much more than that
She’d paint you into corners
And then she’d call you too abstract
She’s got a sense for color
But no sense for timing
She can’t drive a boat
But she’s aquamarine and cobalt blue

In the studio, by the studio
On a couch on wooden floors
On a coffee table carved to look
Bigger than the doors
There’s a cat with extra tails, and
A dog with human feet
There’s tension in the space
Where secret voices used to speak

Her walls turn to murals
He turns sound into noise
If her voice could rise above the din
He’d sanctify the choice
She’s send the night sky spinning backwards
And a gold star overhead
And when she held the guitar in her hands
His sweetness almost shed…

And somewhere there’s a picture
Of a German family and a skinny little girl
Born with an American picture of a highly colored acrylic world

In a dance of decent manners
And a well scripted serenade
The song was lifted from a recording
Made in Europe in a drunken state
And while there’s no paint on his tile
And no records in her room
Her ears ring constantly
The long regards of a dedicated tune

And somewhere there’s a picture
Of little hearts and legendary local brews
Unburdened by your standard Florida pallet of pastel hues
And local tunes

SQUELCHER

Harmony is drinking with the band
As the noise pours on and on
Wash out your ears, stand on your hands
While the noise goes on and on

Mindy rocks it on stage right
Little Julie fakes a scream
Lucrecia cranking to be heard
Ivy, tuneless and serene
 

Why did you come here?
Where did you go wrong?
You heard the siren's call
Then you heard the siren's song
 

Get some girls
Give them guitars
Plug them in
Now, they're fucking stars
Plug them in! Plug them in!
 

Melody died on stage last night
On a Thursday of an overdose
You're just to blame as anyone else
You just sat there, comatose
 

Mindy! Julie! Lucrecia! Ivy!
 

Get some girls
Give them guitars
Plug them in
Now, they're fucking stars
Plug them in! Plug them in!
Plug them in! Plug them in!
 

ALL YOUR TONE IS WRONG

Face it forward
You won’t ever see them cringe
On your worst day
You just never felt the pinch

Of a pending collision
A Cliff to the tire
You always see net when you’re on the high wire

Every weekday
You just coast down the road
And on your worst day
You don’t feel any notes

Just a sleepwalking song
Without any feel
With a nod towards the end
And the soul that it steals

All your tone is wrong – you’ve got to sing a better song
If you’re to leave this town – you’ve got to move around
Don’t you eat the mic – you must look for fights
Aint no use for rock-n-roll if it don’t last all night

In a speaker
All the truth comes out
You can’t hide it – you can only drown it out

With reverb and feedback and chorus and twine
And claim that the lie was all meant by design

All you rejects – all you told to stop
Come out Thursday…let’s just hear what you’ve got

HE'S MY NOTHING

He’s on that thing again
He says it sounds like Hendrix
I can’t hear a goddamn thing
He’s not in bed again
I’ll fall asleep alone
But I can dream about a different sound

He tells me that I’m crazy
He can’t hear me when I sing
I’ve got scars that bleed affection
He swears that’s not his thing
Everything I’ve ever had, I’ve gotten for myself
He’s the king of noise, I know
I’m the queen of something else

He’s my nothing, he’s my nothing
He’s my nothing, and that’s everything

We’re flying out again
To see some band from Dayton, O
Then back around again
I’m on my feet again
I’m waiting for my man to come
He’s passed out on the bathroom floor

I think he thinks I’m lazy
I can’t stay awake that long
When his eyes are rolling backwards
His brain still buzzes strong
Everything I could become, I’ve tossed off in the dirt
Just to mend his favorite beanie
And wash his stupid shirts

He tells me that I’m crazy
He can’t hear me when I sing
I’ve got scars that bleed affection
He swears that’s not his thing
Everything I’ve ever had, I’ve gotten for myself
He’s the king, he’s the king, he’s the king!

LOST IN TAMPA

I’m lost in Tampa
I’m lost without you
I’ve got scotch in my system
I’ve got beer on my boots
I’ve got a reason to get back to my room

I’m lost in Tampa
I’m with a lunatic
Seen a punk band in a Radisson
And Squirrels in the sticks
By the pool with a flashing guitar
There’s skaters in the marketplace
There’s hippies in the halls

And outside this bar
There’s someone dreaming ‘bout a girl across the state
And outside this bar
There’s someone explaining
Why we should all stay outside this bar

I’m lost in Tampa
I’m lost without you
Between the bed and the wall
At 3AM
The drugs did call

BALLAD OF THE RAT

Every single one of you is crazy
You’re all just missing it, man
Yeah, you’ve got a guitar but you’re lazy
You know damn well you’re in the wrong band
You know damn well you’re in the wrong band

You’re all just buying the story
Just one hype away from your dreams
But your Gods don’t have any glory
And they stole all their riffs from me
Yeah they stole all their riffs from me

I’ve seen the birthplace of Manson
In a strip mall bar wrist cut scene
And the shock on their faces was classic
But now it’s boring and passé and clean, clean, clean

You commute to a soundtrack of liars
Songs written by robots and thieves
In a world where the oils make ricin
You at least need a chorus that’s mean
You at least need a chorus that’s mean…

You’re a freak, you’re a freak, and you know it
Deep in your brain it is there
And like a seed, if you bury, you’ll grow it
Yeah
You’re a freak, you’re a freak, and you know it
Deep in your brain it is there
And like a seed, if you bury, you’ll grow it
And when it shows,
We’ll record it and stare

WINGS AND PARTS 2

All that stress from flying
Takes its toll on the design, you know
You've got to take a close look at the wing
And falling off the cargo hold
My head facing the sky, you know
The tarmac hit my head and made it sing

On the ramp it's just a long parade
The planes just come and go
Once you get behind the counter
You can see through people's soul...

While you take your kids to soccer
And the bills begin to pile
I'll be halfway to Japan
To hear the Voices live
While you are watching Idols
And eating corporate tripe
I'll be dancing in Japan
With Robert Pollards wife

All those iffy landings
Take their toll on those big tires, you know
You've got to keep inspecting for a flaw
And every day, security
Pretends that they don't know me
They shrug and tell me, "Frank, it's just the law."

On the ramp it's just a long parade
The planes just come and go
Once you get inside the baggage
You can see through people's soul...

WINGS AND PARTS 1 (Reprise)

Your bags are packed
But you don’t even know if you’re coming back
‘Cause Rat is on the ground

You can fly
But you might start to wonder why
’Cause Rat is on the ground

He’s been up for forty hours
Don’t need plugs
Ignore the tower

Your bags are packed
But you don’t even know if you’re coming back
‘Cause Rat is on the ground

I’m just a simple son
I learned my chords, I had my fun
This hippie shit is dead and gone

I’m just a simple son, I’m just a simple son
I’m just a simple son
I learned my chords, I had my fun
This music’s dead, I’m through with that
I’ll clear the room and won’t look back
Now you can call me Rat…

Rat…

RAT!!!