Tony Ware

Here’s a freebie for the emo revival revival (though I’d be surprised if no one wrote this already): “You’re baked, and I’m fried. We‘re got crusts but stay soft on the inside.”

As soon as I get my head round you, I come around catching sparks off you. I get an electric charge from you. That second-hand living, it just won’t do. And the way I feel tonight, I could die and I wouldn’t mind. And there’s something going on inside.

Reality, it burns. The way we’re living is worse. The pillars of inspiration are all falling down. The clean up won’t work while the fallout goes on. And it’s now or never, too close to the latter. We’re all living proof that nothing lasts.

She used her body just like a bandage, she used my body just like a wound. I’ll probably never know where she disappeared but I can see her rising up out of the back seat now just like an angel rising up from a tomb.

The Cowboy Junkies’ “Sweet Jane” sounds like flavored lip gloss on a cigarette shared one summer night on the still-warm hood of a shitty car.

It’s no secret we’re close as sweaty velcro. Like latex, fur and feathers … Now … In their ‘62 ’Vette, sharing one cigarette. In a black light trance then go-go dance … Then …

And no we don’t make wack tracks and all the suckers get pushed back when I’m kicking real facts. I represent set up shit like a tent boy you’re paranoid cause you’re a son like Elroy. And you’d be happy as hell to get a record deal maybe your soul you’d sell to have mass appeal.

Cigarettes, sorcery and Biblical sins. Hangovers, heathens, harlots and anti-heroines. The cabarets, the getaways and the afterglow. A little money and whatever’s on the radio.

Is it wrong not to always be glad? No it’s not wrong but I must add how can someone so young sing words so sad? Sheila take a Sheila take a bow. Boot the grime of this world in the crotch dear. And don’t go home tonight. Come out and find the one that you love and who loves you.

Motion in the ocean, his air hose broke. Lots of trouble lots of bubble. He was in a jam he’s in a giant clam. Rock, rock, rock lobster. Down, down underneath the waves, mermaids wavin’ wavin’ to mermen wavin’ sea fans. Sea horses sailin’ dolphins wailin’ … Rock lobster!

One, two, three, four. Yeah, yeah … Yeah, yeah. Let me make your stasis. My, my, my, my serpentine. I got a breathalyzer and my body’s clean. Yeah, yeah … Yeah, yeah … Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Yeah.

Sandy the fireworks are hailin’ over little Eden tonight forcin’ a light into all those stony faces left stranded this 4th of July. Down in town the circuit’s full of switchblade lovers so fast so shiny so sharp, as wizards play down on Pinball Way on the boardwalk way past dark.

Every night these silhouettes appear above my head, little angels of the silences that climb into my bed and whisper, every time I fall asleep, every time I dream … Did you come? Would you lie? And why’d you leave us ‘til we’re only good for … waiting for you …

Puttin’ bodies in motion cause I got the notion, like Roy Cormier with the coconut lotion. The sound of the music drivin’ you insane; you can’t explain to people this type of mindframe. Like a bottle of Chateauneuf Du Pap, I’m fine like wine when I start to rap.

It’s the return of the Wild Style fashionist. Smashin’ hits, make it hard to adapt to this. Put pizzazz and jazz in this, and cash in this. Mastered this, flash this and make ‘em clap to this. DJs throw on cuts and obey the crowd. Just pump the volume up, and play it loud.

Check it, yo … I always hit the tape with a rough-road style. You heard the psychdelic and ya came from miles. Keep my rhymes thick like a Danish brew so you could call me black and tan when I’m a wreckin’ a crew.

So we down our drinks in a funnel of friends, and we burn our blends right down to the end … we don’t cry for those nights to arrive, we yell like hell to the heavens! We all want to know what nobody knows, what the nights of wine & roses hold for the wine & roses of our souls.