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under the titles.
The Admiral
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
FBI - I should have known it all along
KGB - When everything starts going wrong
SDI - I know too much
UFOs - I know the truth behind the news
Ollie North - And now they're turning all the screws
Ollie Stone - But I won't give up
CIA - I can't be sure that I'm alone
Panama - My disconnected telephone
Pinochet - They bugged my place
JFK - This information must be free
Zapruder film - They haven't heard the last of me
Doctored tape - Remember my face
Frontal lobes - And now I'm going underground
Crop circles - Some place I know I won't be found
Anal probes - I'll disappear
Iran-Iraq - Someday the truth comes out
Mujahedin - Just hold onto your doubt
Soviet block - And trust your fear
All I Have Is You
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
You're always making life difficult
Much harder than it needs to be
You tell me that you're tired of fighting,
But you're unwilling to let things be.
Now I'm calling for a cease-fire,
So I can see what's left.
Is there a reason we're still together
I mean, besides amazing sex?
In all your endless verbiage,
You've said one thing that is true
You're so lucky to have me,
But all I have is you.
You start these pointless arguments
Even when we both agree
You always have to voice dissent
Like it's your responsibility.
So I'm begging you to sit down
And put things in their place
Don't go chopping off your nose
While I'm trying to save your face.
In all your endless verbiage,
You've said one thing that is true
You're so lucky to have me,
But all I have is you.
And though it seems that I am glad
That you're not in my hair
I sometimes wish I'd turn in bed
And find you lying there
Like sodium in oxygen,
We instantly combust
You're the element I need to live,
My love, my hate, my lust.
So maybe you will figure out
Just what I'm trying to say
But by that time, I'll be long gone
Another man, another day.
Or maybe you will struggle
And tell it to your shrink
He'll give you drugs to kill the pain
So you won't really have to think.
And as your world is shrinking,
And your notes are turning blue
You'll wish that you still had me,
When all I had was you.
The Best Day of Your Life
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
You could wake up to your favorite song
Right before they call your name
You just won the lottery
On the only number you've ever played.
But you're crying on the phone
Because she left you all alone
And every joy just seems so lame.
Everyone might smile and wave
As you walk your way to work
You could get that promised raise
The boss might admit that she's a jerk
Tells you that your future's bright
But somehow this just isn't right
Inside your heart where feelings lurk.
This could be the best day of your life
This could be the best day, but you don't care
This should be the best day of your life
This could be the best day, but she's not there.
Your mother makes your favorite meal
And feeds you all that you can eat
Your dad might offer you his chair
Tell you to sit and rest your feet
But the topic drifts to her
The evening all becomes a blur
And your homecoming's in defeat.
This could be the best day of your life
This could be the best day, but you don't care
This should be the best day of your life
This could be the best day, but she's not there.
And the pillows are so soft
And you love those flannel sheets
You can still make out her smell
If you lie and inhale so deep
And you wish that you were dead
Because she isn't in your bed
You might as well wander the streets.
This could be the best day of your life
This could be the best day, but you don't care
This should be the best day of your life
This could be the best day, but she's not there.
The Choirboy
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
I am the top of my class
Untouched on my bike, none as fast
My family won't know it
They surely don't show it
I go through the blow, it's a mess.
'cause I am the choirboy.
I did ten jobs in seven states
I hop on my bike, I escape
I make like a rabbit,
The cash feeds my habit,
I just got to have it again
'cause I am the choirboy
When will it end? I want it to end.
Why? Why can't you see, it's taking over me.
I want, I want you to catch me.
So you, you'll know it's not really me.
Long miles are yielding 'neath my feet
I take the back roads, hidden streets
No one can catch me,
The cops cannot match me,
A twenty grand snatch from the bank
'cause I am the choirboy
Church Barbecue
words and music by Pat Buzby (with inspiration from Ethan Sellers)
Church barbecue!
Church barbecue!
There may come a time when I will lose you
But that ain't something I wanna think about
Your friends say that I abuse you
But they don't know what they're talking about
At some point we may address this
But I got other things to do
I'm gonna meet you baby
At the church barbecue.
This ain't gonna be nothing about science
I wanna hit you like a truck
I got a very nice appliance
And a little bit of luck
At some point we may address this
But I got better things to do
I'm gonna meet you baby
At the church barbecue.
I hate to sit around (x4)
At the church barbecue!
They say I'm giving you diseases
Looks like I need a new excuse
I'm just a man who does what he pleases
It's a consequence of living loose
At some point we may address this
But I got better things to do
I'm gonna meet you baby
At the church barbecue.
Coltrane Supermarket
words and music by Pat Buzby
There's a dearth of fresh excitement in the music world today
The radios pump out the sound of emotions held at bay
The answer's in the small towns where the children wait alone
They're accumulating anger, and they've bought their saxophones
(chorus)
At the Coltrane supermarket
You can wail away your blues
You can play as long as you choose
You can vent the passions stored within
At the Coltrane supermarket
You can die too young to live
You'll forget but not forgive
As your fellow mortals drown in sin
If you need some prompt assistance with a problem close at hand
You'll find no satisfaction in ballads short and bland
So crank the volume up to 10 and bring your neighbors to their knees
Because tonight we're going to party like it's 1963
(chorus)
Perhaps you saw the showman who blew himself to death
Or the fellow standing over there who'll kill you with his breath
This indicates the dangers if you carry on this way
And the kids know what's in store for them, but still they're lining up to play
(chorus)
Covered in Grit
words by Ethan Taylor Sellers, music by Ethan Taylor Sellers and Emily Albright
We slide astride the city streets
At sloth-like southern paces
Skin absorbs the summer sun
In melted candle faces
Heated asphalt addles our brains
South Side sewers never quite drain
Six days 'til the trash truck comes
And a brand-new stank replaces.
Sun beats down on your head
And sweat begins to pour
You'd take a shower to wash it off
But you'd only sweat some more
Break into sweat if you sit
Airborne gravy covers you in grit
The only way to get relief's
To swim at the Lake Shore
The humid heat bounced off the street
When you walk out the door
Your sweaty grip begins to slip
Your aggravated pores
Covered in Grit
Covered in Grit
The highways are a parking lot
They've shut off all the streets
Drivers stew and honk their horns
Their cars will overheat
An hour and a half forever lost
Just sitting there sucking on exhaust
You change your lane to move along
But it ends in fifty feet
Tempers flare in heated air
The traffic moves like snails
The gasket blows the coolant flows
Your air conditioner fails
Covered in Grit
Covered in Grit
Fat Dumb and Happy
By Ethan Taylor Sellers
In my younger days, the urban life
Was the only way that I could see
The fridge was empty 'cause we'd go out,
Raise hell, roll in at three.
At twenty-five, I hit the wall
And suddenly the game was lost
Where once the first round was always mine
I now recount the cost.
'Cause I got early mornings
And a boss that's hard to please
And the tension 'bout my pension
Has got me on my knees.
Wanna move to the suburbs
And get fat, dumb, and happy?
Wanna move to the cul-de-sacs?
Wanna move out to the suburbs
And get fat, dumb, and happy?
Wanna move and never look back.
My long-time girl's been hounding me
To save my money and buy a ring
She really needn't push so hard –
I was thinking the same thing.
But my friendly little neighborhood
Has real estate that blows my mind
If I'm to raise a family
Gotta leave it all behind.
We'll buy three bedrooms
Pound out the kids
And silence any doubts,
'Cause it's what our parents did.
They moved to the suburbs
And got fat, dumb, and happy.
They moved to a cul-de-sacs.
They moved to the suburbs
And got fat, dumb, and happy.
They moved and they never looked back.
I'll have a two-hour commute to work
The kids will wonder why their Daddy's such a jerk
We'll shop in box stores and watch TV
And tithe to mega-churches,
'Cause Jesus' love ain't free.
Jesus moved to the suburbs
And got fat, dumb, and happy
Jesus moved to the cul-de-sacs
Jesus moved to the suburbs
And got fat, dumb, and happy
Jesus moved and never looked back.
Let's move to the suburbs
And get fat, dumb, and happy
Let's move to the cul-de-sac
Let's move to the suburbs
And get fat, dumb, and happy
Let's move and never look back.
Glasgow Smile
music and lyrics by Ethan Taylor Sellers
New York Yankee born one day in the US Irish embassy
Alex Morrill swore one day he'd get himself dual cit'zenry
He packed his bags to travel light and booked himself on Budget Air
He stayed awake the night before and fell asleep once in the air
He woke up several hours after the o'ernight passage was to land
He found himself at a customs desk without a passport in his hand
A red-faced man breathed down his neck, "Where are ye papers Yankee
lad?"
"I lost them en route to Dublin, and ended up in Glasgow instead."
They let him out on recognizance to make the best of his holiday
He took a tour, he bought a kilt, he went to a pub to hear pipers play
The regulars were generous, but Alex Morril made one mistake
They brought him ale, they brought out haggis, but he dinna finish off his
plate.
"Ya donna like ye haggis, lad? What kinda Scotsman d'ya think y'are?"
"Git outta Glasgow, ya Yankee twat, and to a fairy Shamrock bar!"
"Fine with me," young Alex sniffed, "I'm on my way to the emerald
isle."
"Good luck, young lad, but before ye go, we wanna give ye a Glasgow
smile."
Gospel Lady
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
I see folks on the Red Line
Reading Bible verse
In the South Side
Pamphlets and Watchtowers
Are pressed into my hands
For the long ride
Anesthetic for the ascetics,
Or the kingdom of Heaven
Here and now?
Rich man stuck in the needle's eye
Camels slip on through
Do you wonder how?
We're all praying for peace - what will we find,
When power, purse-strings, politics pervert the divine?
Light cast into the shadows of dark histories
Can rituals heal or only numb misery?
Outside my old apartment,
The Gospel Lady sang,
"Jesus saves."
The neighbors all dismiss her,
But something deep inside me
Wants that faith.
We're all praying for peace - what will we find,
When power, purse-strings, politics pervert the divine?
Light cast into the shadows of dark histories
Can rituals heal or only numb misery?
Hair of the Dog
by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Mouth like a wad of chewed-up cotton
Did things last night that are best forgotten
Slept with a girl I'd never consider
She fell asleep, I climbed out the window
Went back to the bar with a thirst for trouble
Ordered a shot and made it double
Licked off the salt, spit the lime in the face
Of an over-eager mall chick with a can of mace
Hair of the dog, name of the truck
Beat up on a brother who's down on his luck
The sign on my hand said I was past due
So I bellied on up and ordered a brew
She was tiny but her boyfriend was massive
I'd heard that with bears that you should remain passive
So I slumped at the bar, pretended I was dead
'Til I felt his hot breath on the back of my head
He tapped my shoulder, and I knew he wasn't the kind
Who would give a man the chance to finish drinking his stein
So I whirled around and let go with a chuckle
As I floored the big guy and bloodied my knuckles
Hair of the dog, name of the truck
Beat up on a brother who's down on his luck
The sign on my hand said I was past due
So I bellied on up and ordered another brew
The room was in shock and my brain was on fire
The voice of reason sobered up and told me to retire
So I climbed in the window and slid back into the bed
Of the woman whose presence I'd earlier fled
She rolled over and started to ask me where I had gone
So I kissed her to silence her questions til dawn
We made love with a passion I never had known
So from that night forward, I've called her bed home.
Hair of the dog, name of the truck
Beat up on a brother who's down on his luck
The sign on my hand said I was past due
So I bellied on up and ordered another brew.
High School Reunion
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
I got the invite the other day to my high school class reunion
Can't place a face to the sender's name and the timing seemed too soon
Ten years - has it been that long?
The pull of nostalgia ain't strong
Because I never felt that much at home amidst the kids at school
I found the cliques and politics both asinine and cruel
So I marched in my cap and my gown
Went to college and moved out of town
And I won't go to my high school reunion
There are few there that I'd want to see
The memories may fade but I like it that way
The future's where I want to be
My friends who went all filled me in on the schadenfreude news
The closet cases who came out, the rehab stints, and boozers
I don't really care who got fat
Or how many kids they begat
So I won't go to my high school reunion
There are few there that I'd want to see
The memories may fade but I like it that way
The future's where I want to be
The House Song
lyrics and music by Pat Buzby
The house was strange and slightly old
When nighttime came, it brought the cold
An atmosphere of thunderstorms and dust
A quiet place it was at first
Calm at best and dead at worst
But changes soon arrived, as changes must
I found myself among some friends
Who met there to pursue their ends
Anticipation sensed as I arrived
Not every effort brought success
But times were happy, more or less
Excitement fueled the passing of our lives
Eventually the house was sold
The owners found it getting old
And so this chapter fell into the past
And soon enough our paths diverged
And new directions soon emerged
But memories we fear to lose may last
Hype Dark
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Poor textural flop
Mock orchestral pop
Prefab marketeer
Fab meat parking here
Space rock techno project
Race stock peck no job wrecked.
Hype Dark in Hyde Park
Shy larks, sly sharks
Dabble on the glitz like a babble-on ditz.
Smug fun bugged unique
Metro unplugged retro chic
Major g-string label advance
Congeals a mating table dance
So purported alumni ties no support the album dies.
Hype Dark in Hyde Park
Tuneless pap clueless rap.
"You're lucky to have known us,
'Cause now we're big shot stars.
What's the use in paying dues
In crummy home-town bars?"
Hype Dark in Hyde Park
Shy larks, sly sharks
Dabble on the glitz.
UFO suture now
Tofu futures bow
Ashtar on the side command
Shatner rides again
Genre hop pretension
Con the shop distension.
Hype Dark in Hyde Park
Shy larks, sly sharks.
Dabble-on the glitz.
Hype Dark in Hyde Park
Tuneless pap clueless rap.
Jeep
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
I have an anger like a noose around my neck
The noose pulls tighter and it chokes the right words back
I try to love, but there's no love in this cold city
You give to your neighbors and they steal your dignity
Give it up
No matter what you say
Let it go
You can't make it go away
Give it up
There's nothing you can do
Let it go
The rage that gnaws at you
My friend can't go out at night for fear of losing life
She fended off her limp-dicked rapist with a pocket knife
My brother crossed the street late night to get home to his bed
A thumpin' jeep sped by, threw a bottle at his head
Give it up
No matter what you say
Let it go
You can't make it go away
Give it up
There's nothing you can do
Let it go
The rage that gnaws at you
I look outside my window, someone's pissing on the wall
These city alleys don't give us any privacy at all
My next-door neighbors blast hip-hop at all hours of the night
My daily morning wake-up call is a screaming domestic fight
Give it up
No matter what you say
Let it go
You can't make it go away
Give it up
There's nothing you can do
Let it go
The rage that gnaws at you
Next door shouters stay up all night - they don't seem to have a job
No one seemed to care when working folks upstairs got robbed
When walking down some south side streets, seems everyone's a con
Sometimes I think I'll move away, 'cause I really can't go on
Jim's Home Brew
lyrics and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Grow and malt the barley;
Soak and dry the seeds,
So the sprouts stop.
Flavor from the roasted barley,
Amylase, starch,
And your bitter hops.
You need to boil the mash to get your sugar free.
Smells like cereal when the kettle starts to steam.
Funnel, filter, sparge this multi-grain stew
Into a big pot of Jim's Home Brew.
Protein clumps and precipitates
When you boil the wort -
It's sterilized.
In forty minutes,
The alpha acids in the hops
Isomerize.
Pitch the yeast, seal it up, the wort will ferment.
Siphon, filter yeast cells from the beer to prevent
Spoilage, keg it carbonate - in a few days we'll be due
For our first glass of Jim's Home Brew.
Empty steins and stragglers
Lie all around
Our living room.
The keg is tapped -
Its tappers hope
It'll refill soon.
But the next keg won't come for another week,
And may not have the alchemy that its devotees seek.
Once concocted, now exhausted - what can a drinker do
But hold tight a half fortnight and dream of Jim's Home Brew.
Lazy Sundays
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Sunday morning leans on the shades in my bedroom
And pushes its way in.
I've been in bed, spending half the day
Wishing last night would go away.
Totally spent with more bills to pay
Going back to work tomorrow.
So I slide on out of my well-worn blankets
And walk the cold wood floor
Showering away sloth's well-worn pungence
Splashing on soap's short-lived fragrance
Couldn't I feel worthwhile for just once?
Get up and do something.
I'm always becoming, never being
I always will be, never am
I want to be something, not just dreaming
Of lazy Sunday's idle plans.
Plans to buy a house, plans to buy a car
Plans don't get me far
Plans sit and nag me like a skipping record
A sun-warped tape and a broken ejector,
A teleprompter guilty lecture.
What will you do with your life?
Where are my wife and kids? Where's my lifelong job?
The check is in the mail.
Weeks go by and things don't change.
Former joys all seem so strange.
There's no "new me" found in exchange.
What's the point in going on?
I'm always becoming, never being
I always will be, never am
I want to be something, not just dreaming
Of lazy Sunday's idle plans.
Sunday evening drags like a prisoner to the chair,
But it's gone before he blinks.
Cleaned and straight for tomorrow's work day
Boring job for a yes-man's jerk pay
Dreaming of a time when I can say that
"It's been fun but I'm moving on."
Four loads of laundry, cleaning out the kitchen
It's no day of rest
Labors let me learn from all my failings
Lackluster efforts and futile flailings
Litter my past leaving promises trailing.
Crumbs for a guilty roach.
I'm always becoming, never being
I always will be, never am
I wanna be something, not just dreaming
Of lazy Sunday's idle plans.
Loud Shoes
words and music by Ethan Sellers
Your skirt's too short, your heels too high
The perverts drool, you don't wonder why
You blow a kiss and walk away
To tease the "proles" another day
Got your loud shoes and your silent hat
Sideways stripes make you look fat
Your boyfriends are accessorized
To draw the focus up to your eyes
You called your tailor an expensive hack
Now your fashion sense is off the rack
He dared to suggest it's not your clothes
That fill your heart and mind with woe
Searching through the vintage bins
A hipper shell to dwell within
Combing scouring every bargain shelf
You're the whole parade all by yourself
Your landlord's banging at the door
It doesn't wash to say you're poor
He's seen your clothes when you go dancing
Now your budget needs refinancing
Your threads are now reduced to rags
You're out of dough, it's such a drag
You call your dad to bail you out
He declines - you sit and pout
Love Bus
lyrics by Ethan Taylor Sellers
music by Ethan Sellers, Daniel Veidlinger, and Patrick Buzby
Walk past the white hippie bus in front of Mr. G's Co-Op
Mirrors on the side, shining in the sun, with a crown of swans on top
It's a mighty impressive vehicle, the coolest auto there
Though I never have tried that far-out ride, I wonder how can it
compare
to the Love Bus.
Love, love, get on the love bus. (4 times)
Was on my way to a show one day when I ran into Aaron Henkin.
That fine young man let me ride in his van and everything was
crankin'.
Aaron let me off by the Garfield stop a few steps from the Red Line.
A stranger swore he knew me, gave his transfer to me, and I've never felt
so fine since I rode the Love Bus.
Love, love, get on the love bus. (4 times)
On my way back home, I was all alone until I reached my stop.
A crowd of men stood by a van and tried to call the cops.
A hit and run, the culprit gone, a lady was trapped inside.
Medics pulled her free then they looked over to me and asked me if I
needed a ride.
Sure beats riding the love bus.
Love, love, get on the love bus. (12 times)
Memo To Your Self
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Lighten up!
You carry existential weight
As if it were the will of fate
You're aging at alarming rate
And it's such a waste of youth.
I should know,
I was once too serious, just like you
Wrapped up in my own worldview
And the knots I tied myself into.
It's time to cut you loose.
Write a memo to yourself
That, for your mental health,
Try to give the good life a chance.
You might even find
That I'll still respect your mind,
But I still love to watch you dance.
Won't you come,
When the sun is setting in the west
The daylight has been put to rest?
The trixies in their cocktail dress
Go stumbling down the street.
I don't mind
The common joys I once disdained
The drivers that drove me insane
For reasons that I can't explain,
I like everyone I meet.
Write a memo to yourself
That, for your mental health,
Try to give the good life a chance.
You might even find
That I still respect your mind,
But I still want to watch you dance.
In the end,
All our worldly scales must fall
And the things that drove us up the wall
Well, they won't bother us at all
When the clock says, "Out of time."
We can dance!
It's really quite effectual
I know you're intellectual,
But it's really more than sexual -
As if that were such a crime.
Write a memo to yourself
That, for your mental health,
Try to give the good life a chance.
You might even find
That I'll still respect your mind,
But please, can I get in your pants?
Mowing Molly's Garden
words and music by Ethan Sellers
I never liked to mow the lawn when I was just a boy
I'd rather have gone into the woods and played around with toys
But like the dinner you wouldn't eat 'cause you didn't have the taste
One day you're glad your momma made you stay and clear the plate
Back from college, summer job, had to mow the lawns some more
Got paid to trim the grass all day, my whole body turning sore
But when you're reading constantly, exertion's what you need
I learned to look forward to those summers whacking weeds
I'm a fast-learner, a speed-reader
I'm concrete when it hardens
I'm a roto-rooter, a weed-eater
I'm mowing Molly's garden.
Out of school, I cut my hair, and now I'm working hard
To rent a place to call my own with a lawn in the back yard
The workday ends, I pack my things, and I'm out the door and gone
Back home to shed those work clothes and take the hose to Molly's
lawn.
I'm a fast-learner, a speed-reader
I'm concrete when it hardens
I'm a roto-rooter, a weed-eater
I'm mowing Molly's garden.
She leaves a delta at the top
She manages it with care
Daylillies, snapdragons, asparagus
The rest I make sure is perfectly clear
I'm a fast-learner, a speed-reader
I'm concrete when it hardens
I'm a roto-rooter, a weed-eater
I'm mowing Molly's garden.
Not If But When
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
I'm 48 years old - no brass ring
Age is a number - that number stings
Money talks - in fact, it sings
Show me commercial, bring on the bling
Not if but when - I will have it all
Not if but when - Your back against the wall
Not if but when - My genius in full bloom
Not if but when - I'm looking down on you
Time goes by, the future fades
8-track flashback - my nostalgic rage
All trends recycled return in time
Out in the suburbs, I wait for mine
Not if but when - I will have it all
Not if but when - Your back against the wall
Not if but when - My genius in full bloom
Not if but when - I'm looking down on you
Not if but when - I'll join the firmament
Not if but when - I'll make it permanent
Not if but when - I'm wearing leather pants
Not if but when - I'll be so huge in France
On Your Left
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
The bike path on Lake Shore is my royal domain
I cycle its asphalt in snow, sleet, and rain
Who are these latecomers, these fairweather types
Who wobble and meander on skates and on bikes?
They take up two lanes with their unwieldly girth
They heave and they sweat like a cow giving birth
Their pedestrian arrogance clogs the bike path
They can't seem to hear when I yell "On your left!"
Why do they think they can litter the path?
Their casual arrogance will bring down my wrath.
My sweet revenge - I have it planned
I fly down the bike path, my bike lock in hand,
Gonna
Whup you wit de bike lock
Whup you up de haid
Whup you wit de bike lock
Whup you til you daid
Whup you wit de bike lock
Like my momma said
Whup you wit de bike lock
Til de green grass turn red
Picnicking barbecuers clog the bike path
They leave broken bottles in their aftermath
Malt liquor, cheap beer, glass shards deflate
Tire after tire, it makes me irate
Why do they think they can litter the path?
Their pedestrian arrogance will bring down my wrath.
My sweet revenge - I have it planned
I fly down the bike path, my bike lock in hand,
Gonna
Whup you wit de bike lock
Whup you up de haid
Whup you wit de bike lock
Whup you til you daid
Whup you wit de bike lock
Like my momma said
Whup you wit de bike lock
Til de green grass turn red
Osaka Garden
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
When I need to disappear, to collect my thoughts in peace
Away from traffic, phone, and fears that come and go but never cease
I go to a garden tucked away
From the city life that confronts me every day
Into the woods, as I did when I was young,
To find myself though I am lost to everyone.
I have always believed, though at times I do forget
Beauty can restore my soul when my balance is upset
Peace found in nature's symmetry
I need the silence to hear its harmony
Listen to earth's rhythm and its tones
Hear it in the trees, water, grass, and stones.
If you come in this place, please respect the peaceful silence
Leave the stones in their place, turning only does them violence
Tread lightly on the petals in your path
Let this serenity pacify your wrath
Watch the geese take respite from their flight
Nature's rhythms put our problems in new light.
The Professor
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Genetic research grant
Melanogaster flies
Renewal comes too late
Towers monoxide
Noxious chemicals
Recombining genes
Splice and dice the traits
Mutated, flawed, obscene
Trashcan bongo drum
Dancing on the desk
Call the short skirts whores
Bite students in the class
Daily morning march
Umbrella held upright
Chanting all the time
"Bridge O'er River Kwai"
Scare the Mason stooge
Make him drop his change
Stop the local cars
Make them change their lanes.
Special Sauce
music and lyrics by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Maybe I'll get me some Harold's fried chicken
White meat hot sauce to make it finger-lickin'
Wash it all down with a bottle of Ne-Hi
White bread, ripple fries, slaw on the side
Some people swear Ribs and Bibs is the source
For down-home barbecue - you could do far worse
Ask them to explain - they'll be at a loss
You just gotta have that special hot sauce
I want a woman with that special sauce
To kiss me so hard my lips fall off
I want a woman with slaw on the side
Whose heart's as deep as her mind is wide.
I need a soul woman who's got the knack
Lookin' for dinner - not a late-night snack
Part-time short-term girls ain't too deep
Tiny chicken nuggets give me tryptophan sleep
I want a woman with that special sauce
To kiss me so hard my lips fall off
I want a woman with slaw on the side
Whose heart's as deep as her mind is wide.
She's gotta have soul
She's gotta have taste
I'm getting hungry
But I'm willing to wait, because
I want a woman with that special sauce
To kiss me so hard my lips fall off
I want a woman with slaw on the side
Whose heart's as deep as her mind is wide.
I want a woman with that special sauce
I want a woman with that special sauce
Summer, 1995
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
The hottest weeks that Chicago has known
Remembered as days when I made it my own
The air outside was hot and dry
A jello cube of heat
Suspended time like ambered flies
In a snapshot of the street
In '95, I burnt, alive and free.
Bronchitis floor in a summer sublet
Independent but poor - solo futon I slept
I came of age on a tiny wage
Made just enough to eat
Newspaper page of shut-ins, aged
Expiring from the heat
The lake baptized, address revised
And I believed
In '95, reborn, alive and free.
That's What I Hear
words/music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
I see a lot of fear and blind frustration
The seers say that the worst is on its way
The paid-off prophets plead appeasement policies
The scene is tragic and the politicians play
That's What I Hear
I hear it was stolen slowly in backroom whispers,
An inside job, the fat men ate their fill
Before we knew it, they'd stripped the cupboards bare
Dine and dash, let the children pay the bill.
That's What I Hear
I see, I fear, I feel, I hear that
It's time, and time is running out
And we all know the status quo won't change itself
Rome's burning, 'cause the fiddler calls the tune
And ancient warnings ring unheeded through the ruins.
That's What I Hear
Time to Go
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
When everyone's an idiot
They're just getting in the way
And every time you turn around
You feel you've been betrayed.
You can't allow your eyes to meet
When you seem someone you know
When you can't walk down your street
I think it's time to go.
Is it an anchor or your roots that you hold dear?
Are you kept here by contentment or paralyzed by fear?
When the parties you used to crash
Have all become a chore
The drunken smile worn as a mask
Just hides the fact you're bored
Maybe it's the scene you're in
But it's the only scene you know
Find yourself a different context
If you think it's time to go.
Is it an anchor or your roots that you hold dear?
Are you kept here by contentment or paralyzed by fear?
Sooner or later, you knew you'd have to leave this crowd
They never had a thing to say, but they always said it loud
I think it's time to go....
Tube Socks
music and words by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Are humans all like white tube socks,
Born as pairs from the factory box?
For though most men are born alone,
We fear life on our own.
We issue forth in pristine shape,
No blemish to besmirch our face
We mold to fit the needs of those
Who ready-match their clothes
We tread - our seams tear
Our threads - the years bare
We wear, then we're washed
We're pairs with partners lost.
The shuffle after washing sends
Us through a trial that never ends,
For though we once had a perfect match,
Life mixes up the batch.
We tread - our seams tear
Our threads - the years bare
We wear, then we're washed
We're pairs with partners lost.
Perhaps these pairs will re-unite
When toes poke through, no longer white
More likely we'll be cast aside
When elastic's stretched too wide.
The Verdict
words and music by Daniel Marc Veidlinger
You can't change another person's feelings
You can plead your case, but to whom are you appealing?
You can't make another person love you,
Even if you shower them with love of your own.
I judge based on outward appearances
Words and deeds provide the evidence
About what she thinks deep inside
And hope and luck are my guides.
I will never know what goes on in her head
Try as I might, can't get past what she said
At what point is the verdict read?
At what point are all efforts dead?
When's the case open or closed shut?
Anticipation's come to a head.
Facts withheld, for her, they form a cloak
I'm witness to some twisted courtroom joke
Who knows what lies behind the veil I see?
I don't even think that she does.
How can I possibly know what she wants me to do?
I won't really know 'til I gingerly go make my move.
There's no higher court to which I can make my appeal
I stand accused of being who I am.
I will never know what goes on in her head
Try as I might, can't get past what she said
At what point is the verdict read?
At what point are all efforts dead?
When's the case open or closed shut?
Anticipation's come to a head.
At what point is the verdict read?
At what point are all efforts dead?
When's the case open or closed shut?
Anticipation's come to a head.
Wheels Fall Off
words/music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
We don't have money for the shop
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
And then we'll get out and walk
My battery's dead, my tailpipe rusted
The fan belt needs replaced
My car ain't much, and it ain't pretty
It gets me place to place.
My roof has leaks, the concrete's crumbling
It starts to rain indoors
We're mortgaged clear up to our eyeballs
We are the landed poor.
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
We don't have money for the shop
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
And then we'll get out and walk
It's been years since I've seen the dentist
My teeth are feeling loose
My arteries clogged, my lungs are blackened
Blood pressure through the roof
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
We don't have money for the shop
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
And then we'll get out and walk
If it ain't the one thing, it's gonna be another
We don't dig deeper, 'cause we fear what we'd discover
Our only hope is for better luck tomorrow
'Til then we pay late on all the time we've borrowed
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
We don't have money for the shop
Let's keep driving 'til the wheels fall off
And then we'll get out and walk
The Whistler
words and music by Ethan Taylor Sellers
He fills passers-by with a sense of unease
Overalls, blue jeans rolled up to his knees
Plays on the street when it's seven degrees
Stubby white fingers refusing to freeze
Looks like his wardrobe is under attack
Should cut his hair and trim his beard back
Pamphlets and cards in a small canvas sack
Walks with a dulcimer strapped to his back
Dan, Dan, The Whistle Man
Dan, Dan, The Whistle Man
Came back from 'Nam just slightly insane
Chemical warfare has messed with his brain
In veteran housing, keeps out of the rain
Plays for the people who wait for the train
Dan, Dan, The Whistle Man
Dan, Dan, The Whistle Man
You Know It
lyrics and music by Pat Buzby
The problem started years ago when you came into the world
The matter that you displaced with the anger that you hurled
Sometimes you make some clever jokes
Or taunt the girls with playful pokes
But that's not good enough - and you know it
You're walking down the city streets harassing passers by
The cars race on the sidewalk - maybe the papers will tell you why
The shoeshine man has special wax
He's not concerned with income tax
But you want out of here - and you know it
You sit around in sheltered rooms and think about yourself
With chronicles of better lives lined up along the shelf
Your head fills up with idle dreams
You think your case is so extreme
But your life is not so rough - and you know it
Perhaps some chump will come along and tell the reason why
And you might find out how to live before you find out how to die
Until the magic day arrives
You'll look for ways you might contrive
A rationale for life - and you know it
