There's a sound faint in my dream I hear in the waking day Like a whisper behind my ear Or a scream ten miles away A billion years of pressure Have laid pebbles side by side Yet a whisper like a prayer Will make two stones collide I'm not about relations I'm not about control There is no word for silence There is no breath like soul PK © 13 VI 99

There are poles along the highway Some tall some short like darts Some almost next together Some many miles apart I guess at how they got there Maybe fallen from the sky Or could they have once raised flags To have held them out to dry There are no paper trails here There are no giant schemes The poles are held together By the spaces in between I'm not about conditions Extending my parole There is no breath like silence There is no word for soul PK © 29 VI 99

I'm standing on the northland highway There's a red moon down the road I'm standing on the northland highway There's a red moon down the road I can hear the midnight coming The sun went down ten days ago I dreamed about the last time I saw you There were tears in the sky I dreamed about the last time I saw you There were tears in the sky I just don't remember Whether it was September or July I'm watching the northern lights a-flashing Green ribbons overhead I'm watching the northern lights a-flashing Green ribbons overhead I can see them changing colours Just like the last words you said I'm standing on the northland highway A thousand miles past your door I'm standing on the northland highway A thousand miles past your door And I'm about to go somewhere That I've never been before PK © 17 III 99

This is what they call r'n'r Sitting on a barstool, looking for a bar They look as though they missed the downtown train They make as if they'd seen it all again I left my first name scratched on the table To make as if it was going anywhere Maybe they will sell it at some garage sale To someone who will make as if to care The violins are scratching in the forests They echo like there's many more than one I will not dare to go and try to find it For I'm afraid it's in the shadow of the sun I called the dogs and I listened for the barking The sound was naked like the northern wind 'Cause in the city you can't find no parking And you can't get into church unless you sinned I left my colours, I left all my abstractions And went to a place where I could see my sight I looked into the sun and its abstractions And all that I could see was black and white So this is all just another use for leisure time This is all just time on everybody's hands Just waiting for it to come down to the wire To cut your teeth on all the iron strands And it's such a trip to be aware of nothing Such a thing with nothing on the mind Indefinitely waiting in the sunlight If I stand here long enough I could be blind PK © 18 VIII 99

Tumbling down I'm tumbling down The grass covered bridges I'm tumbling down Rocking ahead Rocky to town Grass covered bridges I'm tumbling down Travelling fore Rolling around I've taken a chance I found on the ground Cloudy behind The clock on the run I'll soon be below The horizonless sun Tumbling down I'm tumbling down The grass covered bridges I'm tumbling down Rocking ahead Rocky to town Grass covered bridges I'm tumbling down PK © 22 I 99

Make things happen Gotta make things happen Money is burning up World is turning around Running on empty Feels like I'm running on empty Gotta make things happen Before you run out of luck Before you run out of time My heart is stolen I think my heart is stolen But who it is I don't know No I don't know who it is Water towers I see old water towers Gotta make things happen Gotta make things happen PK © 8 VIII 1998

Butterflies, butterflies Leave shadows on a gravel road Signs of life in dead man's eyes Shadows on a gravel road Ghosts of wind, a passing breeze Like souls that have been unified Dead man lies before my knees I daydream, chasing butterflies Butterflies, butterflies Leave shadows on a gravel road Signs of life in dead man's eyes Shadows on a gravel road

It's a level operator Operating on many different levels It's a silence elevator Moving many different levels at a time I wake up in the morning Looking so despondent and dishevelled I wake up in the morning Somewhere between seventeen and nine Prying into hardened facts Hardened and hot off the press Prying into hardened facts And why should I expect any less Prying into hardened facts Until the sun goes down Prying into hardened facts Until the sun goes down It's a beating instigator With another homegrown belief Like a vision revelator With nothing more than two left hands It's a trouble shot locator With a blessing for a guess in advance You know that you want it You just can't put your finger on it PK © 28 X 99 Hart House

(Here it goes... ) (17 II 98) My roomie doesn't want me sitting here He doesn't like me drinking all his beer He doesn't like me sitting in his chair He doesn't like me picking at my hair My roomie says I leave a greasy knob He says that I should get myself a job And even though I didn't burn the kettle He says it's up to me to clean the metal My roomie doesn't like me in his room He says he always has to wash my spoons It's my job to take out the trash, but now it's too late He always says I never pull my weight My roomie hates it when I eat his grub He says I always foul up the tub I smoke and drink and haven't got a cent He says I'm inconsistent with the rent My roomie doesn't like my girlfriend, Nora He says she always has a sour aura He hates it when I take his lava lamp He says I always leave the bathroom damp My roomie doesn't like my musical bowels He hates it when I foul up his towels He doesn't like me picking at my lice He hates it that his mother thinks I'm "nice" My roomie doesn't like me when I'm drunk He says he once had to pull me out of a trunk He doesn't like me bringing home my friends He accuses them for [sic] scratching up his Benz My roomie hates the records that I play Ringo Starr and Billie Holiday He hates the noise and say's the walls are thin He hates it when the neighbours think it's him My roomie hates to find me in his bed When I wake up his face is always red He's embarrassed when his parents come to town He hates it when they see me in his gown My roomie hates to witness his parents' blindness He says I take advantage of their kindness He hates it when I ask about his dates He hates it when I ask how much he makes My roomie doesn't like to see me naked He always says that to me, nothing is sacred He hates me and my People magazines He doesn't want me frying up his beans My roomie always beats me at Monopoly He says it's 'cause I play the game so sloppily He hates it that I once got him convicted He says we're lucky we don't get evicted My roomie says he hates my psychobabble He says he's bored at beating me at Scrabble (19 II 98) He hates it when I watch his television In fact, his words are nothing but derision My roomie is allergic to my pharots [sic] [I couldn't spell ferrets] He says my cats are beating up his parrot He says I never change the kitty litter He always says my attitude is bitter My roomie hates it when I take his keys He yells at me for never asking please He's confounded that my outlook is so placid He even hates it when I drop his acid My roomie hates it when I steal his pills He hates it when he has to pay my bills He doesn't like me burning up his candles He doesn't like me chewing on his sandals [page turn] My roomie hates it when I interrupt He says I try to make his friends corrupt He hates my girlfriend bumming 'round the residence He hates it when I try to hide the evidence My roomie hates it that I never shower He hates it when I leave the milk to sour He hates it that I never blow my nose He's disgusted when I wear my pantyhose My roomie thinks I'm living in a quandary He hates to have to separate our laundry He hates it when I try to make him pasta He hates it when I try to call him "Masta" My roomie hates it when I stuff the toilet He hates it that I always overboil it He hates it when I eat his peanut butter He hates me every time I try to stutter My roomie's irritated by my farts He doesn't like me poking at his art He hates it every time I paint the ceiling He says I never care about his feelings My roomie doesn't like me making coffee He hates it when I stick around his toffee He doesn't like me lighting all his matches Whatever cold I get, he always catches My roomie doesn't want to see my boogers He hates it when I address his mother as "sugar" He hates it when I call his father "pappy" He hates it that his parents look so happy My roomie hates me evening, noon and morning My roomie hates me even when I'm snoring He hates it that it makes him feel so gloomy And that is when he is not a very good roomie PK © 1998 [Typing out these lyrics now has revealed a number of continuity errors in the text, so I think it's best to consider this a composite sketch.]