Paint the Night

Lyrics by Alan Arkley

Copyrighted 1985 by Alan Arkley

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Dedicated with many thanks to

Everyone involved in this effort

The Festival of Love

Down in old Sonora , the market-place is bare;

A mongrel with one ear ambles in the square.

A bottle of tequila sits empty on a chair;

One dead hen and a shoe make a handsome pair.

But there's no one there

To usher in the coming

Or to ward off the beast;

No sinner, no saint,

No dreamer, no priest.

The sun is a vacant eye staring from above,

And locked in the cathedral is the Festival of Love...

The Festival came here three months ago;

The mariachi's played and put on a show.

Then they entered the church with the children in tow,

And left the place to God and one black crow.

Now there's no one there

To usher in the coming

Or to ward off the beast;

No sinner, no saint,

No dreamer, no priest.

The sun is a vacant eye staring from above,

And locked in the cathedral is the Festival of Love...

In a many colored cape and a suit of white

The stranger gave the mongrel a dreadful fright;

The dog barked twice and decided not to fight,

As the stranger prayed, then dissolved in light.

Now there's no one there

To usher in the coming

Or to ward off the beast;

No sinner, no saint,

No dreamer, no priest.

The sun is a vacant eye staring from above,

And locked in the cathedral is the Festival of Love...

Locked in the cathedral is the Festival of Love,

Locked in the cathedral is the Festival of Love…

My Rock Garden

My rock garden is looking pretty fine.

I've watered it with a thousand tears,

I've planted rocks,

Raked and weeded,

For thirty-five long years.

I show my rock garden to all my dearest friends.

We sit and drink fine lemon tea,

From china cups,

With sugar lumps,

Two for them, and one for me.

My rock garden has a bristle-cone pine.

Its trunk is like an old dry bone;

It's still alive,

Standing in a corner,

Looking very much alone.

But there's one anomaly

In this loveliness so stark;

It sprouted in the center,

It started as a lark...

It waves in the breeze,

Gently as if lazy;

It's touched with blue,

This mad, purple daisy...

My rock garden looks a little strange.

I say I'll pull that daisy up,

Only to go

And water it

With a broken loving cup.

It's a remnant of the past,

It sprouted in the middle

Of geometry so perfect

That it hurt me just a little...

It grew there in the hour

That I fell for you,

This brave, purple daisy

With just a hint of blue...

Soon I'll let my rock garden go to weed.

I'll let the grass climb three feet deep;

And one warm

Summer's afternoon

I'll sing myself to sleep...

Nothing Matters

We met one night on Fillmore Street ,

You brought us drinks for two;

The street-lights through the window

Made the night seem blue...

You spoke of your one go-round,

How she left you all alone;

How you passed on self-pity,

Though you made your heart a stone...

But then your hand flew to your hair,

And made a gesture in the air,

You sat back deep in your chair,

And though your eyes were older and sadder,

You said as if you meant it, nothing really matters...

I went home dissatisfied

With time enough to think;

I thought of what was said,

Thinking, "There's a missing link."

I saw a bit of me in you,

And how I had been cut;

How when I couldn't enter

I had locked the door completely shut.

We met at times in Chinatown ,

I thought I got to you;

It was over reading fortunes

That I told you the news...

But you were sad and getting sadder,

And I finally admitted that nothing really matters...

'Cause, babe, your hand flew to your hair,

And made a gesture in the air,

You sat back deep in your chair,

And though your eyes were older and sadder,

You said as if you meant it, nothing really matters...

Spin That Wheel

Musician, poet, man of letters,

He don't think too much of his betters.