“This song was born of a jam – a moody little blues thing. I wrote the words on the way home from practice that night. I thought it was finished and then the last verse woke me up at 1:00 a.m. Too tired to argue, I wrote it down and had some closure.”– from the liner notes of Angels, Bones & Clocks
Mister, this is your conscience,
Please be my valentine.
I’m feeling neglected,
Come on up and see me sometime.
It’ll just be too late
When they’re drinkin’ your blood like it’s wine.
So let me be your date
And your friend at the end of the line.
I’ve been hard like an oak.
I’ve been soft like a pine.
First I bent then I broke
In the wind and the rain and the shine.
Now your conscience is home
And she’s kickin’ you in the behind.
’Cause she just read your poem
About facin’ the end of the line.
Got your harbingers harpin’,
About the western decline.
And that star in the east
Is just simply refusing to shine.
There’s millennium vultures all
Out there and carryin’ signs.
Say our way and our culture
Are facin’ the end of the line.
I say they got it all wrong,
About this Y2K bind.
I’d say we’re in the most trouble
If things work the way they’re designed.
All the wheels are in motion
And gears are beginning to grind.
Many laugh at the notion
We’re facin’ the end of the line.
They say it won’t be by flood,
But by fire this time.
As angels descend and great men
Lose their beautiful minds.
And the angels will weep
As they see what they’re leavin’ behind.
With a promise to keep
And to reap at the end of the line.
Hey Mister, this is your conscience,
Now please don’t think me unkind.
But you better hope I don’t drop
Like some sweet little bird in the mine.
Better tie up those loose ends
Go call up some good friend sometime.
And your mood might improve
As you move to the end of the line.
© and ℗ 2000 Marques Bovre