Red Doves/Blue Moons

There have been enough questions recently about what I'm saying in my song that I thought I'd post the lyrics. I also didn't have anything really exciting to say about the weekend and thought this might make interesting reading, and at the very least, a new post. If you want a copy of the song, email me or tell me on myspace and I'll send it on over. Click if you'd like to hear Alan's version of the song.

Red Doves & Blue Moons:

Red doves green horses and blue moons,
Omens of things that are coming soon,
Psychadelic relic purple mushrooms, stranded in a token broken room
As we look to the sky for a sign of why, cryptic wishes multiply,
Falsify, rectify, then silently, rapidly amplify,
Will we fly in the future sky? With broken dreams as a cause to cry?
Watch from the side as the vultures ride, drain our times with the truths they’ve lied
Locked in the heavy chains of pride, with every strain as a way to die
Listen carefully to the things you see as every drop is a pop at new beauty

As the forgotten songs of a time long gone filter through memories like smoke through bongs,
I nightly hold tightly to the melodies left before I’m alone and cast asea
I laugh at the brutal things around, the deafening silence of a sound
As it bounds, breaks, echoes fake, mingled in nicely with the last mistake.

Has it come to pass?
This poorly written moment lost again from my grasp,
And I never hoped to hold it
If yesterday’s a memory, tomorrow a vision,
The only way I can see it is today’s a sort of prison.

Red d___ and blue mo__s, omens of things that are coming soon
As the day gains a nightly bloom,
Cast quickly into next week’s hue,
Swept under the rug with next year’s broom,
Always obscured by the promise of soon
If we can’t all stay in yesterday and can’t escape today, there’s not that much more to say.

Crystal leaves and golden looms, omens of things that are coming soon
Lost in the maze of another haze, thinking of days that could have been saved
In the busted dawn of a love gone wrong, blown apart by words of psalms
Is a wicked trust too much to touch? Frosted over with licks of golden rust,
Watch it burst then watch it bleed, frozen in the thirst of forgotten greed
You can’t deceive tormented wrath, festered into fragmented laughs
Let it pass, make it dash, close your eyes to the pry of the camera’s flash
As social lightning crashes down, buried in the garbage of your old hometown.

The tortured scream of a midnight dream, lost forever in a classic movie scene
Watch as the screen turns to melted flesh, boiled and spoiled with all the rest
Ice it drowns, cold water burns, looking frantically for a misguided turn
Slowly pirourette then reset, jumbled in the loss of a discarded bet

As we sit here, you and I, silently contemplating reasons why
Not really sure what we need to find
As skyscrapers taper through fragile minds
Will we know, will we be, will we find the locale of our destinies?
Can we really hold out any hope of life being more than an elaborate joke?
I don’t think so, but I’ll hold my breath, ironically bringing on an early death
What is left, what is fixed, how much more can join the mix?
The fix is already in, make the call, read the writing on the bathroom stall
While a limp may be better than a crawl, it’s much more likely to bring the fall
And when it comes, brings us low, how much more will there be to know?
As the pure white snow turns quickly brown, making shit of the virgin newborn ground
Mountain mechanizations of moving motivation
Sleek hesitations bring salutations
Lost with the wealth of the forgotten nations, sullied, burdened and already tainted
Lumped together with the rotten brood, scrambling, fractured, tortured, skewed
With the clock ticking down to the count of two,
There’s not too much left for us to do.

Has it come to pass?
This poorly written moment lost again from my grasp,
And I never hoped to hold it
If yesterday’s a memory, tomorrow a vision,
The only way I can see it is today’s a sort of prison.

Red doves & blue moons, omens of things that are coming soon
As the day gains a nightly bloom,
Cast quickly into next week’s hue,
Swept under the rug with next year’s broom,
Always obscured by the promise of soon
If we can’t all stay in yesterday and can’t escape today, there’s not that much more to say.