“Outside”
Your destiny is set in motion
You know, no matter how hard, hard you swim
Say your prayers or sing your hymns
You’re never going to reach dry land
Never going to find a dry place to stand
What are you going to do, sister, brother?
No call, no matter how loud, can bring your mother
Let’s swim. Let’s begin
It doesn’t matter how it ends
Let’s swing. Let’s begin
It doesn’t matter how it ends
Let’s sing. Let’s begin
As you walked down the street
Afraid of who you’d meet
You were the bully’s treat
CHORUS
This one’s for the loner
This one’s for the loner
The loner, the loner
The outsider
The stranger
The melancholy one
The beautiful one
It’s okay to not fit in
Being different is not a sin
Don’t let the mob mind win
It’s a shame that you’re so thin
CHORUS
I love the way you think
I see you dressed in pink
As you skate across that rink
Like an angel on the brink
This one’s for the loner
This one’s for the loner
The loner, the loner
The outsider
The stranger
The melancholy one
The beautiful one
The solitary one
The consequential butterfly
From Sao Paolo
When I flap my wings
I cause hurricanes in Chicago
And you, you over there
You who are so full of doubt
Of how consequential you are
Always building extensions
From high heels to God
You’re bigger than me
You’ve got much more clout
What happens when you flap your wings?
Why don’t you flap them and find out?
You think you’re not like me
‘Cause you refuse to see
It is not the only illusion
That you can be
What you need to be
‘Cause I am Taho, the consequential butterfly
From Sao Paolo and when I flap my wings
I cause hurricanes in Chicago
But what do I have to do to make you see me?
I might live for a week
Or to the ripe old age of one
You live much longer and
Will do much more than me
And yet here sit I
The consequential butterfly
No hesitation, no doubt,
No thought of inconsequence
I just stretch out my wings
I reach in and then reach out
Chorus
And here I am
That moment before death
Exhausted, out of breath
But with no regrets
Did that hurricane happen yet?
Something that was important
Why he changed
Why he chose the life he chose
All those decisions
Remaking of a man
Youth and spirit tamed
Wildness chained
Bleeding eyes
Voice of shock and horror
Shivering lights
Superhuman pain
20 years or more
Driving down this road
All that he saw
All he had caught
For living in the moment
To take control
To lose control
A safer life
Mortgage, child
Imperfect wife
Why he stayed
Why she stayed
How they learned
To need each other
Now he knew
Tom drove on
Past the spot
Past the past
Ever present present
All he could do
Knowing he did not know
If it was worth it
If it was enough
If he had earned back rights
If he deserved the love
Of those who loved him
Or whether in the end
He wanted it
Living in the moment
I’ve stumbled many times. I suppose you know
But I keep struggling on, stubborn as I am
Reaching for something better, trying to be a good man
Some urges, you know, are hard to control
They creep up on you and they take their toll
I’m trying my best to change, I hope you understand
Striving for something better, trying to be a good man
Maybe I’m not trying hard enough
Is my talk of change a lifetime’s bluff
Am I making enough effort? Am I really doing all I can?
Hoping for something better, trying to be a good man
Am I making enough effort? Am I really doing all I can?
Hoping for something better, pretending to be a good man
The rain bearing down
But no sign of snow
Inside a family
Laughing and singing
In the fire’s warm glow
CHORUS
There I am a child
Watching intently
Outside the window
He waits for his brother
Watches his mother
She’s bound to explode
They hate each other
His father and mother
It will come to blows
CHORUS
Someday he’ll smile
Sing for the child
Who will help him grow
Some of us get by
That child survives
He’s tougher than he knows
CHORUS
She said something she shouldn’t have said
He said something he’d live to regret
She bit her lip, bit her lip
Held back the tears, back the tears
He didn’t realize, when he looked in those eyes
When he looked in her eyes
15 minutes before she arrives
He’s so nervous, he could die
Kingdom’s lost, give another try
Second chance, second chance
Second thoughts, second thoughts
He’s come to realize, look deep in those eyes
Look deep in her eyes
15 minutes before she dies
40 years by her side
Holds her hand, looks in her eyes
The truth’s too much, truth’s too much
Lets slip a lie, slip a lie
All is realized as he dives in those eyes
As he dies in her eyes
He was 39 years old
Phil Hoffman died on February 2 nd 2014, in a Greenwich Village apartment, New York City
He was 46 years old
I love you Jason, I love you Phil, What’s left to do?
I love you Jason, I love you Phil, What’s left to do?
What they were chasing was chasing them
The alcohol and the heroin
Fight fire with fire
But fire will win in the end
Jason Molina was born on December 16 th 1973
Did the North Star say, “Kid, you’re so lost even I can’t bring you home.”?
A bit weird but a good guy, a goofball, laughed a lot, hid a lot
How human you wanted to be. What’s up, Jason? Stubborn and smart
With your lens wide open. Too much living. Too much thinking
And you died all alone with nothing but a cell phone in your pocket
And the only number on it was that of your grandmother
You were 39 years old
Phil Hoffman was born on July 23 rd 1967
When you give too much, when you act it all out, what’s left?
When you dive too deep, turn yourself outside in, what’s left?
When you divine the flaws, make unhappiness into art, what’s left?
When you’re drawn to edges, can’t find peace in-between, what’s left?
When the addict in you is stronger than you, what’s left?
Soft spoken and kind, you died with a needle in your arm
You were 46 years old
I love you Jason, I love you Phil, I love you Lou
I love you Jason, I love you Phil. There’s more to do
What they were chasing was chasing them
The alcohol and the heroin
Fight fire with fire
But fire will win in the end
Fight fire with fire
But fire will win in the end
Fight fire with fire
But fire will win in the end
Commotion. Devotion. Rotating spirals of purple delicious meteors. Savage godliness
treks a path of loneliness across a gun-barrelled desert, while hunchback hags hang
from black trees, choked by their candle-stained rosary beads.
Sold out but not swayed by the eventuality of the crisis. I pick up an eleventh-hour
salvation. (The hairs on my chest curl in disgust.) I walk along and empty strand, my
mind wandering to new beginnings. Platitudes. Always fucking platitudes.
The waves, opening their foamy mouths, yawn at the monotonous boredom of
existence. (Repetition makes the sea strong.) Hurricane anxieties. And her?
It was too strong, too fertile. I can cope with banality. Heroin addiction. All of us
mainliners of one sort or another.
Too many people, that’s the problem. The world has too many fucking people. Too
many views, too many good guys, bad boys, sad women, mad preachers. They divine
truth with bulldozers and bibles. Born into an illusion and drown in its stink. Build me a
castle.
Not alone now. Alone but not alone now. She walks like a soldier. Out for a walk and
she walks like a fucking soldier. Seriously. Maybe an invasion planned. An invasion of
my privacy. How dare she! This is my beach. Proves my point. Too many people. She
was gracious though. Who? Oh, yes, her. Well, she’s gone. Elegant though. Did have
style. Elegant indeed. Passing thoughts. The waves are still there. Waiting. I should
have told her something. Anything. Something.
What this! A seagull hovering over my head. Don’t shit on me, gull. Happened once. Not a
very pleasant experience, I can tell you. Seagull shit or any shit for that matter. Terrible smell.
Unthinkable. How can food turn out that way? What must happen to the other stuff we take
in? What? A thought? Explosive. Frightening. Our mind is a shithouse. First class. No doubt.
Way ahead of our arse. No competition. Unequal. You’d think they’d go out to sea. No
manners. Look at us humans. We’re civilized. Educated. We build our own shithouses. They
don’t even use jacks paper. Animals. Who?
Probably the god of seagulls sent this one. I mean, there must be an organizer, a boss of
some sorts. Fifty seagulls out to Howth, sixty five to Rush, two hundred to the city centre. And
you, you stupid gull, out to the North Star. Next time you’ll know better to fly off without telling
me. Off now. Go on! And don’t show your measly, miserable, scrawny, horrible beak around
here before 7.15 p.m. Did you hear me? Speak up, gull. Then off! Off! Off you stupid git.
Birdwit, birdbrain, birdhole, forthebirds. What a day. Always trouble. Where’s my dinner?
What a life. Eternity. Who planned this? I never wanted to be god. Was pushed into it. My father. Too many problems. Too many headaches. That’s it. Too many seagulls. The world
has too many fucking seagulls. Where’s my record book? Lonely life being god.
Help! Drowning. Swim. Can’t. Paddle. Help! Who? You!! Me? Yes, you!! Why?
Drowning help. Why? Jesus Christ, help me! I’m not him. Please, please save me!
What’s it worth? Anything, anything. Your life? Water-under-breathe. Yes, yes,
anything. Can’t. Why not!? Stop shouting. Sorry. But please help me. Can’t. Water-
drowning-blue-sun-salt-ahhh. Black-black-air-no air-air-no air. Help!! Under-black. Help
can’t breathe. Help can’t think. Help can’t love. Help can’t live. Help is hopeless help.
He’s laughing at me. He’s laughing at me. He’s laughing at me. Clouds stay away.
Stay away. Do you hear me? Do you hear me? Do you hear me?