Ice Cream for Crow Lyrics

Ice Cream for Crow
It's so hot
looks like you have three beaks crow
the moon's so full
white hat on a pumpkin
you know there's something
the moon was a stone's throw
stop the show
I need to say hello
to the crow
light the fire piano
the moon showed up
and it started to show
tonight there'd be ice cream
ice cream for crow
ice cream for crow
sun cream by day
ice cream for crow
ice cream by night
ice cream by day
the sun ain't stable
ice cream for crow
crow pants the scarecrow
crow dance ah ho ho
crow dance ah panther
scare crow you answer
you can hee and haw
laugh and scratch
ha ha ha
ha ha ha
boss and toss
don't shake my hand
give me your claw
two tears in a haystack
scarecrow get back
tonight there's gonna be
a feather treatment
beneath the symbol
we'll all assemble
oh how we'll fly
oh how we'll tremble
cut the cake
we'll all get well
turn up the speakers
hop flop squawk
it's a keeper
ice cream for show
ice cream for crow
now now that's it
now you can go

The Host the Ghost the Most Holy-O
Why, not even a rustler'd have anything to do
with this branded bum steer world
this pirate flag headlong disaster course vessel
misguided charted this nautical numbskull hull
sink in silence smoke - blow your chest out in hope
sits spread-eagle on poor men
piled high on truth mountain - last link in clarity's chain
you'll not be thrown but dive and sink
your pockets filled with earthly burdens
when they could be filled with light and back with wings
the sky is dark in daytime
and still the blackbird's beauty lyrics clean
sing ye brothers and end this miserable thing
and brush the dark sky in light
and let the moon bell crack and ring
upon the mast of mercy
for she is a beautiful thing
I watched her cut with clarity
the sea of Satan's red rolling water
that stung my eyes with vile vile brine
and clung to the vine that choked Mary's only Son
God in vain to slaughter
I can't darken your dark cross door no more
the light lovely one with the nothing door
and oh that pours life water

The Past Sure is Tense
The past sure is tense
they're heading up for the main event
all those people seem to be hell-bent
see those people up on top of the fence
and the man down there
selling knotholes through the fence
the little shoe generation man
I found your print on a dollar bill
I founf your print on an Indian mound
I found your print on the statue at the sound
I found your print on the elephant ground
I found your print in the beautiful mountains
the grass no longer grew around
I found your print in my mind -
the past sure is tense
the pastsureistense
no you got the wrong idea
no you got the wrong intent
the carpenter carpenterized my vent
the only peephole
where is my dent
the past sure is tense
the past sure is tense
the past sure is now
I don't see how
see those people that used to
throw those tents
you can't see them now
they're in past tense
the past sure is tense

Ink Mathematics
Ink mathematics
grey mass ecstatics
noggin elastics
cerebral tatics
cranium classics
brainium domics
denizen omics
grey massmatics
quantum pur9e
it's plain to feel
hard to see
fission antics
abombastics
death antiques
wrong deductions
poor instructions
mass destructions
peace antiques
singing ink mathematics
hop along with me
ink mathematics
moon to a flea
ink mathematics
I breathe black and white
day and night
grey gymnastics
ink math ah ratics
mathfantastics
ink mathematics
moon to a flea
ink mathematics
hop along with me
ink mathematics
moon to a flea

The Witch Doctor Life
When the Witch Doctor Life
throws his silent bones
some are crowned kings
while others lose their thrones
When the Witch Doctor Life
throws his silent bones
small "O" mouths scream
and run to Mama Kangaroo
insecure pouches wherein hide
beggars and drones
and babies and bums and buzzards
Mama crouches and smiles
her old useful smile
and old ego roars - laughs yesterday's gasses
while children and angels gasp
and follow a shepherd on crutches
When the Witch Doctor Life
throws his silent bones
some flee the dream
some turn to stone
and the children sing
and the heavens ring
worn by the shepherd with the folded wings
and the bones that sing of silence

"81" Poop Hatch
My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like a monkey on a
silver bar...big poop hatch with a cotton hatch - hatch holes that the
light shows in and the light shows out...and the little red fence...
and the wire and the wood...and the barbs and the berries...the tires
and the bottles and the caruponrims...and the heat swims upon its
fenders and the dust collects and the rust of autumn surrenders into
gold... trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts its bell was blocking
an ant's vision...and the mice played in its air holes and valves...a
ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red and blacked out
its wings and blew off to a flower...its hum heard just above the
ground...black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive tree
that originally held a tree house full of a building with one small
window...birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper..."My sun
is free from my window," said the god the green dabbers...rice wires
mouse tins and milk muffins...cereal and stone...matches and masks and
mace and clubs...and splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a
dust jeweled penlet...cobwebs collect down plaster run into a hole and
find collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday afternoon
midway between telegraph lines...a silver wing - a cloud - a rumbling
of cloud...a crowd of various violins strum from next door through my
wall into my ear obviously artificial...neighbors laugh through
sandwiches...Harlem babies - their stomachs explode into roars...their
eyes shiny with starvation...spreckled hula dance on my
phonograph...my door rattles windy...sand wears my rug shoeand taps on
the unheard finish of an hourglass I cannot hear...a typical
musician's nest of thoughts through dust speakers..."Why don't you go
home? Oh Blobby, are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled
rock'n'roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch...the surface of a
friend...this high bookafriend laid on me...on the couch relaxing in
the corner behind a still life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads
slurred in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by
thought...strain on the spoon like a wheat check - check Bif - cotton
popping out of his sleeve...poop hatch open - big poop ha