I’m lying down here in the grass. I feel the wet dew on my ass.
The sun is just convincing me it’s not mine. I see the lines drawn on cement
like a dog’s nose smeared with finger paint, sniffing around so he can take his piss.
I see four moon rounding Jupiter. I’m seeing valleys on the moon.
And the TV men who throw cans of paint into the blue lagoon.
I see some children with some money, and they got no bills to pay,
while others are billed for disposition and aren’t paid until their birthday.
I see some parents hard working, just trying to make their way.
And their kids who pray their paychecks will come right on that July day.
While other people’s children will be buried in the holes
of administrative pockets. That thread was needed to patch up the maker’s Rolls.
What are you trying to tell me? What are you trying to say?
That Peter Pan was a capitalist? Well, you gotta utilize your means.
I see idiots and beggars shaking people’s hands.
They don’t know just what day it is, and their eyes are made of sand.
I see people selling pictures of flowers in the street,
while dragons paint their portraits on the slave ships, where they meet.
I see Vikings raiding tombstones of kings and concubines.
And turn around and sell them as exotic gifts for people’s wives.
I see Jesus sipping black tea with Ganesha and Abraham.
They’re all visiting the Buddha who ate way too much green ham.
When in walks the prophet Mohammed with a crossroads on his chest.
He mutters something underneath his breath and drops his fountain pen.
Then Jesus slips Abe a twenty and wants a ride in his truck,
when he’s slapped in the face with an elephant’s limb, and he knows he’s out of luck.
What are you trying to tell me? What are you trying to say?
Peter Pan was an atheist? I don’t know those questions, please.
I see people taking pictures of the first ones on the bridge.
But someone lost the page of notes describing where it is.
They are sending out their postcards from their sinkhole, dirty bars,
while Uncle Sam’s still buying sails for his voyage to Mars.
I see people waving banners, they are protesting his flight,
while some just try to count the stars on this washed out city night.
I hear the piper is handing pecks of pickles free out on the street.
No, he abandoned that for the cocaine trade just to make ends meet.
I see three pigs building shelters the best way they know how.
But the third pig sips his champagne up to wash their houses down.
Now the third pig with all this space and this unused brick.
Builds factories for little pigs and a suburbia of sticks.
So, he digs up his lettuce garden and decides to build a mall,
while sculptures of the big, bad wolf are perched on city hall.
What are you trying to tell me? What are you trying to say?
That Peter Pan was a socialist? If the car road bend that way.
Just what are you trying to tell me? What are you trying to say?
That Peter Pan was a communist? Well he ain’t no green beret.
If you don’t believe in Peter Pan, think he’s just make believe,
you don’t know where the hell he’s from or what that green suit means.
This sweet, mournful “loose concept” album from folk artist Ian McCuen tracks a journey across the bleak landscape of American life. Bandcamp New & Notable Nov 22, 2022
A collection of twinkling bedroom folk-pop demos from Fahim Rahman that arcs from hushed intimacy to sweeping cinematic emotionality. Bandcamp New & Notable Apr 6, 2021
