The saying, “crazy about you” sounds like love is akin to insanity. So this all started with the first two lines. Doesn’t it always?

CHORUS
Why do you tell me I’m insane
When I’m just crazy about you
There’s something funny with my brain
It won’t stop thinking about you
I hang around making
Inconsequential sounds
Like I love you Su – u – u – u – san
Ooh I la-la-love you Susan Ooh I la-la-love you Susan

I live just up the block
And clutching my colored chalk
Draw ornate hearts and arrows
My joy goes to the marrow but
Each day it flows away
Beneath your hose’s spray
I just adore the
Mist how it shows your aura

CHORUS

I see you at the mall
Working your earring stall
The overhead fluorescents
Make your hair luminesce it’s
Time that I caught your eye
Offered some Sbarro pie
And proclaim loudly
To the crowd my feelings

CHORUS

I’d give anything if you’d give anything
Remotely resembling a notion known as noticing
A quick how-are-you sidewalk greeting
You’re looking fine how are you feeling
It’s a beautiful day the grass is green
It’s a beautiful day do you think it’ll rain
Do you think it’s gonna rain
No I think it’s gonna stay the same

I saw you yesterday
Queen of the big soirée
You looked a little dour
After I caught the flowers that
You threw then waved good-bye
Left with some tuxedoed guy
I cried then chanced upon a
Glance from your maid of honor

Why do you tell me I’m insane
When I’m just crazy about you
There’s something funny with my brain
It won’t stop thinking about you
I hang around making
Inconsequential sounds
Like I love you Su – u – u – u – ki
Ooh I la-la-love you Suki
Ooh I la-la-love you Suki
Ooh I la-la-love you Suki
Ooh I la-la-love you Suki

It was winter, and I was feeling warmer listening to Caribbean soca music. I was moved to write my own song in that genre.

In the morning in the mirror
I check and see a wreck
It’s an image getting clearer
Like a rope around the neck
When I’m slipping from the tether
And falling in the stew
What keeps it all together
Is you

When I’m hot under the collar
You iron it out
When I didn’t have a dollar
Your wallet gave a shout
When I’m in a crazy mixture
Of attitude and brew
I’m leanin’ on a fixture
And it’s you

CHORUS
What would I do if you weren’t you
You
What would I do if you weren’t you

When I’m taken to the cleaners
And I’m swingin’ at curves
You never get meaner
Than I probably deserve
In good or bad weather
There’s only one glue
That keeps it all together
It’s you

CHORUS

In the morning in the mirror
I check and see me
It’s an image gettin’ clearer
When I wipe away the steam
If you say I got no need for
A lover so true
Let me tell you ‘bout my greed for
You

What would I do if you weren’t you
You
What would I do if you weren’t you
You you you you
What would I do if you weren’t you
You
What would I do if you weren’t you

© 2008 Jim Hayes

I wanted to play with nonsense lyrics. When I found them, they sounded like a good match for a sea shanty. “Take a little trip with me” was a natural start, and the rest naturally followed.

Take a little trip
With me
And we’ll get a little lost
On the shining sea
Make a little gumbo
For tea
And we’ll take, take our leave
Leave our wake alee

CHORUS 1
Dig-a dum dum yelli dum
Dum yelli day yelli digga digga dum dum

I’ll take a little trip
With you
And get a little lost
In your eyes so blue
Make a little love
If you love me too
And we’ll dance on the deck
In our dancing shoes

CHORUS 1

I’ll make a little world
For us
And put a little paint
On the parts that rust
Belly out the sail
When we catch a gust
In the spray, well away
On our wanderlust

CHORUS 2
Dig-a dum dum yelli dum
Dum yelli day yelli digga digga dum dum
Dum yelli dum
Dum yelli day yelli digga digga dum dum

We’ll get a little wine
On shore
If you get a little drunk
Then I’ll give you more
Tell you what the moon
And the stars are for
And I’ll hand you a band
Like your mother wore

CHORUS 2

Pick a port and make
A date
And plot a litle course
We can navigate
Gonna keep the brightwork
Ship-shape
When you’re fast as the first
And my last first mate

CHORUS 2

Take a little trip
With me
And we’ll get a little lost
On the shining sea
Make a little gumbo
For tea
And we’ll take, take our leave
Leave our wake alee
And we’ll take, take our leave
Leave our wake alee

Dig-a dum dum yelli dum
Dum yelli day yelli digga digga dum dum
Dum yelli dum
Dum yelli day yelli digga digga dum dum
Dum yelli dum
Dum yelli day yelli digga digga dum dum

© 2008 Jim Hayes

I heard the classic, “I Hear You Knockin'” on the radio, and I just took the first line and sang the first verse of a new song. Then “bad things come in threes” followed, which naturally led to the famed hell-hound. Staci Harris was kind to lend me her awesome voice and work it over two octaves.

I hear you knockin’
I hear you bang and shake and ring
Just keep on walkin’
And blow whichever way you lean
Don’t leave so much as
A cooling shadow at my feet
I’ll pull no punches
If again we meet

CHORUS
They say that bad things come in threes
When it’s you who needs two
More to make the trio-oh
A Cerberus in silky sleaze
Chewin’ up my heart
Like a three-headed bad dog
B-b-bow wow one two three
Three headed bad dog Oh, oh
B-b-bow wow one two three
Three headed bad dog

Three mouths are calling
One filled with honey for my ears
Another whistles
With lips that kiss and call me dear
The third one bristles
With dagger teeth and razor tongue
It spits its missles
Till Armageddon

CHORUS

Promises of heaven told in long cool lies
Only pull so hard against a fool gone wise
You twist the key in me with a love hate spell
But the only doors you open are the gates of hell

I lived the myth and
A part of me wants to repeat
But it’s all quicksand
There’s nothing solid under feet
So take your tricks and
Your way of charming the ladies
Across the Styx and
Give my regards to old Hades

CHORUS

© 2009 Jim Hayes

I had to struggle to keep the musical motifs from falling into similar riffs by the Clash. And then there’s the lyrical similarity to “I Get Around.”

I know you’re out there
Don’t know who, what, where
Black, blonde, or red hair
I’m gonna get you around
Left my position In acquisition
Made it my mission
Just to get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around

CHORUS
All I want is more than what I have
Everything I got is up for grabs
I got a Cadillac and platform shoes
I’d give anything if I had-a you
Now all I want is more than what I have
Everything I got is up for grabs
I got a Cadillac and platform shoes
I’d give anything if I had-a you

Put on this locket
If you don’t hock it
You’re in my pocket
I’m gonna get you around
Cut through the tension
Take these possessions
Be my obsession
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around

BRIDGE
Two trains rumble down a one-way track
One from L.A. and the other Hackensack
Meet you in the middle in a thunder clap
If I never had you can I get you back
Can I gitcha gitcha-gitcha-gitcha back

CHORUS

If your decision
Matches my vision
I can stop wishin’
I’m gonna get you around
I know you’re out there
Don’t know who, what, where
Black, blonde or red hair
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around

BRIDGE

CHORUS/OUTRO
All I want is more than what I have
Everything I got is up for grabs
I got a Cadillac and platform shoes
I’d give anything if I had-a you
Now all I want is more than what I have
Everything I got is up for grabs
I got a Cadillac and platform shoes
I’d give anything if I had-a you
I’d give anything if I had-a you
I’d have everything if I had-a you
Around gonna get you around
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around, get around
I’m gonna get you around

© 2009 Jim Hayes

First, there was a news report of an 18-year old that was arrested because he’d had sex with his 17-year old girlfriend—who was two weeks younger than him. Then the Beatles sang, “She was just seventeen, if you know what I mean.” Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge. It started with pondering how numerical ages are so important, then it went down its own dark path.

She was all of seventeen
But looked a year older
Drank coffee with brown sugar
In a slit-back dress
She read a magazine
Where the editors told her
Get more of what you’re lookin’ for
Candy cigarettes

I heard her history
Told her mine was much longer
She said the future comes
Like a blind-hand bet
Why risk a mystery
When the present is stronger
Reach out and take ahold of some
Candy cigarettes

Well I shouldn’t say yes
When I’d only want more
Like a kid cut loose
In a confectionary store
Sugar can burn at a thousand degrees
But when I stand in the fire
There’s only her and my desire

INSTRUMENTAL

Well I shouldn’t say yes
When I’d only want more
Like a kid cut loose
In a confectionary store
Sugar can burn at a thousand degrees
But with my hand in the flame
There’s no one else to blame

If you’re gonna play fire
Don’t forget the matches
She told me as she undid
The safety net
We went out on the wire
Where nobody could catch us
And fell into the heat of her
Candy cigarettes
Candy cigarettes
Oh, candy cigarettes
You got me on burnin’
‘Cause you’re nothing but smoking
Light it up light it up
Candy cigarettes

© 2007 Jim Hayes

I had the urge to write the lyrically simplest chorus possible. Then the strange story, cryptically told, formed while walking around a lake while I was on a mini-vacation.

Headlines breadlines
Ticket down a brick alley
Met a ghost hanging off
A girl named Sally
I said, “You could do
With a little more meat”
She turned her head
And the direction of her feet and said

CHORUS
Uh-huh
Uh-huh, uh-huh
Uh. . . huh
Uh-huh, uh-huh

T-boned shinbone
Took her out clubbin’
Got a handful of dollars
And some low-grade lovin’
The pulse and whine
Send the roaches all home
The dog knows patience
Will manifest a bone and says

CHORUS

Mean streets clean sweep
Blowin’ down the pike
Got a shotgun racked
And a cracklin’ mike
The sheep move aside
At the raucous red blare
The night grows bright
With the promise of a dare I say

CHORUS

New sitch cruiser ditch
Launch it off a bridge, Sally
Ride a black rocket
Down a salt-marsh valley
The sea closes in
Like the communist tide
I say, “Let’s go” and she
Looks me in the eye
And says

CHORUS

© 2008 Jim Hayes

I always liked the song from The Music Man, “The Sadder But Wiser Girl,” which is about preferring someone with romantic experience. The title’s cliché kicked this off, along with a desire to give it a haunting feel. Hilary Forbush wasn’t the voice I was envisioning for the background vocals, but she was available—and her innocent quality turned out to be perfect.

Those who take their love
Only skin deep
Forsake the salty taste
Of the sins we keep
Locked in the closet
When I see you
Waiting at my door
I’ll always open it
If you open yours
Bones in the closet
Haunt me tonight
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, bones
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, bones

Ah, your beauty
Shines like diamond rings
Set in a velvet box
Made of darker things
Bones in the closet
Haunt me tonight
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, bones
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, bones

Coiffed and polished
Modern history
Strip the varnish
Slay me with your mysteries
When the others
Have all come and gone
Leave me the lover
With a skeleton

Stay with me, babe
I think we’ll last
I’ll share my future
As you bare your past
Bones in the closet
Haunt me tonight
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, haunt me tonight
Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh, haunt me tonight
Bones in the closet

© 2007 Jim Hayes

This was written for a song writing contest, sponsored by a toilet paper company. Since their mascot was a puppy–I suppose because their softness makes us secretly want to wipe our butts with puppies–it had to be about a dog and how it relates to family. Sahara Hayes helps with vocals.

It starts with me, a lone wolf guy
I met a pretty woman with water-green eyes
Daughters made four but the missing cog
Was a big black, big black, bushy-tailed dog

He came one June with checkered past
He cleaned a bone and dirtied a bath
The toothy white grin was no façade
On the lips of the big black bushy-tailed dog

BRIDGE
We’ve got more than just a pal
Use your ears and hear about our
Canine family values
What we had can’t compare with now
And when the moon is bright
We hold our faces to the light
And howl

We take our licks, we rise above
Guided by the hand of unconditional love
Lessons well-learned from the teacher’s log
Of the big black, big black, bushy-tailed dog

BRIDGE

I’ve found my pack, a family guy
Who wed a pretty woman with water-green eyes
Daughters wrapped up in the fuzzy fog
Of the big black, big black, bushy-tailed dog
Lessons well-learned from the teacher’s log
Of the big black, big black, bushy-tailed dog

© 2005 Jim Hayes

While driving, I was thinking about the insane number of people who die from the use of guns they keep in their house—for protection. Many of the names in the song have a relationship to their weapon; for example, “Peter” is from the Latin root of “rock.”

Walter has a Walther
Loaded in his night stand
Judy got a gom jabbar
Hidden in her wedding band
Hector puts his faith in God
And Taser-voltage cattle prods

Patty keeps pepper spray
Handy till the seventh date
Zoey’s charged heavy rents
Caged behind electric fence
Cain and Mabel spar kung fu
To put the hurt on you know who

CHORUS
I’m walkin’
Walkin’ on a freeway
Dodgin’ bullets big as Buicks
Between blue sky and a hard place
I don’t get
Any kind of leeway
Please save a place for me
In your zone of security
I’m what’s shakin’ in the breakdown lane

Lisa keeps a pit bull
Leland has a rottweiler
Audrey plays a victim role
FBI on auto dialer
Khan expects attack from
The horde
And swings a cane that’s filled with sword

Evelyn, always terse
Has a snake inside her purse
Dorian rows a boat
Every night across a moat
Peter simply packs a rock
You never know whose head he’ll knock

CHORUS

There’s nothing to fear
But fear itself
And all the fearful people
Who will save them from themselves?

Dirk says a steel toed
Boot is for the smart gents
Lilly keeps a knife in hers
“Always dress for self defense”
Everyone admire Dee’s chest
Snug behind a Kevlar vest
Leather gloves with metal studs
Fedora pin to ward off sin
A suitcase full of rat race and some
Mace to cook a human face
Certainly we’d be less rude
If everyone were safely nude

CHORUS

© 2006 Jim Hayes

I was just banging on the piano, and started singing this like I was Buddy Holly. I thought I had finally written my first four-chord song (instead of the usual eight). But whenever I played the chorus on the piano, I couldn’t stop a finger adding a note to each of its two chords. My subconscious demanded more chords, I guess. The song really got its ska on when I rearranged it, adding trumpet and trombone for the band I was in. Alas, I only have one rough, live recording of the fuller version. This is the simpler, demo version.

Dropped out of Sunday school
Never measured with no golden rule
The only good I wanna be’s to you-hou-ou
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Never studied for big exams
Or answered questions with polite “Yes, ma’ams”
The only things I pass are notes to you-hou-ou
Put down your book and…

CHORUS
Slide across the upholstery
And sail with me on a truant sea
Take the wheel; you can be my guest
I never really passed the driver’s test

Haven’t clapped erasers yet
Only gerbils are the teacher’s pet
The only class that matters is in you-hou-ou
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Fed reports to rabid dogs
Busted educators copping snogs
The only subject that I study’s you
Open that book and…

CHORUS

Dropped out of Sunday school
Never measured with no golden rule
The only good I wanna be’s to you-hou-ou
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Never studied for big exams
Or answered questions with polite “Yes, ma’ams”
The only things I pass are notes to
The only subject I adore is
The only good I wanna be’s to you
I wanna be with you
I wanna be with you
I wanna be with you

© 2005 Jim Hayes

I had to include this because it’s a more fun arrangement than the “studio” version—it’s actually played, live, by real musicians, and not just me on a keyboard. That’s not me singing, as I’m playing trumpet. With only a few rehearsals before performing, it’s really ragged—missed notes, forgotten lyrics, and a bass drum pedal that was being balky. The audience forgave, exuberantly.

Dropped out of Sunday school
Never measured with no golden rule
The only good I wanna be’s to you-hou-ou
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Never studied for big exams
Or answered questions with polite “Yes, ma’ams”
The only things I pass are notes to you-hou-ou
Put down your book and…

CHORUS
Slide across the upholstery
And sail with me on a truant sea
Take the wheel; you can be my guest
I never really passed the driver’s test

Haven’t clapped erasers yet
Only gerbils are the teacher’s pet
The only class that matters is in you-hou-ou
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Fed reports to rabid dogs
Busted educators copping snogs
The only subject that I study’s you
Open that book and…

CHORUS

Dropped out of Sunday school
Never measured with no golden rule
The only good I wanna be’s to you-hou-ou
Ooh, ooh, ooh
Never studied for big exams
Or answered questions with polite “Yes, ma’ams”
The only things I pass are notes to
The only subject I adore is
The only good I wanna be’s to you
I wanna be with you
I wanna be with you
I wanna be with you

© 2005 Jim Hayes

I thought there was a dearth of romantic songs that centered around fishing. So, this.

Baby, let’s go fishin’
Pack the cooler and some worms for ammunition
It’s my August wish
You and me and some fish
Catch 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, the limit is 11
Trout and bass and walleye
Keep a-risin’ I don’t
Reel ‘em in ‘cause all I
Wanna land is next to you in a dinghy
On the Kissmilonga River
Hook, line and sinkin’ In love

We can say, “We oughtta”
Or get out and see What’s rockin’ in the water
It’s a sunfish day
You and me on the bay
Drive fourteen, fifteen, sixteen pack the tackle
And we’ll turn up missing
Trout and bass and bluegill
Take the bait the way
I hope and pray that you will
When I angle next to you in a dinghy on the Kissmilonga River
Hook, line and sinkin’ In love

Oh, you know you please me
I won’t go, so
Don’t think you can catch and release me

Pike and perch and crappie
Do the dolphin dance
And everybody’s happy
When I’m sittin’ with you in a dinghy on the Kissmilonga River
Hook, line and sinkin’ In love

Baby, let’s go fishin’
Pack the cooler and some worms for ammunition
It’s my August wish
You and me and some fish
Catch 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, the limit is 11
Trout and bass and walleye
Keep a-risin’ I don’t
Reel ‘em in ‘cause all I
Wanna land is next to you in a dinghy
On the Kissmilonga River
Hook, line and sinkin’ in love
Hook, line and sinkin’ in love (oh yeah)
Hook, line and sinkin’ in (move a little closer and)
Kiss me longer Baby, I’m in love

© 2005 Jim Hayes

The is the rare (for me) non-fiction song, during emotional separation from two people in my life. 

Once upon a time
The world was larger
And you were mine, all mine
Giants patrolling the land
Were calmed by your steady hand
And I, so was I

CHORUS
Turn back the cover
Tuck me in tight
Give me some words
To soften the night
Tell me a story
With longing and tears
Heroes and laughter
And if I drift
Remember me in
The ever after

Once upon a time
Your stride was longer
And covered miles and miles
Seven-league boots on my feet
Kept time with your steady beat
In two, just us two

CHORUS

As the leaves turn and yellow with age
More and more we seem less and less
And less on the same page
Not everything fell true in our story line
But always I had you
Once upon a time. . .

My heart was lighter
And with a push I could fly
Now all my carpets stay on the ground
Without you around To dim the lamp and slowly. . .

CHORUS

Remember me in
The ever after
Once upon a time

© 2006 Jim Hayes

Nearly the whole thing was written while I walked my bushy-tailed dog one night. I thought of the line from movie westerns, when murder was about to happen: “Say your prayers.” But what if “Include me in them” came next? So I came up with other threatening lines and made them sweeter—a little. It’s still a story about a stalker. The “mouth trombone” solo happened when I was walking around an arts festival. I liked the sound so much I recorded it exactly that way. Thanks to Marlena Lambert for adding the perfect, smooth-but-naughty voice.

Say your prayers
Include me in ‘em
And think about
No other women
A wise man you would be
To take heed of me

Be prepared
I had to scout ‘cha
I learned some nasty
Things about ‘cha
A wise man you would be
To take heed of me

CHORUS
I’ve watched you come
I’ve watched you go
I slept in your bed
While you were in Mexico
You’ll know what I want
If you don’t know yet
‘Cause what I want I get

Cast a glance
Enjoy the fishin’
And taste what’s cookin’
In my kitchen
A wise man you would be
To take heed of me

CHORUS

Watch your tracks
I’m walkin’ in ‘em
I need to do A little sinnin’
A wise man you would be
To take heed of me

So say your prayers
Include me in ‘em
And think about
No other women
A wise man you would be, oh, baby
A wiser man than the previous three
Oh, a wise man you would be
To take heed of me
You’d better take heed

© 2005 Jim Hayes

No relation to the actor Dudley Moore. This came out of the delightful tongue action of “didn’t do diddly more.” This is demo quality, the same piano all the way through, with nothing else. The idea was to have short instrumental solos after every verse.

Went out late Friday night
Filled a pitcher with air and almost
Dodged a fight
He was a scrawny kind of guy
Whose barber was blind
Thought a glance from me was too unkind
To ignore
And so we did what we had to do
And didn’t do diddly more

Two a.m. your light was on
Stuck an eye to the glass, saw some romancin’
Goin’ on
He was a beefy kind of guy
Whose piggy fingers
Were searching around for a place to linger on
Forbidden shores
Until you did what you had to do
And didn’t do diddly more

Shoulda laughed I shoulda cried
I shoulda stayed on the other side
Of the door
I got a threshold low and a temper high
And crashed through the window shouting, “Semper fi”
And ate the floor
I only did what I had to do
And didn’t do diddly more

Me oh me, my oh my
There’s a stake in my heart and another one
On my eye
You know my head, my hand, my heart
And my ego’s bruised
To the School of Stupid I’ve paid my dues
Till I’m poor
Because I did what I had to do
And didn’t do diddly more
I always did what I had to do
And didn’t do diddly more
You know I did what I had to do
And didn’t do diddly more
Diddly diddly more

© 2009 Jim Hayes

Perhaps the first song I produced. I saw an innocuous, confused interchange between married friends which I mentioned sounded like “love dyslexia.”

Well, I blew it
The clues were all there
The sound flowed from your mouth
Through the delicate air
But I misconstrued it
And gave “wise” advice
When I should’ve said,
They’re wrong, you’re right,
You’re beautiful tonight
And you give me paradise

You say you read me like a book
The background stories
All the gory details with just a look
And that’s why
You have apoplexy
When I’ve got love dyslexia

When I was a schoolboy
I learned how to read
And conjugate French verbs
At a moderate speed
But there was one rule, boy
We never learned
Well, they should’ve taught that
Due to gender
You’re certain to offend her
There’s more to hear than words

You say you read me like a book
The background stories
All the gory details with just a look
And that’s why
You get kinda vexy
When I’ve got love dyslexia

Here’s the skinny, dear
All my thoughts are linear
Flying straight as a bird
If I can just refine
How to read between the lines
With luck, I can make less
Sense of your words

When it’s murky
And the world gets mean
And you need an ear to scald
In your eloquent steam
Well I won’t be jerky
I’ll empathize
And you’ll surely say
Our love is right It’s beautiful tonight
Right here in paradise

And then you’ll read me like a book
The background stories
All the gory details with just a look
And say to yourself, sure, he’s got the sensitivity of a pile of girders
But it’s sweet that he tries
And maybe think it’s kind of sexy
When I’ve got love dyslexia

© 2005 Jim Hayes

This is an early one. I told my friend Tom Toronto about the song, and he picked up a guitar and we recorded it on the spot. I’ve tried to make more polished versions, but this is still my favorite. I really should find a singer with the range to jump up an octave on the chorus.

When you walk, do you walk with me
Down the road to the end of our time
When you look through the veil of years
Am I there at the end of the line?

I fold the note so the corners kiss
I write in red that it’s you I miss
But we can be together in my mind

When you dance does my shadow slip
Through your arms and get lost in the night
Starlings alight on the trees, and startled,
They take on your form in their flight

I fold the note so the corners kiss
I write in red that it’s you I miss
But we can be together in my mind

I write in red that it’s you I miss
I close my eyes and I taste your lips
A million miles away, you’re on my mind

When I walk on the path we shared
Left or right, I see no other ways
Rolling the bones of a thousand prayers
I will wait till the end of my days

I fold the note so the corners kiss
I write in red that it’s you I miss
But we can be together in my mind

When you walk
Do you walk…with me?
With me?

© Jim Hayes

Though there is no voice in this recording, it started with words. I was lying in bed at night, watching the shadows of leaves move across the wall on a windy night, and was transported, apparently, to the 1920s. Being true to the era, I wrote up sheet music, complete with a logo for the song.

Slippin’ through your window on silvery shoes
I ride the shadows down the wall
High on moonshine and stars up above
I hear the rhythm of your slumber
The song of your love
Rise into the night on a katydid
And we’ll buzz away like a couple of ids
‘Cause when the lights are all gone
There’s always somebody home
In your dreams

Meet me at the corner of Midnight and Main
After we kiss the day good-bye
Under covers and roamin’ the sheets
We’ll drive the mares into the night
With the uncounted sheep
Let me catch you napping I’ll close my eyes
And we’ll drift away under starrier sighs
‘Cause when the lights are all gone
There’s always somebody home
In your dreams

‘Cross the Kalahari
Through Lunar seas
On safari through possibilities
Drop a coin and call me
No need to even ask “Please”
Won’t you grace my fantasies
Until we hear the bell

Back in Indiana where flying’s for birds
And doggies don’t sing Broadway tunes
Eye on the ball and feet on the ground
We’ll give the world the time of day
Till the crickets make sound
Tell me I’m your dreamboat I’ll call you mine
And we’ll sail away to a place without time
‘Cause when the lights are all gone
There’s always somebody home
If you’ll turn off the alarm
I won’t feel cold and alone
And then together we’ll roam
Tucked in our beds in our homes
In our dreams

The lyrics were written after the composition; they’re not sung here. I’ve found that doing things that way really adds to the old-timey feel, unintentionally. Modern songs take more liberties with how the words fit. Writing this way forces the lyrics into a more regular groove, even if they are over-written. . . does it really need two bridges, with different lyrics? On the other hand, I like its rhymes that fall in odd places (which you can’t hear, because you’re not hearing the words with the music. But trust me; “neck” rhymes with “geckoes.”). 

Soft green light
Sweet hibiscus
Rain sifts down
Like gentle kisses
Falling on your neck
Down your shoulders
As the geckos
Watch from the boulders
Through the leaves
Breezes come blowing
Cools my skin
Slick and glowing
With the dew that forms
In the garden of your heart

Tides arise
Hurricanes lash out like lies
Tearing shelter from the shore
Shotgun rain
Blasts through my eyes
Till you explain
And cast your seeds upon the floor
With care they’ll grow

Jungle trails
Pick a path through
Tangled veils
Past the lianas
There’s an open place
Set about in lush embrace
From the limb into my hand
There drops
Luscious papaya
Cools my throat
Banks the fire
That will warm the night
In the garden of your heart

Tides arise
Boiling clouds wash out the skies
Leaving nothing but the gray
Whiplash palms
Mambo and beat their
Feathered arms
And as we stagger from the fray
You say,
“Let’s go away
To where the air tastes like summer
And balms grow cool as winter”

In the dark
Hid in graces
Jungle cats
With painted faces
Wait in deep bamboo
Like “The Dream” of
Henri Rousseau
We paint a scene of
Tropical sultry oasis
Where the mood
Interlaces
With the tender vines
In the garden of your heart
Hear these lines
From the bottom of my heart
Paradise we will find

©2003 Jim Hayes

This song was originally about something else. As I was finishing the first verse, a muse had me change a few words, altering its course. Lianna did a good job singing a tough song with sparse instrumentation, but I think someone not from musical theater would be a better fit. Any volunteers?

Send your mercy in a paper box
Tied up with velvet ribbon
Crossed on top
Opened only on the coldest day
For a cloak of
Your warming love
To turn the bitter wind away

Tell me everything you did today
Of the commuter dragons
duly slain
Spin a yarn into a traveling coat
And we’ll leave here
On wheels my dear
Leaving nothing but a note

CHORUS
Sing to me, bring me your
Song of the day
Take from me, shake off
The hours wasted away

Sun burns slowly through the glowing pane
Predicts the dog-day heat and
Threat of rain
Only rumors till you make them true
And you bring more
From past the door
To populate a world of two

With a touch you bring my skin alive
With just a word I feel the
Rushing tide
All the tonic that I need is you
So I wait here
On wheels my dear
Till you return and I renew

CHORUS

The world is only half
Of what you give to me

Send your mercy in a paper box
Tied up with velvet ribbon
Crossed on top
Opened only on the coldest day
For a cloak of
Your warming love
To turn the bitter wind away

When asked for details, the new pontiff cryptically replied, “All you need is love.”

This was my holiday greeting card in 1993. The public health scare of the day was hantavirus, leading to acute respiratory pulmonary distress syndrome, caused by contact with the dreaded, evil deermouse. No penguins were involved. See if you can pronounce the name of the North Polish spokesman.

(Sumatra, Indonesia)—Scientists have announced the discovery of what they believe to be a new subspecies of Panthera tigris, living on one of the islands of Indonesia. Dubbed the “rainbow tiger,” it lives in the high cloud forest of Sumatra. It is unknown whether they exist on other islands.

Scientists have spent the last 18 months searching for this variation of the largest cat, long told of in local folklore. After searching the jungle for months, they got their first prolonged look at one as it entered the grounds of the monastery where they set up their base station.

“We’ve never seen anything like it,” said Dutch head researcher Hans van Drunen. “Our working hypothesis for the strange coloration is that it is an adaption to the cloud forest environment. Rainbows are prevalent there, and this would provide an excellent camouflage. It has nearly all the colors of the rainbow, except, for some reason, green.”

Darktown, GA—In an address to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) last night, it was noted by several observers that presidential hopeful Mitt Romney appeared to be in “blackface.” A campaign spokesman allowed that the makeup may have been “inelegantly applied,” but any appearance of the governor’s increased pigmentation was primarily caused by “poor lighting and shenanigans from Jimmy Carter’s grandson.”

In a striking change of tactic from his usual vague message, Romney afforded attendees with a concrete plan on immigration issues and getting Americans back to work. “The way I see it, we don’t really need Mexican farm labor, nor do they want that kind of work when they can be sucking from the public burrito. I’m half-Mexican, and I don’t work on a farm.”

He continued: “47% of Americans feel entitled to food — much of it grown on farms — my plan would be for, for, the Latinos to go home and you people, you Americans of Color people, to move back to your “roots” and work the fields. Americans need grapes, and we need them picked by American hands. Now, you’re not entitled to pay — that’s for the job creators — but good, simple housing and food — good farm food — will make your family strong with the values of our forefathers.”

When reminded that traditionally, slaves don’t contribute federal income tax, Romney replied, “I can never convince them to take personal responsibility, but I can eat a lot of grapes. Lettuce, too, but mostly grapes. I just love ‘em.”

I don’t know how. So leave me alone.

After decades of using Quark Xpress, I find myself alone, the last survivor of the nuclear holocaust of the Page Layout Wars. Are there ever victors in nuclear war? No. Well, except World War II; we seem to have planted a flag or two and 700 McDonald’s in Japan at the end of that foray. And Adobe seems to have come out smelling like a Pantone 032 Red rose after this Armageddon, too.

But I like to look at this like a love story, albeit one between a thug and a bitch. It’s the Romeo and Juliet story of the graphic arts. The flashy-but-difficult-to-understand Adobe Illustrator is looking to expand his kingdom, and who should come along but the lovely Quark. Oh, she does so many things so well. When she dances, she Steps and Repeats. Glyphs adorn her like typograhic jewels. Even when all she provides is Runaround, it all seems worth it. She’s known to treat all those who worship her powers with scorn, but she’s the only woman on earth, so what can you do?

Illustrator, whose logo is Boticelli’s Venus, but has tired of her, wastes no time wooing Quark: he simply takes her, absorbing her genetic knowlege, and nine months later, gives birth to their bastard child, InDesign, with no thought at all about how he’s not the one with the womb in this metaphor.

So now, I’m forced to waltz with Miss Indy for some projects. She has so many of her mother’s features to complement her father’s palettes, but still I struggle up this learning curve with dull pitons. I will remain true to you, Quark, but you must allow me this little fling with your illegitimate daughter, and I promise I’ll use a latex keyboard cover.

All clients would like some say in the piece that you are working on–the piece they will be paying big bucks to print. It’s fair enough to let them have their little say, in the same way that it’s kind to not tell your child that no, you will never be as big or as clever as me. Nor will you ever get to have sex with Mommy. Some, however, would like to have too great a hand in the process, moving things around, changing colors and making everything bigger. The “make everything bigger” urge most likely comes from their deep-seated belief that they will never be as big or as clever as me, combined with, you know, that Mommy thing.

This is part of an ongoing series to help people be better designers, but not better than me. The column’s name may have to change again, due to the surprising number of non-French-speaking people who think “semaine” means “semen.” I assure you, this would be a very different column if that were the case. “Semaine” means “week,” as in, “You can’t have children because your semaine is too week.”

This is the first of an ongoing series to help people be better designers, but not better than me. Collect them all!