The Forgotten

Imagine if Barbara Jean looked more like Baby Jane
or if I was born mean and chose to stay the same
would i still have a shot of making it to paradise
i say you cant achieve alot by faking being nice
you gotta say something and put yourself on the map
shoot hoops, be a teacher, save a life or rap
but say something before you lose the power to speak
this is the hour, life is now, those are the stars now reach
this is for all those who found the courage to fight back
i know it might sound hurried but this is the right track
its the song of the revolution coming your way
its wrong but I've made a resolution to stay
and say something that counts
because all we be amounts to squat, zip, zero
show me a fallen hero and I'll show you disloyal fans
you dont need to shake royal hands to change the world
the future lies in the plans of every little boy and girl
every street urchin and outlaw, every crook and the forgotten
this beat we workin got me hurtin, lookin at rock bottom
paging God, thinkin I got Him then being left on hold
its time to fold up those dreams and have this story retold
cos I'm the writer, I'm the fighter and I decide what's true
Barabara Jean or Baby Jane, the choice is up to me and you.

Her favourite toy

She keeps me propped against the wall
looking down on her other trinkets
she knows i see them, i see them all
it angers me so i try not to think it
cos i'm the one she loves the best
spends more time with me than the rest
and that should be enough, right?
maybe she doesnt play with me every night
but I'm her favourite, she said so
do you know how special that is?

its like.... its like.... REALLY special, okay?

its just there's never enough room for her to play
with me and the rest of her INSIGNIFICANT playthings
see, we worked it out such that she can cater to her cravings
just as long as it's me she loves the most
i can look them in the eyes and boast-

no, .....we didnt set it down in stone
or sign a contract
but when we make contact
i know i could never again play alone
that's not the same as being misused
hey, I'm a GROWN ASS MAN and this is what i choose

-well not a man but sure as hell a grown ass toy
just sometimes wishing I was a real boy.

The Songstress

I'm drawn in from the streets by her song
my hurting feet know no sleep, nights are long
when you're a hobo trying to sell a jazz tune
in a city as lit up as a Topaz moon
I've never been to this lounge
they dont let hounds like me in
not in this town
but tonight the crowds are thin
one can barley make out the stage through the smoke
these people drink and choke on their struggles with hope
their battles with age bury them in fear
they chatter on too busy to hear

The lady's got so much soul

she bores a hole right through me
as she makes love to jazz through her microphone
the saxman guides her and the night along
the blind man taps away at his ivory keys
but she sings to me and i freeze
how does she know the things she sings
buried deep beneath where no one sees
she sings to me of troubles i have lived
i plead for her to please forgive
and sing me a new song to change my days
the blisters on my feet just fade away
down to the ground where they cant be found
because of the magic of her sound

This lady's got so much soul

i'm the only one she's singing to
the crowd drowns out to obscurity
and everthing she sings is true
this songbird's voice is curing me
she was luring me in to her club
cos she longed for jazz and i yearned for love
now i'm all she has and all she needs
thats how she knows the things she sees
I can lose myself inside her lyrics
so she'll never again sing alone
cos when she sings, only I can hear it
that's how i know I've found my home

My lady's got so much soul.