lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

The call went out, the flags went up
Hot silence in the streets
They're practicing maneuvers now
Black helmets in the sun
That shines on everyone

Don't be alarmed
It's just a test

If this were an emergency
You'd all be dead by now
It's stand-up comic tragedy
A cough and no applause
"Is this thing on?"

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

Woke up last night with ringing in my head
It still lingers
I felt a voice pull me from my bed
And move my fingers
These folks shall pay for everything they've done
And everything they
Took from this land
And nothing that they do
And nothing that they say
Can stop their certain fate
Though now they revel
One day they'll pay
Though they try to flee
They can't escape it
We'll have our day

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Shepherd

Maximilian dropped the telegram from his hands
And gave a glance
To the clerk who quickly picked it up with shaky hands
And put it in the stack

Just dots and dashes transmitted across the sea
Oh Maximillian, can you tell me what it means?
What could it have said?
How could it really have read?

Walking slowly to the station
The backs of his hands, they dripped with beads of sweat.
Can't avoid this conversation
He thought to himself
He felt his knees get weak

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

And now you're stricken with the guilty fever
We thought we'd found ourselves a true believer
And when it's measured out in cigarette butts
There's not much hope you'll find out just what's what (and)

Guilty fever.

You got a plan to turn your life around now
You broke your fists, so you'll just put your foot down
You won't get called on now for extra credit
But when you're down and out you won't regret it

Guilty fever.

You've got guilt but you don't know why.
Pupils expand as you curse your eyes.

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

Doled out in little pieces
With new selections from the sideline thesis
Collect call selects y'all
So surreptitiously they stack the survey
Break out the statisticians
This chart was sponsored by the fact-patricians
The blue-screen protest scene
Projects the picket signs and now it's really on
We'll see who will get their funeral at sea, won't we?

Shut it down, turn it off.
Your words are wasted
Shut it down, turn it off
This time I mean it, and it's
Shutting down, turning off.
Your words are wasted
Shut it down, turn it off
This time I mean it.

Cut to the correspondent
Wearing the jacket with the logo on it.
We can't see catastrophe
Get some destruction in the back, now, will you?
The sentence ended with a superscript
But there's no corresponding footnote yet.
Get that kid in my office now
We're gonna hand them all their walking papers
Then they'll see who will get their funeral at sea. Won't we?

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

We shuffle our shoes now. We’re stirring up dust. So to settle it down now, we do what we must. We’ve studied the maps, but got nowhere to go. So I’m walking the plank to get back what I know. In the settlement, are the tigers sleeping? When it’s whittled down, there’s no promise to stay out. We all were enamoured with the Hollywood myth. But when we found out, it didn’t change us a bit. There were some stirrings of doubt, but I smothered it all. If I don’t answer my phone, it’s not a good time to call.

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

Electricity dissects what we say until it’s dead. Each invisible syllable sends static through my head. We communicate; distraction, lost messages. Contact dissapates; frustration, redundancy. Cut into flashes. Just dots and dashes.

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

I’m watching and waiting for something to happen. See the signs and cosines, but no signs of action. That translation was lost, or did we ever have it? All the versions were logged; it was the boss’s habit. “I’ve already signed several of your confessions. Your remedial math and your grammar lessons.” Chase your thrills, climb the hills to find the whitest rabbit. “When we audit your performance we find something lacking.” No song was ever that long. You’ve got the lyrics all wrong. I can’t remember that song, however cleverly you sing along. The miles keep rolling over. Polygraphs pay the bills and the pills that you take tend to stick in your craw and you wake up expecting, directing the traffic out of your back bedroom, that red room where I sat and straightened the doormat. I bet you never even saw that. You’re only listening to “Like That!” And I just can’t understand that.

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Sheperd

You’ve got your right hand right on the blade, man. It’s at your throat again. And we’re still looking for your frequency. Toujours les memes. The same. And every night we count the same streetlights. You’re cut up. You’re cut up. You’ve got your left hand. Eyes on the second hand. How long can you stand (to) forget yourself and fall into step again? Toujours les memes. The same. And every day you’ll read the same headlines. Your’e cut up. You’re cut up. You cut yourself up just to cut yourself down. You’re cut up. You’re cut up.

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

HOT. Now the sun is setting on us, and we won’t be letting on that the disappointment always comes. The outcome never hits the mark. Tires on the roadway send this out to all the boys and girls with the lost phone numbers and the adolescent bank accounts. Now the days are laid out: Saturdays and Sundays in a row. Calendar contrition. Count the ashtrays dumped out on the kitchen floor. Strike while it’s hot! Two feet on the floor. Situation: hot! One hand on the door. Strategies to stretch the night out. Chemicals combine; the right amount. Leverage is gained, but what a cheap reward we’re left with after that! Hot!

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Sheperd

In drawer #3, and filed under “C,” was an archive of compromises. Cross-referenced with debts, footnotes and regrets: a history of none-the-wiser. There’s evidence here of accelerants near a half-empty book of matches. No suspects, I fear, but the motive is clear. Automatic request. We are here to serve. Even if you don’t die, we’ve got plans for you: a summons bearing the name that you can’t hide. The signal is jammed, the dialogue canned, but our inquest cannot be hindered. We have to record; we cannot afford to miss out on what’s remembered. Analysis shows that the witness knows the name of the perpetrator. The damage is done. There’s nowhere to run. We’re tapping the phone lines. We’re tapping the phone lines when you’re gone. We’re drawing our own lines. We’re tapping the phone lines when you’re gone (and there’s no way around it).

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Sheperd

“Custom critical,” read the label on the box. You, looking miserable, heard the clicking of the locks. What’s “critical” when they cuff your hands behind your back? “It’s pitiful, but it’s just a fact of life,” is what he said. Stuck in a tight one. All the boxes packed inside. Sweat on your forehead wets the tape across your mouth. They drag you past the shipping clerk with a bill of goods in his hand. It’s clinical. Mr. Blacksleeves pulls you out and he says “Just shut your mouth and keep your face to the wall.” Looked up your address. Waited outside your house to see the look on your face. I’d trade it for nothing.

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. This job is the same. We’re changing the name: “Assigning the Blame to Someone Better Qualified.”

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

“Which one is gonna set us free?” “Which one will come to Tennessee?” “Which one is gonna let us be?” Make one decision. What’s it worth? You want it only. Now, now, now. You wound up lonely. Which one will come to Tennessee? Tell us about another victory? Do we really wanna be set free, or do we want them all to let us be for the night?

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

In the outlying towns: power lines on the ground. Counted change that I found around. Climbed to the top of the mound. Lasted just long enough to get to the edge of the bluff. City bus down below. Just enough gas to go. We drove down through the streets, the rain coming in sheets. We made it into the city to find a black cloud in the sky. A newspaper blew by. “I couldn’t make out the headline, but still, the mail trucks are in wrecks, the banks cancelled their checks. Guess we can write off our debts!” Smoke pouring from cars, we ducked into a bar and locked the doors and the windows. And now: “I’ve got some time on my hands. You’ve got some time on your hands. If you don’t have any plans...”

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

Calling out across the crowd
Covered ears and open mouth
Can you hear me in the back?

We make our exits where we can
Sidewalks follow where we ran
Can they hear us in the back?

No course of action seemed so
Unlikely as...

There wasn't time to find the flashlight
It didn't seem like it was midnight

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

We regret to inform you that there has been a change of plans
Steve will take your money at the door, but there will be no band
Please walk single file into the office, where we'll brief you on the
Recent developments in our project: We must take your wallets

Please take a few minutes to review the pamphlets we've given you
Bullet points in red define specific reasons why it's come to this
Fill out the perforated section, tear it off, and sign it
Now, if you don't mind, please go line up outside. The cars are waiting

The passengers could not be saved
Ticonderogas in his grave

[ instrumental ]

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Shepherd

The escalator broke down!
And the footsteps in the hall?
He was waiting for a call
But the engineers could not find a way
No!

And so the lever drops down
But the signal won't go out
And the workers had their doubts
"Will we ever get out of this place alive?"

Light the end and burn it through

lyrics by Mike Shepherd

A black ribbon
Rolled out before me
Registered clockwise
And counterclockwise
I hear a voice now
Is it the radio?
Or a reminder
Of a remainder
Piles of paper
Stacked like a canyon
Blown and scattered
And stained crimson
Or still standing
Locked and bolted
Left for dead
Gone and forgotten

There's a black car, there's a white car
Show me the distance. Show me the difference

Another breakdown
A strip of gravel
Vapor rises
From either side now
Like wet asphalt
In the summer
Or open wounds
In the winter

Pinch the bridge and
Massage the temples
Push it down and
Hold it under
A cold bed is
A cold comfort
It's all the same
Gone and forgotten

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

Metal seems petrified
Down where the road's ruts hide
A story I have heard
How could the carriage ride?

A flash of panic shines
Right where the wheel aligns
Presently, liturgy
Approaching in the pines

Magnetic south ran through his heart
Magnetic fortune cast it apart

And did his hands shake in the grass?
What was the end of the story?

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

From the start there were signs
That the end would be determined just like that.
We were told that the cold
Would be here until we're old, now recite that.

lyrics by Mike Shepherd

Small hands unlatch, open the gate
Small feet traverse the path to reach
The spot marked by candles, balloons
Their pounding hearts sound out like drums

The dogs, horses, motorcycles
Are overwhelmed by eager youth
Let them run free, become secure
One day, one day, they'll own it all

I lost my baby in the crowd
But found a new one on the ground
Brown eyes, black hair, white teeth, red blood
It won't be hard to love this one

My hands they reach can't get a grip
I can't sit back and watch you slip
Ten fingers, toes, and ways to love
This ball of dirt, this little shit

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Shepherd

It's in the budget now, there's paint enough to go around
The shadow of a silo casts their logo on the ground

Pick up your feet

The lefts and rights come quicker now, your jaws are swollen shut
Antiseptic hides the taste of what's left of your blood

Spit out your teeth

The minus tide subtracts the coastline. What's left of our town?
What was once a city now makes not a single sound

Lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Shepherd

The edict came down from heaven in 1970
Sports cars and wallets all lined up to march into the sea
Various presidents' residences would relocate
They couldn't find an accountant to fix the rate

So they walked into the ocean
Slept in their coats and ties

But when they thought about it
There was too much invested
They took a hit!

Radio sends static transmission
Just when we all thought the worst was done
(We) aimed our headlights straight into the sun
Jagged Eisenhower on the run!

The treasury had one last thing to do
And then they were through:
A special dime made of solid gold
For you to swim and hold.

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Shepherd

Count it off
One, two, three
Here's our big apology
It can't be earned by common means
We put the fix in

We won't be sold
But for a price
We'll exchange some good advice
A narrow room might change your position

Where do I sign? Where do I sign?
Fuck the fine print
This is not your, this is not your
Average payoff

A ringing sound
A pain in the neck
Took more than you could expect
The lawyers wait, peripherally
Eyes on the ceiling

A dotted line
Is hard to see
But when the axe comes, finally
The bitter end is plain and apparent

It's all in your hands now
What's mine is yours and what's yours is yours
What's up with my finger?

[ instrumental ]

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips and Mike Shepherd

The escalator broke down!
And the footsteps in the hall?
He was waiting for a call
But the engineers could not find a way
No!

And so the lever drops down
But the signal won't go out
And the workers had their doubts
"Will we ever get out of this place alive?"

Light the end and burn it through

lyrics by Mike Shepherd

A black ribbon
Rolled out before me
Registered clockwise
And counterclockwise
I hear a voice now
Is it the radio?
Or a reminder
Of a remainder
Piles of paper
Stacked like a canyon
Blown and scattered
And stained crimson
Or still standing
Locked and bolted
Left for dead
Gone and forgotten

There's a black car, there's a white car
Show me the distance. Show me the difference

Another breakdown
A strip of gravel
Vapor rises
From either side now
Like wet asphalt
In the summer
Or open wounds
In the winter

Pinch the bridge and
Massage the temples
Push it down and
Hold it under
A cold bed is
A cold comfort
It's all the same
Gone and forgotten

lyrics by Mike Shepherd

Small hands unlatch, open the gate
Small feet traverse the path to reach
The spot marked by candles, balloons
Their pounding hearts sound out like drums

The dogs, horses, motorcycles
Are overwhelmed by eager youth
Let them run free, become secure
One day, one day, they'll own it all

I lost my baby in the crowd
But found a new one on the ground
Brown eyes, black hair, white teeth, red blood
It won't be hard to love this one

My hands they reach can't get a grip
I can't sit back and watch you slip
Ten fingers, toes, and ways to love
This ball of dirt, this little shit

lyrics by Jay Leo Phillips

We regret to inform you that there has been a change of plans
Steve will take your money at the door, but there will be no band
Please walk single file into the office, where we'll brief you on the
Recent developments in our project: We must take your wallets

Please take a few minutes to review the pamphlets we've given you
Bullet points in red define specific reasons why it's come to this
Fill out the perforated section, tear it off, and sign it
Now, if you don't mind, please go line up outside. The cars are waiting

The passengers could not be saved
Ticonderogas in his grave