Boomerang - The Uncluded

I spun and I stood, and I look back at the good

And I remembered seeing ghosts, and I remembered being tiny

I remembered always hiding with only flashlights lighting

Had to pee when you found the best spot.

Bad timing

Climbing a dogwood.

Barking, in bloom

Sting singing on the ceiling of a blue bedroom

Like a Harlem-line summertime hootenanny barbecue:

Screaming «I'm fine!», but I think they all knew

Cause you can’t hide your childhood flying dreams

Through your fishbowl-wall transparencies

And the clock tick-tocked.

It was time to leave

I walked away from everyone and everything

And I thought when I left, that I couldn’t come back

With that old household never home again

And then, when I ran toward the one-man-band

I began abandoning all my friends

All dressed up, like a spider in a cup

Entirely divided from his hub

Addressing injuries commissioned by the Suffolk county brier

When building coverage out of rubber tires

Or guns out of thumbs…

Negotiated inter-stellar peace talks

Mothership transmitting intel on the meatloaf

Ummm… It’s getting cold, sugar water getting warm

Cruising to a future summer, suiting up for civil war

How?

All dressed up like a spider in a cup

Hiding tiny butterflies inside his gut

Having settled down, several thousand miles from his blood

To climb and tirelessly high-dive into a sponge

Space invaders through a paper Rita Hayworth

Trying to tunnel 'till he ankle deep in pay-dirt

Or halo deep in water…

Glub glub… wondering if running

Is considered by the people to be cowardly or cunning

Boomer-oomerang, Boomer-oomer-oomerang

Boomer-oomerang, Boomer-oomer-oomerang

I went east with a hole to fill in my chest

I went west with it filled: off to build a nest

I’m impressed.

I’m depressed.

I’m the best.

I’m a mess

With a pretty little baby girl upon my breast

And next: progress, twist, turn, digress

Busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, busy, never rest

I missed the rest as you might suspect

And I tried to fly, but my wings are wet

A kid in the woods, ducked down in the shrubs

Out of hiding just in time to greet the sun

So here I stand with my hand out cast aflame

I’m sorry that sometimes I’m so lame

I’m sorry that sometimes I’m a deadbeat friend

The worry makes me scurry into my own head

With my eyes on the rise, feet where it sets

Sentimental obstacles;

of course it’s me not them

All dressed up, like a spider in a cup

I’m four bald tires in the mud

When it’s diner food or bust

Spiralling a sign of whats to come

While pretending I am fine with what I’ve done

I’m not, but homies that appreciate the crisis

And treat 'em like they seen 'em with a second set of eyelids

Ok, that wasn’t fair, admittedly I wasn’t there

Long before I volunteered as unabashed, unaware

How?

All dressed up, like a spider in a cup

Who never knew a silence so abrupt

When the mileage in the middle, turn a siren to a hush

First you hate it, then you love it, then you try it as a crutch

Long Island was the hatchery, NYC the wetstone

Sharpening the carving knives, foraging for breadcrumbs

I headed west, planned to boomerang back

Sidetracked by a trans-continental cage match

Boomer-oomer-oomerang

Boomer-oomer-oomerang

Boomer-oomer-oomerang

Boomer-oomer-oomerang