Lyrics (Pg. 1) :
Ladders Made Of Smoke: Ever notice how much smaller the world seems the longer you live with someone? It can get pretty claustrophobic, especially when things aren’t going great.
When I am right, then you are righter. When I’m wrong you’re right.
What’s the use? Can we please call a truce, and say goodnight?
I am the one who loves you, always loved you. But at what cost?
Smiles and songs don’t make me less wrong, or less lost.
I don’t know where dreams are supposed to go when dreams don’t come true.
But I dreamed them all for you oh - oh - oh- only you.
Memories seem far less crowded, and far less bright,
more room to breathe, to think, to believe. Tell me. Am I right?
‘Cause I seem to remember we were closer then, and oh so far apart.
So much open space, I still saw your face and heard your heart.
But now it seems like somehow we fence ourselves in
every night again oh - oh - oh and again.
A dream is a ladder that is made of smoke. It beckons you to climb.
Oh I’m so sorry I dragged you so far, and wasted so much time.
I don’t know where should go, where we can be just you and me.
It’s so crowded here, but one thing is clear, and one thing is true I’ll always dream for you;
you and only you oh - oh - oh only you.
Tell me what to do when dreams don’t come true, and I dreamed them all for you.
Cyclops: This is an old ALL song. I wrote it on the piano, so this is closer to the way it originally sounded. These lyrics happened because the L.A.P.D. used to give us relentless shit back in those days, and they reminded me of the bullies in my high school. It's funny to sing this at my age, because I barely even remember high school. What was I so pissed about? Hahaha! I still think it's a pretty good song, though.
Save your mundane platitudes for this who give a shit.
I’ll burn in Hell, and be through with it.
I got a life. It ain’t big, but it’s a life.
And I’ve got clothes, and heaven knows that I’ve still got my health.
I look good, if I do say so myself.
I got a soul. It ain’t yours, but it’s a soul.
Chalk up my lack of fire to self control.
All the dicks with nightsticks, poison boys in blue,
all the dumb and uglies in your wrecking crew,
they’ll bleed me out. Nothing I can do.
I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. (Which, incidentally, I’m not).
Weren’t you the guys with “get lost” eyes that made my high school great?
You found me again, but this time you’re here too late.
‘Cause I paid my dues when I wore corrective shoes.
That’s when I earned the right to ignore you.
Toughest kid in gym class, terror in the hall,
necking with the prom queen, captain every fall,
you can’t cut me now ‘cause you knife’s gone dull.
It must piss you off to know it all.
Wog: This is a song about what it feels like when your teen-age daughter runs away.
Silence is a word both meaningless and cruel, a coveted abstraction, nothing more.
Calm is the exception. Turbulence is the rule. Why’d she bring the Devil to my door?
She’s near, but far away. She doesn’t want to stay here anymore.
I still hear her laughing at that stupid trick, when I’d pretend the door had hit my face.
Restless wiggles, girlish giggles, she’s waiting for old St. Nick to bring her ribbons, plastic jewels, and lace.
Feels so much like a play, a show called “Yesterday”, put on by ghosts,
and viewed through memory’s mist, of hands held, and foreheads kissed, things I miss the most.
No one told me I’d wind up in jail like this, a prisoner of my second thoughts and shame.
Kindly words meant to encourage are golden and warm like piss. We can’t control where sorrow lays the blame.
So is she warm and dry? Does she laugh, or does she cry when she thinks of home.
Is she out under the moon, or in some loud smokey room? With those “friends” or all alone?
Black predictions, no more fiction, only terrible fact.
She’s pleading, screaming. Am I dreaming? Is she coming back?
So now my heart is beating in my throat again. My blood is racing through my useless limbs.
Is she sorry? I’m so worried! Did somebody take her in? Is this the just reward for all my sins?
They say, “Don’t blame yourself.” If not me, well then who else should I condemn?
Tonight out under the moon, I’ll tell myself that soon she’ll be home again.
Silence is a myth, a soothing thought, and that’s all. Where is she tonight?
Mr. Charmingface: Years ago, I used to go to this Knights Of Columbus social club a lot. I'd drink Jim Beam, play shuffle board, play the juke box, and watch this guy who thought he was smooth tell tremendous lies to all the ladies. It was fun. He left enough of an impression on me that I wrote song about him.
Vicious dreams, I don't know what they mean. I don't want to hurt anyone,
but I'm desperate and deadly when I close my eyes.
Doe-eyed girl, it's a bad bad world. In the end there's nowhere to run.
But stick with me. I'm not like other guys. (I’m not!) I'm slick and reckless when I close my eyes.
I'm a spy. I'm a Navy Seal, an electric eel. I blend in like a chameleon.
I'm loud as thunder, and silent as a curse. Yeah.
And I'm your man. You're with me, that's the plan, and tonight we will wake up the sun.
We'll tell the Devil, "Do your dirty worst." We'll be loud as thunder and silent as a curse.
Tonight dreams come true; some for me, but mostly for you. 'Cause a boy like me don't trip up the trail everyday.
So we'll go where the dreams get dreamt, and we'll be exempt from the guilt, and the shame, and the pain
that come with turning fantasy to fate.
The truth will give way to the trance when we dance. On french kisses, we'll taste french champagne.
There's less life to live the more we hesitate. It's time to turn those fantasies to fate.
Yes I'll be your dream. You'll fall asleep, and soon it will seem that all things are possible if you hope hard enough.
'Cause love is a schizophrenic word, both flawless and wholly absurd. It's a thunderous, silent curse to fall in love.
So we'll hide in the whitest lies. 'Cause the best disguise is the story you hope will come true.
If you can think it, I can bring it here.
So what do you want to believe? Tell me please. Once you've willed it, I'll build it for you.
Time's a wastin' make your wish my dear. And before you've thought it I'll have brought it here.
I'm the guardian of fragile hearts, and porcelain skin. I can shake it, break it, then take it, and make it alright. And tonight
I will take you away, break your heart, then make it okay. You won't know what I've done till I'm long out of sight.
Yes I'll be your dream. You'll fall asleep, and soon it will seem that all things are possible if you hope hard enough.
'Cause love is a schizophrenic word, both flawless and wholly absurd. It's a thunderous, silent curse to fall in love.
No there ain't a whole lot worse than falling in love.
When I am right, then you are righter. When I’m wrong you’re right.
What’s the use? Can we please call a truce, and say goodnight?
I am the one who loves you, always loved you. But at what cost?
Smiles and songs don’t make me less wrong, or less lost.
I don’t know where dreams are supposed to go when dreams don’t come true.
But I dreamed them all for you oh - oh - oh- only you.
Memories seem far less crowded, and far less bright,
more room to breathe, to think, to believe. Tell me. Am I right?
‘Cause I seem to remember we were closer then, and oh so far apart.
So much open space, I still saw your face and heard your heart.
But now it seems like somehow we fence ourselves in
every night again oh - oh - oh and again.
A dream is a ladder that is made of smoke. It beckons you to climb.
Oh I’m so sorry I dragged you so far, and wasted so much time.
I don’t know where should go, where we can be just you and me.
It’s so crowded here, but one thing is clear, and one thing is true I’ll always dream for you;
you and only you oh - oh - oh only you.
Tell me what to do when dreams don’t come true, and I dreamed them all for you.
Cyclops: This is an old ALL song. I wrote it on the piano, so this is closer to the way it originally sounded. These lyrics happened because the L.A.P.D. used to give us relentless shit back in those days, and they reminded me of the bullies in my high school. It's funny to sing this at my age, because I barely even remember high school. What was I so pissed about? Hahaha! I still think it's a pretty good song, though.
Save your mundane platitudes for this who give a shit.
I’ll burn in Hell, and be through with it.
I got a life. It ain’t big, but it’s a life.
And I’ve got clothes, and heaven knows that I’ve still got my health.
I look good, if I do say so myself.
I got a soul. It ain’t yours, but it’s a soul.
Chalk up my lack of fire to self control.
All the dicks with nightsticks, poison boys in blue,
all the dumb and uglies in your wrecking crew,
they’ll bleed me out. Nothing I can do.
I wouldn’t be so sure if I were you. (Which, incidentally, I’m not).
Weren’t you the guys with “get lost” eyes that made my high school great?
You found me again, but this time you’re here too late.
‘Cause I paid my dues when I wore corrective shoes.
That’s when I earned the right to ignore you.
Toughest kid in gym class, terror in the hall,
necking with the prom queen, captain every fall,
you can’t cut me now ‘cause you knife’s gone dull.
It must piss you off to know it all.
Wog: This is a song about what it feels like when your teen-age daughter runs away.
Silence is a word both meaningless and cruel, a coveted abstraction, nothing more.
Calm is the exception. Turbulence is the rule. Why’d she bring the Devil to my door?
She’s near, but far away. She doesn’t want to stay here anymore.
I still hear her laughing at that stupid trick, when I’d pretend the door had hit my face.
Restless wiggles, girlish giggles, she’s waiting for old St. Nick to bring her ribbons, plastic jewels, and lace.
Feels so much like a play, a show called “Yesterday”, put on by ghosts,
and viewed through memory’s mist, of hands held, and foreheads kissed, things I miss the most.
No one told me I’d wind up in jail like this, a prisoner of my second thoughts and shame.
Kindly words meant to encourage are golden and warm like piss. We can’t control where sorrow lays the blame.
So is she warm and dry? Does she laugh, or does she cry when she thinks of home.
Is she out under the moon, or in some loud smokey room? With those “friends” or all alone?
Black predictions, no more fiction, only terrible fact.
She’s pleading, screaming. Am I dreaming? Is she coming back?
So now my heart is beating in my throat again. My blood is racing through my useless limbs.
Is she sorry? I’m so worried! Did somebody take her in? Is this the just reward for all my sins?
They say, “Don’t blame yourself.” If not me, well then who else should I condemn?
Tonight out under the moon, I’ll tell myself that soon she’ll be home again.
Silence is a myth, a soothing thought, and that’s all. Where is she tonight?
Mr. Charmingface: Years ago, I used to go to this Knights Of Columbus social club a lot. I'd drink Jim Beam, play shuffle board, play the juke box, and watch this guy who thought he was smooth tell tremendous lies to all the ladies. It was fun. He left enough of an impression on me that I wrote song about him.
Vicious dreams, I don't know what they mean. I don't want to hurt anyone,
but I'm desperate and deadly when I close my eyes.
Doe-eyed girl, it's a bad bad world. In the end there's nowhere to run.
But stick with me. I'm not like other guys. (I’m not!) I'm slick and reckless when I close my eyes.
I'm a spy. I'm a Navy Seal, an electric eel. I blend in like a chameleon.
I'm loud as thunder, and silent as a curse. Yeah.
And I'm your man. You're with me, that's the plan, and tonight we will wake up the sun.
We'll tell the Devil, "Do your dirty worst." We'll be loud as thunder and silent as a curse.
Tonight dreams come true; some for me, but mostly for you. 'Cause a boy like me don't trip up the trail everyday.
So we'll go where the dreams get dreamt, and we'll be exempt from the guilt, and the shame, and the pain
that come with turning fantasy to fate.
The truth will give way to the trance when we dance. On french kisses, we'll taste french champagne.
There's less life to live the more we hesitate. It's time to turn those fantasies to fate.
Yes I'll be your dream. You'll fall asleep, and soon it will seem that all things are possible if you hope hard enough.
'Cause love is a schizophrenic word, both flawless and wholly absurd. It's a thunderous, silent curse to fall in love.
So we'll hide in the whitest lies. 'Cause the best disguise is the story you hope will come true.
If you can think it, I can bring it here.
So what do you want to believe? Tell me please. Once you've willed it, I'll build it for you.
Time's a wastin' make your wish my dear. And before you've thought it I'll have brought it here.
I'm the guardian of fragile hearts, and porcelain skin. I can shake it, break it, then take it, and make it alright. And tonight
I will take you away, break your heart, then make it okay. You won't know what I've done till I'm long out of sight.
Yes I'll be your dream. You'll fall asleep, and soon it will seem that all things are possible if you hope hard enough.
'Cause love is a schizophrenic word, both flawless and wholly absurd. It's a thunderous, silent curse to fall in love.
No there ain't a whole lot worse than falling in love.