• Lyrics: play full screen play karaoke
• I Need A Better Cyrano - Attica! Attica!
• I Know I Shoulda Taken That Left Turn At Albuquerque - Attica! Attica!
• We'll Always Be Home - Attica! Attica!
• Way Down In Gitmo - Attica! Attica!
• Tyler And Marla Were Right - Attica! Attica!
• The Play's The Thing - Attica! Attica!
• The Party Party - Attica! Attica!
• The Kids' War - Attica! Attica!
• The End Of Art - Attica! Attica!
• The Children Of The Broken Glass - Attica! Attica!
• Sunday Blues - Attica! Attica!
• Motion Sickness - Attica! Attica!
• Hobo Chili - Attica! Attica!
• Frostbite - Attica! Attica!
• Flamethrower - Attica! Attica!
• Five Year Plan - Attica! Attica!
• Elk Rock Island - Attica! Attica!
• Catch Me If You Can - Attica! Attica!
• Blackout - Attica! Attica!

When we drove back into town we found more snow upon the ground
The place was gray as Puget Sound
Surprise, surprise
You said this place would never change, while we age it stays the same
You said you had to find some bluer skies
“We should find us a place in the sun,” I said
I just mumbled those words from the song in my head
Yeah Stevie Wonder is feeding me fine poetry
So come out onto your balcony
I said, “Let’s get out of the cold, somewhere they’ve never heard of snow”
You said you were going alone
Surprise, surprise
You said you had some things to do and there would not be room for two
I tried to find some way to change your mind
“I never dreamed you would leave me in winter,” I said
And that made you laugh but you still shook your head
If I’m just gonna quote Stevie’s lines like a jerk

I dropped my bags onto the bed
400 miles and 3 states I’ve fled
I dropped my bags onto the bed
Upon the wall there was a frame
Inside, a painting that looked just the same as the painting on the wall when I woke up today
Didn’t I just leave this place?
I must’ve taken a wrong turn
I’m lost on the road more traveled by
I pulled aside to sit here on the curb
I must’ve taken a wrong turn
In this hotel parking lot, I called up my dear mom
And I told her I’m alright, yeah I think she knows I lied
When I left twelve years ago, I was nervous and aglow
Now I’m bored and rather dull and I’m tired of the ride
I know I’ve heard this song before
Blaring from the dashboard of my Chrysler with my foot tapping the floor
Yeah something’s wrong with living on the road
If I’m over every melody and chord then I need a different home
I must’ve taken a wrong turn
I’m lost on the road more traveled by
I pulled aside to sit here on the curb
I must’ve taken a wrong turn
While staring at the map, I called up my dear dad
And he told me it’s alright, yeah he said it’d be just fine
“Well tell me this, my son, what’s the reason that you run?”
“I’m stuck in cruise control and I don’t remember why”
Oh no, I’ve seen this place before
From the bright blue shower curtain to the floral carpet floor
Something’s wrong with living on the road
If there’s no variation and no change, then I need a different home
From this hotel parking lot, I called up my dear mom
And I told her I’m alright, yeah I think she’s knows I lied
Back when this all began, adventure was the plan
What happened to the plan? What happened to…
Aw hell, I know I met this guy before
Same popped collar and bad jokes, Marley poster on his door
Something’s wrong with living on the road if everyone I meet acts the same
Then I need a different home
I must’ve taken a wrong turn
I’m lost on the road more traveled by
I pulled aside to sit here on the curb
Must’ve taken a wrong turn
From this hotel parking lot, I called up my dear mom

We've splashed in the streams in the canyons nearby
Where the walls are so old you can see them bleed time
The stream cut the land a gash long and deep
And we played in the wound dancing on history
But back in the town I've stayed in time cage
Where once every year they shout out my age
And there's much talk of work and of money and land
But it's useless to me 'cause I've got bigger plans
So will you meet me on the bank
Of a river that will take us far away
We're just two kids playing in the stream
And don't worry 'bout the rent
We can trust that this current will take us to
A land where we'll be our own lords
The traps everywhere
A ruthless time line
And we follow in fear
That we might fall behind
That we might fall behind
But I'm not leaving joy
For the book-ends of life
So I'm renouncing my age
And I'm going on strike
And no age will suffice
I'm leaving this behind
If prime-time TV and credit card debt
If a new auto lease and real estate investments
Are all that we have, then we're already dead
So let's rob our own graves and sneak out of this pen
And there's only one place where we can escape
And that's on the run so that's where we'll stay
And we'll leave what we own and we'll leave what we know
But we'll be together so we'll always be home
We'll always be home
So will you meet me on the shore
Of an ocean to restore us to ourselves
We're just two kids playing in the sand
We'll build castles to the sky
And won't worry 'bout the tide
Because we know what we create can not survive

Way down in Git'mo
That's Guantanamo Bay
That's where bad guys belong, even if they've done no wrong
'Cause we need someone to blame
Well our nation gets a bit more safe each time I make my special cake
With the red, white, and blue icing on the top
And I shout the loudest 'USA' each time I'm in the church to pray
And I drink gasoline to support the troops in Iraq
Those terrorists are just a lousy God and war-crazed bunch
And I can't understand them because they're nothing like us
It's a shame that they hate freedom because it's pretty awesome stuff
But since they do they won't mind when we lock them up
Thank God for Git'mo, that's Guantanamo Bay
Keep them chained to the floor,
'Cause we're fighting this war the American way
Well on the news they often say that this upcoming holiday
Is the perfect time for another attack
It's not baised on intelligence but still it makes a lot of sense
To be on alert and always watch my back
But if I don't have my barbecue, the terrorists have won
And if my neighbor brings his Arab friends
I'll call the Pentagon
This war on terror's going so great, because all the Muslims
Have been kind enough to give up all their rights
Oh God bless Git'mo, that's Guantanamo Bay
When there's a hunger strike
We force-feed them to life
'CAUSE WE NEED SOMEONE TO BLAME
Now don't you see, we can't charge them with anything
They're guilty 'cause we want someone to bleed
Don't you see? September chaged everything
We'll have no peace until someone out there bleeds
Don't you see? They cannot be freed

Everybody says they hate the sound of their own voice
But I’ll admit that I prefer mine to any other noise
So does that make me self-absorbed or do I even have a choice?
It’s probably both, but I keep talking either way
In the haze of glowing screens we pin our thoughts to message boards
Disregarding countless ideas tied upon the thread before
And so we miss the irony that ours will also be ignored
Are we content to merely shout out into space?
In cathedrals with stained windows people whisper quiet prayers
To a god that listens well because no one knows if he’s there
But we don’t bother to investigate because we are too scared
If there’s no god, then who will tell us it’s okay?
All the lefties dream their jerseys will majestically ascend
To the rafters of arenas where we celebrate dissent
Where we talk of revolution while consuming all we can
The game’s not what you do; it’s only what you say
And I know how to play
So we keep our hands raised high and we all silently yearn
To be the next who’s called upon to show what we have learned
Because no one really listens we just all wait for our turn
Our minds our clogged with all the things we plan to say

we were waiting tables in time's square
when we got the call
to play the part of revolutionaries
who help bring about an empire's fall
we've toiled in the service industry
so we could be here waiting, waiting in the wings
we're counting on these songs to set us free
the stories of a great revolution
are passionately told on this stage
we need no director's motivation
we know quite well the roles that we play.
the patrons paid a handsome ticket price without batting an eye
and mingled towards their seats
they do not feel the drama in between the stage and mezzanine
they've come for the spectacle of actors dismantling their machines
they smile because they know its just fantasy
the echoes of the old revolution
resound in theaters lining Broadway
the suits and gowns give standing ovations
can't we unseat them some other way?
in the stage left balcony
theres two old men heckling me
they're shouting that I sing off key
and the shows a classic tragedy.
stage lights
its hard to see
that we're still working 42nd street
the rumors of a failed revolution
are verified when we take the stage
we have no time to seek liberation
we're happy to merely entertain
there's whispers of a new revolution

"Dear Mr. Scott,
I recently got your letter supporting gay rights, and how you'd like me in the fight.
I send regrets to you and your friends, it's hard to hear because my ears are plugged with my own career ambitions.
Re-Elect me this November!
So sincerely,
-Your senator"
I think that this nation needs some invitations.
This coming friday, we're taking congress
With a strobe light, and a promise to reclaim democracy
With a righteous party!
At a big white house,
With plenty of couch space to crash if you get smashed
And the tennants are always on vacation.
I'm pretty sure that everyone is coming out to Washington.
We are constituants, this is their chance to represent.
So we stormed the floor of congress
Where there was an awkward silence
'Till Ted Kennedy crossed the isle
And said "I could go for a high-ball"
The people cheered and said "We'll take ya
To 1600 Pennsylvania!"
Orren Hatch is there to DJ
With Slayer into Public Enemy
Trent Lott showed up late with kid 'n play
Now this is really a house party
The keg is kicked but that is okay
I gave the beer money to Tom Delay
There's a donkey on the helipad doing rail lines with an elephant
Rick Sentorum's got his shirt off, I think he's grinding Michael Chertoff
We'll play dress up with Obama, He looks good in Bush's pajamas
Feinstein sure knows how to rage. She puked in Miss Beazley's cage.
When the cops come, go get Feingold.
He can treat them to some Rheingold.
"Hey! Who brought the Zima?"
"I think it was Scalia."
Looks like Leiberman sort of passed out, in the middle of a make out.

What's that rotten smell?
The stench of morning headlines
Someone's trying to sell a war of ignorance
With newspapers passed out in our schools
And every morning children recite an oath to fools
Oh no, those are words my lips won't make
I couldn't fake blind allegiance
To a dead ideal while kids follow what I say
I should have hit the lights and said "STOP!
Kids you're writing your own pledges now
And if you need ideas I'll tell you when I was your age...
Yes you could see me, dancing in the streets
In front of soldiers, in battle armor, called the state police
I saw my parents standing next to me
And I thought 'This is what it's like to bring your kids up right'
And I looked up and smiled"
Thinking people can't be mind controlled
History knows this
So we'll teach our children to be skeptical of the government
They'll question all the lies they're ever told
They'll be fearless when they stop worshiping the flagpole
And reject what they've been sold
Then you will hear them, dancing in the streets
A sea of children singing so loud the sound is deafening
This war machine will collapse in disbelief
And the hawks will lose their wings and cry
For forgiveness for their crimes

When I was pretty lean on cash, I was alone, no place to crash
Music flowed out of me like faucets spouting tasty melodies
Now there’s a love that’s in my life, I sleep the same place every night
Comforts of industry are happily surrounding me
And nowadays, I have no complaints
Nothing more to say
Nothing more to say
Is this the end of art? is this the end of passion?
Is this the end of grief? Are all our feelings has-beens?
Is this the end of pain creatively imagined?
Is this the end of art? Is this the end of art?
It’s cool to like the President so there’s no reason for dissent
Everyone put down their guns and all that pesky violence is done
Our nukes are sleeping with the fish and everybody’s birthday wish comes true
And children sing and fairies dance on sparrow wings
And no complaints, no one wants a change
Nothing left to say
Nothing left to say
Is that the end of art? Is that the end of passion?
Is that the end of grief? Are all our feelings has-beens?
Is that the end of pain crafted in abstraction?
Is that the end of art? Is that the end?
Is anything here more depraved than a country singer who just raves about how swell his country is, just shilling for the government?
Sit down my friend and let me bore you while we sit here on the porch with cocktails as I bloviate about how life’s so fuckin’ great
I’m not happy unless I’m pissed but that reveals my privilege: no matter who’s in charge today, my life is pretty much the same
So with no reason to protest, I’ll whine about how art is best when we know sadness, anguish and distress
Is this the end of art? Is this the end of passion?
Is this the end of grief? Are all our feelings has-beens?
Is this the end of pain creatively imagined?
Is this the end of art?
Is this the end of art? Is this the end of passion?
Is this the end of grief? Are all our feelings has-beens?
Is this the end of pain all crafted in abstraction?

We were the orphans of suburban slums
Raised by retail clerks and food court bums
Our parents were away under fluorescent suns to give us what they never had
We were the children of the broken glass where the parking lots yield to yellow grass
We lodged our broomsticks in the pavement cracks and we flew our scarlet flags
And we wrapped rebellion’s arms around our waists
And we held our hearts out for the world to taste
And injustice was meant for our hands to erase
And you know we had a lot of work to do
We are the siblings of an endless war, which our elders wage on distant shores
We whined and kicked and screamed upon the kitchen floor and we threatened to run away
We are the children of the hourglass; our ambitions fell like grains of sand
We waited for the echoes of our protest chants so we could hear our own decay
We sang through riot barricades
And our voices bled, they bled onto the tape
We can hear it when those records play
And we know it’s the sound of our own decay
It’s the sound of our decay
It’s the sound of our decay
It’s the sound of our decay
And we pulled rebellion’s arms from round our waists
And we hid our hearts to shield them from disgrace
And injustice laughed aloud and rubbed it in our face
So you know we’ve got a lot of work to do
We’ve got a lot of work to do
We’ve got a lot of work to do

Sunday falls down easy
Sunday falls down easy
Fall asleep in church, Dad wakes me up, I fall asleep again
Then we swing on by the Bagelsmith, one salt and one garlic
Read the paper even though there’s only two good comic strips
And that’s about the time my day becomes a mess
Don’t bother with TV
The networks never show the Broncos, it’s regional coverage
They do it to spite me
Why go out to the street? I hate the neighbors.
How am I supposed to act like Elway if they won’t let me play QB?
Believe it
Sunday falls down easy
Sunday falls down easy
Open up the fridge, I close it, then I open it again
I get out my science book and wonder where the weekend went
Then I’m staring out the window as I offer this lament
If it’s my day off, why am I so depressed?
The Friday morning glee, the Sunday blues
It’s all about anticipation, there’ no “in the moment” for me
I gotta break this streak
I can’t hang with the 9-5ers and drive-time DJs sayin’, “TGIF, buddy”
Believe it
Sunday falls down easy

wipe the dead skin from these keys
so I can start this one off clean
let me introduce the scene
act 1 scene 1 a baby grand with broken strings
enter stage left a drifter lost and foraging
and in his hand a notebook filled up with his out-of-tune musings
he turns a page and he plays and sings this song
five billion suffering while i sleep underground
always en route to the next goodbye
a mother slaps her child but the kid don't make a sound
and to my surprise neither do i
so i'll just cut out my tongue and rip out my lungs
'cause they're useless and atrophied
and i'll fly them like kites applauding their sacrifice
oh yes it'll be one great afternoon
hell yes it'll be one great afternoon
when these burdens fly away like red balloons
have i gone insane
dreaming of hijacking this train
tears stream as i accelerate
to speeds where time willingly dilates
and i'll watch this world die through these windows
it's blurring but I still see people who could use my help
so I reach out
but i'm moving too fast
so I cry loud
i can't hold my grasp
with no home my only keys are these yellowed ivories
and i'll ask them rhetorically

There’s a backyard show where everybody goes ‘cause everybody knows at this masquerade
They wear strange costumes and heave water balloons and one kid’s dressed up like a deviled egg
That’s when I say, “ What’s this? There’s something that I’ve missed there ain’t nothing like this back in Upstate”
But “When in Louisville,” they say, “join the crazy ballet”
So with blazing waterguns I join the fray
Yes I learned on that day what local flavor means
With a dinner made from dumpsters on Kentucky streets
You won’t learn anything tied up in restaurant chains
Why bother traveling if it all just tastes the same?
On the guidebook page a travel-weary sage is sharing the best secrets from her latest trek
Then the tourists come and money builds it up and pretty soon the place is just a wreck
But when I hit the road I want pie a la mode from a cafe where they don’t wear uniforms
Where the salt of the earth season their hometown turf with art that you can’t find in any store
Yes I know there’s nothing new out on the interstate
And a journey’s pointless if the asphalt mediates
You won’t find anything if you’re tied with retail chains
Why bother traveling if it all just looks the same
There’s a warehouse show out in New Mexico and films are being screened up on a Brooklyn roof
Basement galleries in Knoxville, Tennessee and Tallahassee games under the moon
So will you come with me to either shining sea to cleanse the monoculture from our souls?
Then we’ll roam town to town listening for any sound that can tell us they’re having a show

am i still really here even though I hate this weather
and with each passing year i swear it's my last winter
but i'm still living here with wet hands stuck in the freezer
i've got a choice and either way it's gonna sting
goddamn it's cold
i haven't seen the sun in weeks
and I hate this weather
cold
like hell it's cold
the gray is creeping onto me
so let's stick together
cold
it used to be different here
my friends they all lived so close
but when the first frost appeared they flew west before the lake froze
now I'm still dying here with my tongue against the flagpole
i'll be numb soon but i'll save face waiting 'til spring
will i hold on until the snow turns to rain
can i hold on until i see you again
the warnings were clear
nothing grows in the tundra
now i've been frozen for years
and still begging for the summer to get me out of here
but i can't wait any longer
this town can keep all of the flesh i leave behind
goddamn it's cold
i think the sun has gone to sleep
and i hate this weather
cold
aw fuck it's cold
the gray is taking over me
so goodbye forever
cold
now i'm told that the crew is deicing my plane

wash the dried blood from these strings
so i can close this one pristine
now let me summarize the theme
on the platform a guitar case hiding old rhymes
a pillow for one more assassin killing time
but wanting more than bouncing back and forth on jersey transit lines
he strums a chord so that the bored commuter throng
can hear his song
these bastards drove the world to dystopian hell
and we’re just waiting for the next train
the newsstands never offer the obvious news
that our carnage is coming back our way
so i will fill up each lung with napalm and nitrogen
because i’m ready to march up to the battlefields today
and my tongue will be the flame that torches their campaign
oh yes it will be one great afternoon
hell yes it will be one great afternoon
when my words can pacify a whole platoon
we’ve all gone insane riding on this runaway train
hurtling us towards a dark, dark age
where war and famine rage without end until we all are gone
the smell of fresh-cut lawns mixing with fear
that’s where denial breeds
because the suffering isn’t out on their own street
that’s where I freak out
i’m right in their faces and i scream loud
we cannot sustain this
our future is on the line and we must fight to survive
and i’ll shout this as i ride like revere on the masspike

It seems the longer I’m alive
The more afraid I am to die
The more I do the less I think
That I’ve accomplished anything
I make a plan with lots of lists
And write them down with busted wrists
It makes the words so hard to read
Can’t tell what any of it means
This house could really use some heat
Just start a fire with my degree
I have an unproductive mind
That’s why I pay it overtime
The day shift cannot get it right
And so it’s working through the night
I groan and mutter in my sleep
The graveyard shift’s clearing debris
But I can’t remember any dreams
I can’t remember anything
We need more wood for the fireplace
Just use this stack of resumes
When we were kids I never had a dream
So everybody asked
What do you wanna be
What do you wanna be
What are you gonna be?
I have so many things to say
But all these words get in the way
I talk so much my speeches blur
I sing so hard my vision slurs
The future’s losing all its shape
I’m deaf from hearing my own voice
Proclaiming that I’ll make a choice
My head’s a bucket full of steam
I don’t have any fucking dreams

We grew up in cellophane, neon cereals, tanning cathode rays
We were rinsed in pesticide, bleached with aspartame, antiseptic play
You could tell from our soft feet
We were strangers to the land
And you could tell from our clean clothes that we were petrified of dirt and plants and sand
Take me out to the forest
Roll me in the soil, let me smell the earth
Paint my face with berries
Stuff them in my mouth ’til my stomach bursts
And when the brambles shred my skin
I bleed a red that shows the life within
And the blackberry stains on my hands
Are not from a lab, no they come from the land
We are flailing in these waves: radio and sound, riptide gamma rays
Coughing up zeroes and ones, gurgling through machines, ‘lectronic embrace
Take me down to the river
Dunk me underneath, let me taste the clay
We’ll lose our shoes in the mudflats
Seeping through our toes, grabbing at our legs
When the brambles shred my skin
I bleed a red that shows the life within
And the blackberry stains on my hands
Don’t come from an ad, no they come from the land
Our kids stumble through the haze, carbon thunderheads, toasting UV rays
They know a world concrete and gray, free from any green, sanitized and paved
So each morning when you rise, rub your hands against the dirt
And for that day, my child, you’ll shed your fear of the earth
And when the brambles shred your skin
You’ll bleed a red that shows the life within
And the blackberry stains on your hands
Are not from a lab, no they come from the land
I woke up on Cannon Beach, salt upon my face, seaweed in my hands
Waves kept washing over me, urging I come home, come home to the land
We come from the land

So Peter’s moved on down to Asheville
No, Maui wasn’t quite his pace
I’ll see Hawaii yet, I swear someday I will but right now, North Carolina calls my name
Then I’ll meet Jamie in Kentucky and I’ll see Katy in DC
And I’ll find Michael out on the Reeperbahn as soon as I can find my way back ‘cross the sea
So catch me if you can
I’m runnin’ hard without a compass or a plan
So catch me if you can
I’m on the road
I hear that Brett’s still in Seattle
That boy and I can dance all night
And my Portland crew, yeah we know a thing or two ‘bout sippin’ Jerry, ridin’ bikes and shootin’ dice
I plan to find Brian in London but that is gonna have to wait
I’m still in Brooklyn, yeah I’m scrappin’ with old friends and then I’m headin’ north to see the kids Upstate
So catch me if you can
I’m runnin’ hard without a compass or a plan
So catch me if you can
With these old friends I’ve got I’m at a constant trot just to track them all across the globe
I’d love to stay the week but my restless feet are already towards the road
I miss my mom and dad in Jersey
I miss my gram’ in Tampa Bay
I miss Theresa Jean each time I leave her side
Even though it happens damn near every day
I’m headin’ back to Buenos Aires to meet my sister in the park
We’ll spend December in the smilin’ summer sun, eatin’ empanadas and playin’ some cards
So catch me if you can
I’m runnin’ hard without a compass or a plan
So catch me if you can
I’m on the bus my hat pulled down with a bottle in my bag
I’m on the boat against the rail with the wind against my back
I’m on the road the open road with my thumb outstretched from my hand
So catch me if you can
So catch me if you can

Twilight sharpened as I put my hood up and walked into town
All the streets were empty, like my stomach,
So I had to see what I could scrounge
Just like....
Every town before.
'Knock Knock' at every door, no answer
I snuck up to their windows for a peak
Inside each house I saw silhouettes against the blue lights of their television screens
And so I clibmed the hill where power stations overlooked the town
I found the generators, threw the switch, and shut the whole thing down
I turned to see hundreds of flickering blue lights die in the night
The darkness that followed was broken by a single candle light
So I descended into town
The candle light was multiplying now, and the silent streets were filling up with townspeople, laughing.
I asked a smiling woman if she had something we could eat
She thanked me for the great idea, and dashed to her home down the street
She soon returned, her arms full with a bounty of bread wine and cheese
Her neighbor winked and organzied a group, to bring tables and seats
And so we all sat down, and I raised a glass of wine
And declared a toast, to meeting these old friends for the first time
And someone played guitar
And kids banged pots and pans
And we all sang old songs
(The kind that no one can forget)
And then we all took turns
Telling our best tales
(The kind that start out true, but end up taller than 10 whales)
That's when someone spoke up, and said "This here gathering
Is a neighborhood, the kind I always hoped this town would be!"
Right then the power came back on.
And then the man next to me checked his watch
And said "Thank god, my shows are on!"
And so they blew their candles out
And hurried back to be inside each house
Where glowing blue lights had come back to reclaim the night.
The smoke hung in the air, but everyone had gone
That was the best I'd get from this town, so I ventured on
Now with my belly full, I walked the empty streets
Between the rows of houses who's blue lights lit up my feet
But much to my surprise, one house stood alone
It was completely dark
Save one candle in the window
I stopped and then I smiled, but I had no time to rest,