Got a sweet little darlin back in my corner
But lo I know I love her but act like I don’t want her
Surrounded by the lovely but yet feel like a loner
Could be an organ doner the way I give up my heart but

Never know because sheeit I never tell her
Ask me how I’m feeling I holler that its irrella
I don’t get myself caught up in the Jell-o jella
And pudding pops that other sops who call falling in Love but

For the record have you ever rode a horse
Likely you could send me to Pluto I said of course
But if you aint a sweety indeedy I won’t endorse
Han Solo til I’m hit by the bullet so may the Force

Be with you and I reach you when better time permits
For now show me samples examples why you’re the shit
But how am I to know with the profession that I’m in
And if you do not know me then how could you be my friend?

Happy Valentine’s Day, and remember: when arrows don’t penetrate, Cupid grabs the pistol!

The loveliness of Paris seems somehow sadly gay
The glory that was Rome is of another day
I’ve been terribly alone and forgotten in Manhattan
I’m going home . . . to my city by the bay . . . . . .

I left my heart . . .
In San Francisco . . .
High on a hill . . .
It calls to me . . .

To be where little cable cars
Climb half way to the stars!
The morning fog . . .
May chill the air . . .
I don’t care!

My love waits there . . .
In San Francisco . . .
Above the blue . . .
And windy sea!

When I come home to you,
San Francisco
Your Golden Sun will Shine for me!

The song oozes longingly from his lips. And yet, the song itself is easy-going, like the city itself.

I am glad I grabbed this song.

Well life is (too short) so love the one you’ve got
Coz you might get run over or you might get shot
Never start no static I just get it off my chest
Never had to battle with my bullet-proof vest
Take a small example take a ti-ti-tip from me
Take all of your money give it all to charity
Love’s what I got, is within my reach
And the Sublime style’s still straight from Long Beach
You know it comes back to you you’re bound to get what you deserve
Try and test that, you’re bound to get served
Love’s what I got, don’t start a riot, you’ll feel it when the dance gets hot

Lovin’ is what I got
I said remember that!

For the longest time I thought it was “life is–so not the one you’ve got” which I thought was very philosophical. However “life is too short” is also eminently true, so . .

Taking a brief break from a technical mystery at work. Back to being serious! At least I have a cool soundtrack.

“Be” — Common

(Intro – guitar, synthesizer, piano, strings)

Yeah

Yes

I want to be as free as the spirits of those who left
I’m talkin Malcolm, Coltrane, my man Yousef
Through death grew conception, new breath and resurrection
For one’s new steps in a direction in the right way
Told inside is where the fight lay
And everything a nigga do may not be what he might say
Chicago night stay stay on the mind
But I write many lives they lay on these lines
Waving signs of the times many say the crime’s on they mind
Shorties blunted out and everyone wanna rhyme
Bush pusher lies killers immortalized
We got arms but won’t reach for the skies
Waitin’ for the Lord to rise I look into my daughter’s eyes
And realize that I’m a learn through her
The Messiah might even return through her
If I’m a do it, I gotta change the world through her
Furs and the Benz (greps?) wantin’m
Demons and old friends pops they huntin’m
The chosen one from the land of the frozen sun
When drunk nights get remembered more than sober ones
Walk like warriors we were never told to run
Explore the world to return to where my soul begun
Never lookin back, or too far in front of me
The present is a gift, and I just want to Be.

(be, be, be, be, be ….)

It is a good song, starting with a strumming guitar, then a doo doo doo Pac Man synthesizer, and a piano tumbles in, joined by strings, before Common explodes with some complex, uplifting, starry-eyed lyrics, and then its over.  A good anthem to start the album.

I’ve got Arlo Guthrie in my head, and uploaded some pictures from December, 2000 that I took in New Orleans.

Riding on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail

All along the Southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
And rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passing trains that have no name
And freight yards full of old black men
And the grave yards of the rusted automobiles

Good morning, America, how are you?
Said don’t you know me, I’m your native son
I’m the train they call The City of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

Dealing card games with the old men in the club car
Penny a point aint no one keepin’ score
Pass the paper bag that holds the bottle
And feel the wheels rumblin’ ‘neath the floor

And the sons of Pullman porters
And the sons of engineers
Ride their father’s magic carpets
Made of steel

Mothers with their babes asleep
Rockin to the gentle beat
And the rhythm of the rails is all they feel

Good morning America, how are you?
Said don’t you know me, I’m your native son
I’m the train they call The City of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

Night time on The City of New Orleans
Changing cars in Memphis, Tennessee
Halfway home, we’ll be there by morning
Through the Mississippi darkness rolling down to the sea

But all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rail still aint heard the news
The conductor sings his songs again
The passengers will please refrain
This train got the Disappearin’ Railroad Blues.

Good night America how are you?
Said don’t you know me, I’m your native son
I’m the train they call The City of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done.

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung,
Would you hear my voice come thru the music,
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It’s a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken,
Perhaps they’re better left unsung.
I don’t know, don’t really care
Let there be songs to fill the air.

Translation?

While we all wish that creative expression could transmit our thoughts and emotions from artist to audience, that doesn’t matter so much. If you enjoy creating, or you appreciate what is created, than that is good enough.

Others have analyzed this song a lot more.

Manic Depression is touchin’ my soul!

I know what I want but I just don’t know!
(How to go about gettin’ it.)

Feelin’ sweet feelin’
I wish I could caress, and kiss.

Manic Depression’s a frustrating mess!

Today I was depressed. Not for any good reason, mind you, I think it’s kinda like garbage collection. I slept through my morning classes and I’m starting to feel a little better now.

Too much thinking about women, that old Beavis screaming how it’s unfair and we’re never gonna score kinda thing was part of that, and a whole symphony of other things … some of my most important people are feeling kinda down in the dumps too, for respective reasons, and I may have carried off some of that.

All’s fair in love and war, for a good cause.

Oh holy night, the stars are brightly shining.
It is the night, of the dear savior’s birth.

Long lay the world, in sin and error pining,
’til he appeared and the soul felt his worth.

A thrill of hope: the weary soul rejoices,
And yonder breaks, a new and glorious morn!

Fall on your knees!
Oh hear, the Angel’s voices!

Oh night divine!
Oh night, when Christ was born!

Oh night, divine!
Oh night, oh holy night.