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Tortured Lane (Hobo Song)

from No Photographs by Jason Vitelli

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lyrics

Shooting stars upon a plastic moon
shiver as one cold breath
foggy and blue.
Blue as we maniacs crowding
round the street lamps.
A little kid wouldn't be caught
dead round our tracks.

And the blood in me boils
when yesterday's press
wraps around my stained pants
along this death trap.
Consorting loss and decay.
John Does once bright-eyed
and sane.

And I guess we've got nothing better to
do, how bout you?

In the splashes of polyester puddles
and nylon woes,
I eye those curvy harlots
from head to toe.

I take a turn down a putrid alleyway,
see if I may not have to stay alone,
tonight, I'm a midnight cowboy
exposing the rapture of all their tall lies
and piss upon another
orange peel of sighs.

And I guess I've got nothing better to
do, how bout you?

Soon she'll mount me,
bring me off these
slimy defecations and broken TV sets.
Into her, I slip into a wormhole
diseased with sorrowful egress.

But I found it; yes I found it,
the summer breeze beside a
sea sunset
away from the ground treacheries,
the dark recesses of another
tortured lane.

~~~

Instead, I roll away from this
misconception into a makeshift
bed; wipe the mucus off my face
from my spate.

And the shooting stars have dissipated
and I cannot anticipate the sun
nor the rain,
as I wallow in the mire
of my worthless empire.

credits

from No Photographs, released January 23, 2009

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Jason Vitelli New York, New York

Cinematic rock music with a vision; this is Jason's sound in a nutshell. His songs are vignettes, narratives, painting a picture with intertwining lyrics and melody. Much of his writing is influenced by the experimental rock of the late 1970’s, marrying folk sentiment with the avant-garde crosscurrent of Berlin era Bowie, Kate Bush, Olivier Messiaen, James Joyce and Eric Dolphy. ... more

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