Identified as a trouble maker by the authorities since childhood, and resolved to live up to the description, Charles Carreon soon discovered that mischief is most effectively fomented through speech. Having mastered the art of flinging verbal pipe-bombs and molotov cocktails at an early age, he refined his skills by writing legal briefs and journalistic exposes, while developing a poetic style that meandered from the lyrical to the political. Journey with him into the dark caves of the human experience, illuminated by the torch of an outraged sense of injustice.
There's a moth in a flickering light bulb; It drew too near, but didn't get burned, Just trapped inside the light, And now it can never turn itself off.
I was a young kid out of high school Way too soon She was a willow-wand Blonde as the sun The world was a hot place With water here and there The shade of the cool trees Was always where We would love With the innocence of childhood, With an angelic grace We would love Away all the hours that we could take We would love Like innocent flowers In eternal embrace It's time for love So throw off the chains, Don't be afraid to say
The kids come along then And love fills the room Her heart is open to every little wound She feels what they suffer, She makes it her own pain, And the only reward she asks Is to do it all again
Out of love with an innocence of childhood with an angelic grace It's just love She has in abundance It shows in her face A mother's love Is the one sure thing You'll take from this place A mother's love A mother's love A mother's love
You can buy her a card, son, Or any little thing Just one thing you must not Forget to bring Your innocent smile now, Your loving face That's the only treasure That can't be replaced She needs love 'Cause she has given all She had to you Wants your love There's no other thing That you have to do You need to give To the one who gave to you A mother's love A mother's love A mother's love A mother's love
Don't buy her a card, son, That's not quite the thing Unless it's got love, son, No joy can it bring Bring her a flower A kindly word Ease her hours as she fades Into the waning of the day
Yeah, I'm just an old guy But I know what I say A mother's love will not fade away No her love Will not fade Not today, not tomorrow, Not any other day A mother's love lasts forever Until that happy day When she finds her own mother In that perfect Mother's Day Mother's Day Mother's Day Mother's Day
(dedicated to Gary Webb, Judy Barry, Danny Casolaro, and all the other victims of dirty wars against not only human freedom, but basic dignity)
Multiple gunshot suicides, Too many goddamn of them. Multiple gunshot suicides, What do you think about them?
Two bullets to the head, That muthafucka’s dead. You can tuck him in one last time He obviously wasn’t fine, He’s a multiple gunshot suicide When the sirens roll, He’ll take his long, last ride To the undertaker’s vault, Well it’s nobody’s fault. He got mixed up in somethin’ I don’t know nothin’, But it ain’t nobody’s fault Anymore.
He’s a multiple gunshot suicide Time to take him for his long, last ride, You can write his name in the record books, But look away now friend, No long last looks. He’s a multiple gunshot suicide Time to bury his name with his shame He knew he was playin’ a dangerous game, So when the sirens roll, He’ll take his long last ride To the undertaker’s vault, Well it’s nobody’s fault. He got mixed up in somethin’. I don’t know nothin’ But it ain’t nobody’s fault Anymore.
Well life can put some boulders In a young man’s way, No sex, no money, no nothin’ funny, That’s what they seem to say.
When all roads lead to Paradise And a credit card for a key There’s Playboy bunnies and Christmas money, And nothin’ left to see.
Well a young man craves some action, Can’t find none on the streets, And when you’re out of high school There’s no place to park your feet.
“Till one day on the streets There comes by in a pimpin’ ride A man with a plan And a gun in his hand, Says boy, won’t ya’ come with me.
He's a military man He's extending his hand He wants to take you for a ride In his long black car. He's the murder czar.
His path is always secret, ‘Cause need-to-know’s the game. He’s got your DNA code, And won't give you his name.
If you serve some time on the pipeline All this could be yours, son, With a wink and a clink And a flash of pink, It’s all he needs to say.
He's a military man He's extending his hand He wants to take you for a ride In his long black car. He's the murder czar.
“Just give me the pen,” You say with a grin, You think you’ve got some play. If you’d watched real close You’d a seen like a ghost As your freedom slipped away.
Now the bombs are falling And the devil’s calling And he’s got your number today. You’re sure it’s over Then you live to suffer One more fucking day.
You’re a military man You took that fucker’s hand You let him take you for a ride In his long black car. You knew damn well He was the murder czar.
My red clouds in my red sky Deepen red mountains with red light. I play my zither And red tones sound -- Carnelian, carmine, Crimson and rust -- Alizarine smooth as a red moth's dust
Big, burly guys Seize and immobilize you, And start workin' on your arms to see if they'll break. When they call you asshole, yell it into your ear, you get the point: "Don't fuck with us."
FREE ADVICE: Shortly after you meet a cop you will have an opportunity to kiss his ass. Take that opportunity; it may not present itself again.
It's very simple, really, National roulette. Pick a country, any country, Spin the dial, and wait. Aha, you see it's not the same Today as yesterday. A different flag and credo Rides a wind of change. The Shah is cooked, Somozo split Afghanistan's been blitzed. It's national roulette, And no one's got it sewed up yet So step right up and place your bets It's national roulette.
It's a new season, a break in the weather -- I look through a window And breathe in the blue.
One dead end behind me, A mind that can't find me, An old bag of bones on a bench.
Saints get the run-around With their ears close to the ground, And their noses to the grindstones, They're flunkies, Hustling for a buck in a company town, Where the demons flock like shadows When the sun goes down.
Outside the window There's a cool moon rising
Outside the window There's a lone cloud drifting. Stars come out, one by one.
Nice-- The word is so often slighted As if nothing could really be nice. But it is nice when the trees Planted in the middle of the road Rise up into the blue sky. It is very nice. As we go motoring down the road The deep blue of the sky Anticipates the approach of the sea, And this is also very nice.
It is nice when the child Plays with the colored ball in the sunshine, And it is nice when the mother Pushes the infant in the stroller-- The infant is very pretty, And this is also very nice. Oh yes, from here to infinity, Stretching out through all the extent of the clear, permitting sky-- Nice, nice, very nice, Like a child's game Of me discovering myself, Which is, in fact, nicest of all.