Words and Music by Brian McCaskil

Dirty


Brian McCaskill

Dirty Filthy Jersey!
Dirty sunrise to dirty sunset
Filthy Jersey
peering over dirty clouds covering dirty ground
I look to my dirty home - seems like dirty miles
and dirty years since I’ve been clean

I can still see him rising that hill
waiting for spring to pass - drunk, dirty spring
Looking over our heads - I can do that you know
I can be miles in the air and look down at our dirty faces
and I can see everything from my bird’s eye
and from up here we don’t look so tall
from up here we don’t seem so cool
she doesn’t seem so lovely when I look at her this way
She seems dirty

Oh! You Dirt! Dirt on hands!
Dirt on FACES! Pretty FACES!
Cry over this dirty girl and dirty boy
Cry over this dirty drug - dirty kiss
I’m known all this
I’ve seen all this I’ve seen this all through the yellow glass
(Dirty yellow glass, of course)
I’ve known more troubles than this
and I’ve been farther away than this

I’ve seen beautiful minds turn dirty
And I’ve been sad every time I’ve seen it
I watched dirty bombs on the dirty television
killing dirty people (they must be dirty people)
And I’ve seen dirty smiles
And I’ve dreamed of being the enemy
And smiling when America is free

I’ve hated every white, American male
Protestant Male (of course, I include myself in this hatred)
And I’ve cursed my ancestors - dirty ancestors
And again, I’ve dreamed of loving the enemy
And I’ve hated myself for loving the enemy
And I often get tired of this hatred and fall asleep confused
Still, I look down and love what I see

And I don’t feel too bad anymore when I wake up
And the dirty sun comes shining in
on my dirty face
and I re-dream my dirty (but, beautiful) dreams

(On Thursday night, I think on Thursday night,
I had a violent dream where I was in a parking lot,
in Toms River, and a lot of people were there,
I and was fighting and cursing,
And I shouldn’t have been there, but I think,
Everyone one there hated my and my company
So I fell down punching him in the face
Because I hated him
And the pavement was dirty
I don’t know how bad he was hurt)

And sometimes I see familiar (or un-familiar
I don’t know) faces in big crowds, and stop
and get ready
to say “hello”
but don’t because no one is there
And I sit down and wonder where that face is

And you can find wonderful things in the minds of strangers
And on some nights I lay awake and look at the window
And my room seems strange tonight because I don’t sleep here
often anymore
But I sit up and stare at the window and pretend I can see
through dirty trees
Stare hard! I’m trying!
And with my face to the floor I look at the rug
(I don’t know why)
And
you can go around and see lots of things in lots of places
and you can see monuments if you want
And you can see Bob Dylan on stage in Madison Square Garden
on November 19th 2001
or you can some band (I’m sorry, I don’t remember the name of this band,
and if I did, I wouldn’t want admit it or say it)
on some stage when you were younger
and you can find Hank Williams on some road to West Virginia
and you can be sad about it
and you can meet the ghost of Jack Kerouac on Main Street on Halloween
when I was 14 (I swear it was him, I went home and cried and didn’t tell anybody)
and you can find Sleater-Kinney in New York City
on February 15th, 2003, for $22.50, at the Roseland Ballroom
or
you can find them all in Brian McCaskill’s bedroom
on Brian McCaskill’s mattress
at 4:12 in the morning when I can’t see through the trees
dirty trees
And you can watch me sleep on this crowded mattress
and I’m finally tired
Shhhhhh............


Febuary, 2003