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We're Alive

by Honky Gabacho

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released May 12, 2015



all rights reserved
Track Name: ¡Sweet Burgermask!
Burgermask, Burgermask,
Dripping juice in your bourbon glass;
Burgermask, Burgermask-
¿Pattie of meat, how'd you get so sweet?
Sweet Burgermask, Burgermask,
Flashin' teeth. ¿Are you tryin't to eat
Yo' Burgermask, Burgermask?
Track Name: Kinky Wonder
There's little in life I despise much more
Than the sound of children singing,
Their brash little voices, so tinny and forced,
And earnest,
and unfit
For the burdens they bear, the dirges they dare
To chirp, but, lo, fate is bringing,
A woman so wild, with the voice of a child,

And the mind of a restless sodomite
Hot to covet;
Me, Oh, My, ¡Good God Almighty!
She loves it, she loves it.
The belts round my wrists, cinched up tight
When I submit
Are all that remains of restraint tonight, and
She loves it, she loves it, oh,
She loves it.

Kinky wonder, riding on the coattails of a fantasy;
Soft perversions, hanging on through the dawn.
Kinky wonder, undermining good taste with humanity;
Kinky wonder, the blinds are drawn, carry on.

"The middle of life is an awful bore," the restless choir was singing,
Heaving a sigh, while heaving am I
In the bedroom, or parking lot
Of the city at night,
By the distant light
The bellows of our lungs are kindling,
Until we have found a crowd gathered 'round

Of the Me's and Her's in bed tonight,
Like a summit,
Sayin', "¿Who's gonna be the next tonight?"
Oh, she loves it, she loves it.
¿Maybe a librarian when I arrive
To study?
A stone-cold 599.775,
Oh, she loves it, she loves it,
Yes, she loves it.

Track Name: Beefcake
Every bite's moist, every time.

¿What kind of big cake
Is sweeter when the cake's fake,
and hotter when it don't bake?

¿Bigger than a breadbox,
Longer than a dreadnaught,
Till you're louder than a boombox?

Off go the tearaway snap-pants,
Down come the chopper;
Death by chocolate lapdance.

Bass, treble, pumpin' out,
From the cake I come jumpin' out,
Replete with muscle grease,
Oh, Clarice, how divine!
Goes the oven clock, I'm cooling off,
Break out the frosting,
Beefcake, back for more

Every bite's moist, every time.

Blow out the candle,
Your wish for a man will
Getcha more than you can handle:

Chiseled and single,
With a swingin' can of Pringles,
But devoutly cunnilingal.

You thought that you were exhaustin'
All of your options,
Till you found the can of frostin'.


[Bridge 1]
Adherent to the doctrine,
Passed the test you're proctorin';
Conductor of desire conducts them like a treble choir with his helicopterin'.
¡Oh, Beefcake!
Stuff his speedo with cash,
He'll even take out the trash,
'n' put away the dishes without being asked.

[Bridge 2]
¿Maybe there's a race of men building cake cocoons,
from which they'll emerge, to make you swoon?
Their icing glistens in the night;
When their man-tennae
And your she-quency are in tune,
All of their layers will answer your prayers by a
Sucrose-ficial rite.

Bakeries everywhere
Hatch men in gold underwear,
Replete with shortenin' grease,
Oh, my, Clarice, how divine!
Goes the bakers' clocks,
And from their smocks,
Fresh dollar bills for
Beefcakes, back for more,
In every flavor a tongue could savor:

Jocks, Rockers, Surfer Dudes,
In fondant-ured servitude,
To the whims of every quim
They're fallin' into tonight.
Puh-pop-pop-poppin' out, like Russian dolls;
Our rush enthralls,
So break out the frosting: Beefcake,
Back for more,
Till every cake erupts with a man and a dance floor.


Sticky 'n' wet, with a pink rosette.


Every bite's moist, every time.
Track Name: Diane
I can hear the shower running
Over you, Diane;
Steam all around you, like a choir.
Hot nights, moonlight,
Towel 'round your head;
Lithe limbs, warm skin,
Climbing into bed,
Maneuvering like poetry,
Over me, Diane;
Each limb, a stanza, and each
Inch, an iamb.
Bright eyes, find mine,
Through tangles of your hair;
Reach out, nine times,
Middle of the night, but you're not there,

The ship's wheel in my hands,
But I'm longing for dry land,
On a course I know I'll strand.
Praying awake at night you'll understand,
That a man just ain't a man,
Till he's back in your arms, Diane.

Tangle of bodies 'n' sheets, oh, what a feeling,
Of leaving your feet, while awayward, we're stealing,
Climbing so high, until our heads hit the ceiling again.

Can't let you get away,

Diane, I could've seen it coming
From here to old Cheyenne,
'Cause every time I play, I tip my hand.
All that water, spinning down the drain.
Still I bother, when only lonely suds remain, 'cause
I still hear the shower running, lonesome as I am;
It's running, far-from-over-you, Diane,
In cascades that made
Tiny rivulets,
Down your shoulders,
Face, and neck, and freckled breasts,

Track Name: Got a New Girl [Billy O. O'Day]
Billy's such a player, he deals himself three hands a game.
Never forgets the nape of a neck, but don't recall their name.
Talks to the women with an easy bluster,
Counters their rebuttals with a filibuster,
And a mixed drink;
Said he be layin' it on like Strauss wrote waltzes,
And layin' his pipe in anything with a pulse,
And it's fair to think
When his bedpost clink,

He got a new girl,
He always got a new girl;
Don't need the box of the tissues, or Penthouse,
The Silver Fox always finds himself a hen house,
He got a new girl,
He always got a new girl.

Billy got a way to get shot down, down, so many times.
Billy got a way to stay airborne and cruise over enemy lines.
Fullest of their bullets of any dude,
But the red lead of the lipstick tubes,
Only eggs him on;
Neither snicker nor sneer will steer him 'round,
Takes a bandolier-full to put him down.
By the end of the night
On his exit flight,

He'll have a new girl,
He'll always have a new girl,
Incredible, yes, but alas, it's true,
His tap of the ass is awaiting you,
He got a new girl,
He always got a new girl,
By the time you find all your clothes in the dark
He'll be out the door, looking for another mark,
And it's fair to say
That it's just his way.

Billy O. O'Day, Billy O. O'Day,
Doesn't give an "aw, schucks,"
Or half a cluck
What the neighbors say;
Spillin' Tanqueray
On the new duvet,
"It'll wash right out," say
Billy O. O'Day.

Billy O. O'Day, Billy O. O'Day,
With a chin-chuck, cab fare-forty bucks,
Send her on her way.
Her stockings frayed,
And a bed, unmade,
¿Is it all that's left of Billy O. O'Day?
Track Name: ¡Happy Birthday, Zalim! [An Armada of Root Beer Floats]
¡Happy Birthday, Zalim!
Born on a February morning,
Presumably somewhere in Turkey,
Or Midwestern Anywhere.

Some age much faster,
And some age reverse;
You're aging sideways,
Maybe you're age-averse?
Age, the age-old curse:
Only when it stops is it worse.


Streamers, pinatas, and
Small root beer floats
By the armada
For your friends and their folks.
Go get your presents,
They're beneath all the coats,
In the bedroom, so close
That you can't quite believe it, but almost.

¡Happy Birthday, Zalim!
Here is your cake and pie and ice cream;
Your coffee is steamed to Turkish perfection.

Wish I could be there, but your stepmom's the hitch:
See, she thinks I'm crazy,
And I know she's a bitch,
So I bought you this drumset
To drive her to drink.
It's louder than you'd think,
And I scratched the "-ildjan" off the cymbals, and in ink

Wrote "¡Happy Birthday, Zalim!"
So when you become a big rock drummer,
Toiling away in the bars of
Midwestern Anywhere,
Remember me,
Who, on a February morning,
Gave you the key to a weird, old kingdom.

¡Happy Birthday, Zalim!
¡Happy Birthday, Zalim!
¡Happy Birthday, Zalim!
Track Name: Take It Easy, Angelo
By the time you get this letter, I'll be halfway to L.A.;
By the time you write one back to me,
I'll be back again,
As you pace the circuit of city blocks,
Turning over and over again
In your mind, what you thought I'd think you'd say.
So strange that we, so fortunate,
Jump the fence for a new disarray,
Or a tailspin, so torturous,
That the pilots let loose a scream
Like never waking up from the dream,
But it's only ever heard inside of us anyway,

So take it easy, Angelo,
Take a breath, and let the world catch up;
If ever your fantasies run amok,
Take it easy, Angelo.
Take a little time to fill your cup,
Till you pour it all back out again,
And you're sleeping on our couch again.
Quit your wrangling, it'll untangle as we go,
So take it easy, Angelo.

By the time you read this letter, we'll be six feet in the grave;
By the time you get its message, we'll be born again,
On an Earth where Doomsdays are metaphors
For the dreams that we couldn't save
From our dead, or the other dreams we made,
While waiting for the time, the sign,
To heed, or proceed to promise,
But promises aren't real, you know.
They're an act of will, so let it go;
When you grab the bull by the balls, you know,
You're bound to get a hoof or a horn again to the face,


Maybe there's a way to get back home,
when it isn't your home anymore,
But all it ever does is undermine
the memory.
Change will always lie in wait
To even up the score;
Digging in your heels will only bring you enmity, little more.
So leave well enough alone,
Play your hunch every hand you throw,
And don't get your pantalones
In a bunch, Brother Angelo;
Being unafraid of losing is your ace in the hole.

All of your wrangling further entangles as we go,
So take it easy, Angelo.
Take it easy, Angelo.
Track Name: Massimo in the Underworld
¿Could it be that you and me got lost along the way,
From the barrio back to the gods?
¿Doncha think the wine we drink
Is somewhat-less-than-blessed?
Oh, nevermind Valhalla,
No, nevermind the rest.
My place is here, on the battlefield of Earth.
Don't try to take me away.
The taste of blood from every blow that I incur
Only drains the pain from out my veins,
For the day your ringing ears will hear me say,

Massimo, where you go I will follow:
Back to Earth, Underworld, or Atlanta;
City Streets sing the beat of Apollo, reborn
In their banter.

Waist-deep in all of it, and deeper by the day
¿Do we cut and run, or do we stay?
¿When the points we make require bullets to convey,
Doncha think we should rethink the game we play?

Without a fight, we're cast adrift, without a plan
In the Underworld's overgrowth.
We'll scale the vines and climb this jungle of the damned,
Toward the canopy, toward the panoply,
The light of day, or doom, or maybe both.


¿Maybe there's a switchback to follow up the hill,
Underneath the overgrowth of the mountainside?
We can scale the canyon walls, we've got two mules to ride...
Massimo, find that break in the ice,
Spinning away the current's might, as
Massimo swims back up to the light;
¿Can any man converse with ghosts,
Or traverse terrains impossible?
¡Massimo! ¡Massimo!
The Underworld is calling,

"¡Massimo, where you go I will follow:
Back to Earth, high above, or Atlanta!
Every shadow you cast is Apollo, undone by his cantors
Seeking the answer;
Massimo, down we go on adventures,
Through the shades we abate with our lanterns;
Back on Earth, we're immersed,
As servants, indentured to the answer...

"We're still underground," I hear you say.