nobody_home e anela / alala ©1979, Waters/Gilmour/Mason/Wright I've got a little black book with my poems in I've got a bag with a toothbrush and a comb When i'm a good dog they sometimes throw me a bone in I've got elastic bands keepin' my shoes on Got those swollen-hand blues I've got thirteen channels of shit on the TV to choose from I've got electric light and i got second sight I've got amazing powers of observation that is how i know when i try to get through on the telephone to you there'll be nobody home I've got the obligatory Hendrix perm And the inevitable pinhole burns All down the front of my favourite satin shirt I've got nicotine stains on my fingers I've got a silver spoon on a chain Got a grand piano to prop up my mortal remains I've got wild, staring eyes And i got a strong urge to fly But i've got nowhere to fly to Oooh babe, when i pick up the phone there's still nobody home 011223 ... newme hobbity gnome 040715 ... Unrecognized no, they just have caller ID and are shunninhg you. 040715 ... shower singer but me. And this is not my home. I feel so strange in this place. My things aren't here. I don't know where they keep the saucepans. I can't work out how to turn the heater on. The cat won't talk to me. 040715 ... lacunas coil and the phone line goes dead as i sit there longing for a voice. should i walk and listen to the drunken talks up and down elgin tonight? there's nobody home when i call you, but i see through the clouds and sigh. tonight i sing to you, with my words stretching to the sky from the arms of jesus rock. 040716 ... birdmad blathed under one of my oldest pairs of internet screen names ages ago, heh. 080819 what's it to you? who go blather from