God Talk

by Jonathan Burks

/
1.
03:24
I don't want no god talk at my funeral Jesus is alright but he aint my main man it's all of ya'll whom I love so dearly it's you alone who made me what I am god is good but god made me faulty it's you alone who made me so good send me off in flames hot and rowdy don't you bury me in no box of wood I don't want no sad songs at my funeral I sing 'em now but I won't need 'em then sing about them pastures of plenty sing about how that circle never ends and I don't want no crying at my funeral but if you must, fill a cup up with wine and take a drink for every drop that falls and know that you are a friend of mine I don't want no god talk at my funeral if you must read something, quote some Tortilla Flat and let all my fucked up friends know I'm so thankful it's you alone who made me what good I am
2.
I'm gonna roll and tumble baby, stumble through every town gonna romp and ramble 'till my name gets around I'll be doing this 'till I'm 76 no doubt at least until these old planks and beams give out I was born to ramble, I was born to step and stroll don't you think about me honey, when I go I got ants in my pants, toes up in my sox I got a heart that's aching like a big beat that just won't stop I'll be doing this 'till I'm 76 for sure head in the clouds and my feet all up in the dirt I was born to ramble, I was born to step and stroll don't ya think about me honey, when I go
3.
my thumb is not green or steeped in earth I keep on turning over leaf after leaf but can't seem to keep my feet in the dirt I sew my oats but them winds they blow leaving nothing but the furrows and the folds mean, mean red blues some aches aint got no shape or face to pin too some pain aint meant to be soothed lord I got them mean red blues if debt were satisfaction I wouldn't have me none I'd be free and clear as a bounced check, as a banker on the run as it stands I'm sitting here in the black whole lot of nothing burning holes in my pants happiness is just a state of mind but mine can't seem to stay in between those state lines I stop at every toll and pay my dues seems like every road is only passing through
4.
03:21
feeling wet and washed up on the shores of ho-hum bound for glory bound and gaged my tongues a butter knife it seems these days it aint cutting nothing but wonder bread wondering how I can muster some bread to get me the means to spread myself where I choose and please sew my oats like a wool-knit sweater to keep me warm in this cold cold weather suppose by now I should know better things tend to unravel in windy weather the bag I'm in cold and damp is wearing thin, exposing glass fist shaped muscle forged from sand filling up the empty hand that's reaching out to grab the stubborn edges of the looking glass flowers bloom with every shard plucked from fingers and guitars the healing scent of feelings wrenched from a vague sense of loneliness gaps and flaws in character and script paint the terrain of who we is the holes are where the light gets in light is framed by night and sin lord won't you forgive me please for living this life you gave to me sailing on a ragged wind fueled by breath of maggot end we squirm and pray and play and fight heaving on the shores of life gnawing on the serpents tail pennies get laid upon the rail wishes spread thin with hot heat of motion leaving nothing but a blurry notion in the flush face of drunken dance we kiss the lips of circumstance rosy cheeks ripe with the night receive the fruit dark and divine stars cut and poke the sky letting in the finish line gaps and flaws in character and script turn the pages of where we been the holes are where the light gets in light is framed by night and sin lord won't you forgive me please for living this life you gave to me
5.
02:24
please forgive this artistic temperament I'm gifted a megalomaniac with no self confidence I'm shifty ego ping-ponging between extremes I aint shit I am the shit thin line between pretentiousness and a sense of self worthlessness I have my way with words and they have their way with me they play me like a strum leave me daft and dumb I work my lips and tongue until my mouth and mind are numb still they won't come innuendo out the word hole burrow into mole hills make mountains out of nothing just to climb up to something feeling fun and frisky laid back like frisbee let's toss some love around
6.
good ol' Bucky Fuller in 1934 built a car that ran on 3 wheels it sat 10 people it was 21 feet long shaped like a teardrop it ran like a song it got 30 to 40 miles to the galloon unfortunately, efficiency at that time was not in fashion there was no money to be made in making things efficient 70 years later science still sits backseat to big business we got the means to do more than dream of a better way of living the future aint even there to see if we aint first got the vision I'm praying to the scientific method gravity tends to teach a heavy lesson sometimes I feel like a triangle in a square world once in a while our sides intersect but they mostly run parallel I try to keep my mind well rounded free of right and wrong angles my star spangle is Star Trekish world unity is my patriotic fetish I salute the flag of the human nation pray to the god of evolution come on people we gots to grow up faster going against each other is oh so passe displaying my heart on my sleeve cut me and blood I will bleed red, white, and blue and every other color too
7.
02:30
the sun it sets and then does shine in some other patch of sky here we sit neath friendly dome hand in hand all alone all alone all alone so it goes all alone your my friend great and good until the end, knock on wood arm in arm down the road in between all alone when we get to where we go there's a hand, there's a home until then here we stroll all around all alone

credits

released October 26, 2011

engineered and mixed by Dave Gelting at his house. produced by Dave Gelting and Jonathan Burks.

piano on 'God Talk' - Dan Type
Rhodes on 'Roll and Tumble' - Nick Westfahl

Heidi Spencer sings on 'All Alone'

Dave played pretty much everything else except vocals and rhythm guitar.

photo by Erik Ljung

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Jonathan Burks Milwaukee, Wisconsin

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro"

here's some pro tips:

1) Keep a scream journal. Scream into a camera or microphone at least once a day. Any word or sound will work. "FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK" seems to work for me.

2) Dance for 5 minutes daily. Dance on the way to the bathroom or kitchen. Dance as ugly as you can.

3) Make funny faces. Sit in front of a mirror and get strange.
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