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Archive for September, 2019

Eat Like You Pray

I asked for moral food. Something that caused
No being pain, asked slave labor of no child
That didn’t heat the planet
Something that didn’t know it was grown only
To add to my flame.
“We got no moral food here,”
He said, wrapping up the red package
Under my arm, the bloody meat.
Tonight I’d better eat like I pray.
Better I not even know the difference.

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Another song from my album Air Is a Public Good.
Music and lyrics by Eric Randolph Rasmussen.

“Under the Wing”

The devil now I know walks among us
The devil has a condo on Lake Tahoe

I would never know the path
That bell I can’t unring
And the devil had me under his wing

I was selling real estate
To a couple from Sulphur Springs
And the devil had me under his wing

They wanted more than a town house
They wanted to share their lonely love
With me

And now I know the darkness
And now I know the need
And the devil had me under his wing

They wanted to use my body
And prey on my clean living
And the devil had me under his wing

God you can’t sell real estate in this
Sinful town
Heaven don’t have a toilet for fallen angels like me

They wanted to use my body
And prey on my clean living
And the devil had me under his wing

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Trust

I had to sell her a book

I had to sell it to her or I wouldn’t eat

The books were forty-six dollars and I got a 15 percent commission

That was my only food

I wrote out my successes in a blue sales ledger

And the ledger boxes were so empty they yawned

I knocked on the door and showed her my profile

So she could size me up,

That’s the sales posture

And then I turned to her and asked her questions

She couldn’t say yes or no to:

Questions begat questions

What is your favorite this? Who is your favorite that?

What do you care about?

And of course she cared about things

You can’t say you don’t care

You sound like a child

And when she had given bits of herself away

She fed me. Salespeople get fed a lot

We established trust for the wrong reasons.

And I ate a chicken sandwich.

 

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A song from my album Air Is a Public Good.

Music and lyrics by Eric Randolph Rasmussen.

 

Bet her life on No. 4:

“Nothing Like A Dame”

And ever since she won

The woman’s life is not the same

 

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

 

Suddenly she’s found herself

A kind, forgiving hand

Enough to change her address

And her name and her homeland

 

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

Everyone forgets you

Do what you must do

 

She’ll go to where she’s free

To break some hearts and raise some Cain

She’ll never have to take men’s shit

Or ever take their names

 

Throw the past behind you

Never let lies reach you

Suddenly she’s found herself

A kind, forgiving hand

 

I’m not the marrying kind

I want to see a painted desert

I’m not the marrying kind

I want to see a painted desert

And unwind

You can’t define me

 

I’m not the marrying kind

I want to see a desert

And unwind

You can’t define me

Or live inside my mind

 

Now I have the capital

And have a map to find the pines

I want to see a painted desert

And unwind

 

Her sister tracked her down and found her

Deep inside the pines

And said you are plumb crazy

Leaving everyone behind

 

Nobody to reach you

Without the social values

Nobody to teach you

Nobody to get through

 

But she said that I’m happier

To leave behind it all

A bitter race of humans

Bury me just where I fall

 

No one ever said you

Didn’t stick to values

No one ever said that you

Didn’t have a thought too

 

 

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Her Nose, My Nose

She lit her cig off the electric range

Showed me her laparoscopy scar.

While her husband read a law book in the other room

Rebekah waited for the ring to grace her nose in the Bible

I hadn’t sold a book all day. But I got some talk and confidence

Made some guy’s wife laugh

It put a lot of gold in my nose.

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Broke

The collar on the vacuum broke

So the tube slides out when I’m cleaning

A psychologist once told me we project our feelings of failure

Onto objects that don’t work

So I’m vacuuming and some stuff gets sucked up

Have to hold it together, though—the collar and tube

Tight with both hands

There’s a lot riding on this

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Pointing to the surprise eggs hatching toys and puzzles

Helicopter to the rescue; found out about my Hot Wheels

Daddy, how will it ever rise the plane outside my window?

Cause the airfoil will lift it up, son, and that thought makes him humble

 

Daddy’s dancing, parts the dance floor like the Red Sea

Because I could not stop for death, he kindly did the cabbage patch for me

 

Plastic saucer spinning down

Snow cakes up the mountain

A toddler picks his daddy up

Someone had to be in charge then

Remember to keep pedaling, faster when you’re falling

 

Zipper ride, airboat, ice skates, checkers, Cyclone, teacup ride

Race with trains, jump from airplanes to keep the kid inside

 

I get slow and you get fast, but I work so hard to keep up

A threatening hill and a crashing bike, it’s OK just a little blood

And he hates sleep there’s a brittle moon and he cries cause he won’t see it

That’s OK—you’re sad right now but a new day will come and you can rise and greet it

 

It’s OK, we don’t have to play you can stare outside the window

There’s a whole world inside your head, much more than you’ll ever know

But I teach you and then you teach me things that I forgot from pride

I help you and you help me; don’t forget to keep a kid inside

 

Don’t forget Dad that you have to keep the kid inside

 

–Eric Rasmussen

(These are lyrics from my 2019 song “A Kid’s Inside,” from Salon de la Guerre’s upcoming pop-rock album, From Sour to Cinnamon.)

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