Sebago Testo

someone medicate me sound, an introduction to all that eludes definition.
bring me something definite to chew cud with.
i remember this one night, the world was still dead back then,
the way it spun to my shins to dance with blankets being chased
in circles. 3000 miles from new home, forty-five miles from old home,
thinking about new life, old friends,
huddling rocks, big world, small life.
everything spins that has a point, and me spinning hysterical,
crying...them laughing...stems in my hair, dancing in the grass
atop a mountain, the perfect landing for a ufo. the lights blink...oncoming traffic...hysteria
is my history and my friends don't see what i see:
solemn faces in the bushes absorbing the story. like
i'm not the first dilusional coming to grips losing my friends
and it's killing me graceful. so i apologize to god,
for bren and adam and brandon, and ask god what happens when i die.
no answer. sadness strikes me dead in my bellowing state,
remembering some girl i'd never love. so far detached
from the world i can't know and the faces i can't see.

one-hundred yards to the left, a burned down house
where the father killed the wife and kids,
and i'm lookin' for him, and he's hiding from me
'cause he doesn't exist in this world;
he's in heaven, he's forgiven. the rest: in limbo like me,
aging, thinking "pill." crying into a pillow called sky
who keeps me warm when it's freezing in the summer time,
and laughing girls are golden, sitting in the fire
talking about school and how funny i was
drunk outside clubs, practicing forgetting, and dubbing people over who wouldn't fit on my tape.

well, my theif friend brought a guitar for the trip,
and didn't know how to play, but i felt it in my stomach
and sang gibberish and wrote gibberish and was gibberish.
still, less gibberish in being alive july 2nd, 1999.

in the gibberish party, don put out the bonfire...
something about wardens...something about not camping...
something about driving down an unlit rock trail on some mountain in some
nameless sebago city, and dying some documentary death
didn't thrill me. i'm staying here, it's the last safe place on earth.

and when i first saw the flames at the bottom, and my drunk minor friends
melting into the rocks, and ticks feasting on my piggy flesh...
these two will try to kill me, these three are dead....
i should be home asleep, not being blamed for someone's stupidity.

it's not the road, the space around me ripped,
and i was chased by white birds that don't sing,
that are always there but i can't touch.

i will not die; some passed out life, overdose,
praying to not be eaten by my own mortality
when dogs bark in the country or junkies overdose in amusement parks.
i pass through the sunken uncity and bang a payphone
'cause i lost my cellphone and can't remember anyone's number,
not even my own.

oh, you wanna be in my movie? don't move, don't talk,
don't just stand there like all epiphanies are purchased in the old port
from someone who smokes kind nugs.
i am not zen; i'm calm like a city killer with poison oak
waiting patiently by the lake to be saved
by cut-out friends who cut out. save yourself.

i am not zen; i'm calm like a city killer with poison oak
waiting patiently by the lake to be saved
by cut-out friends who cut out. save yourself.

save yourself, save yourself, save yourself, save yourself...