1. These Destinations Well I’ve been on the lonesome road That cuts clean through Ontario And winds its way out west to where The trees turn every shade except a shade of white. And once a wise man told me that This thing we call the lonesome road Is not so very lonesome if We only learn to listen to the radio. But thirty stations come and go, And bridges made of static stand Between the destinations of A broken-up and tangled little countryside. And all the little farmers’ fields Are alternating green and brown And yellow back to green and brown And yellow back to green and brown and yellow ’Til the light is gone, And I’ve watched these destinations for a long time. Stop: The girls here in Vancouver Are all customized and metal-ringed And peaceably assembled in The smoky basement of a hippie factory. And over in Victoria, They read phantasmagoria And go to bed so early that The downtown bars are empty as the homeless hats. The retirees and old Chevelles Have all seen tours of duty; they Remember when the world was just A pocketful of countries in an unknown sky, And a woman bought with box-tops by A man tattooed with nightmares is The only thing that’s left of all The promises of places that a road can buy. Soon the road is gone, And I’ve watched these destinations for a long, long time. So I met this girl and fell in love; She had a cat the colour of The light that sprays across my arm When first the sun gives way from day to twilight’s glow. Her mind was sharp as broken glass And, God, she held on tight to me, And every word she said was like A knife that stabbed my sorrow in its filthy heart. Well, I’ve been on the lonesome road That slashes through Ontario, And, empty as a homeless hat, I’ve reached the understanding that I love her so. And once a wise man told me that This thing we call the lonesome road Is not so very lonesome if We let our heart direct us where it wants to go. But the road goes on, And she’ll be my destination for a long, long time. Still the road goes on, And she’ll be my destination for a long, long time.

2. Aubade “You can’t break a broken doll,” She said behind a riptide smile. She had a heat could take the paint off walls Like it was going out of style. “I had a run-in with the chapel bell,” She said, “left me deaf to Auld Lang Syne. I had an old man up the coast a spell, used to beat me with a book of rhymes.” She lit a smoke by the trainyard fence; Her hair was autumn brown. She said, “I know that it don’t make much sense, But I gotta get out of this town. I love a man who’s up in Misery Bay and I believe it’s killing me. God knows I’ve got to get away Before the Devil knows I’m free.” And there’s maybe nothing so sad As a morning like an aubade, Lying an old bed, Gold on eyes that open, Dreams like dying embers, So hard to remember, Frozen there in amber— Maybe that’s not so bad; I just want you to know that. Conversations with the dial tone Are a one-way street at best, But trade your land-line for a cell phone: You’ll learn the meaning of depressed. I still love all the years we didn’t have before she had to go, and I said, “Can we ever do this all again sometime?” She said: “I’ll write to let you know.” And there’s maybe nothing so sad As a morning like an aubade, Lying an old bed, Gold on eyes that open, Dreams like dying embers, So hard to remember, Frozen there in amber— Maybe that’s not so bad. I just want you to know that A morning like an aubade, Lying an old bed, Gold on eyes that open, Dreams like dying embers, So hard to remember, Frozen there in Amber— Maybe that’s not so bad; I just want you to know that.

3. When A White Dove Dies When a white dove dies In a tinsel nest off the tractor road, It’s a heavy load on the local crows When a white dove dies When a white ship flies From a crowded port to an unknown shore, It’s a hardship for those who live indoors When the white ship flies. In your Sunday tie and your Sunday dress As you’re wonderin’ why on this day of rest The whole red Earth is wrong, And a child of five rages in your chest And she beats at the cage of your Sunday best, And you know she’s locked behind the bars of a song. When the white moon rises and bathes your face With the light of shame, All light is not to blame: there are rays of Grace blazing just the same. And the white stars trying to pierce the night with their diamond-tipped gaze, In the falling light they will find their way When a white dove dies. And a woman lies On the railroad ties And she counts the stars ’til she’s in the skies And she won’t come down, And a child of five Drowning in her eyes Tries to smash the glass till her prison cries, But she won’t break down, If there’s one white lie In this carousel of a one-horse town, It’s that every horse keeps a steady course As it courses ’round. But there are so few lights in these endless nights, and so few arrive, And every soul alive is a child of five when a white dove dies.

4. Arrowheads This ground is full of money; Andy tips the blonde another five. She puts us in the booth that overlooks the silent green: It’s good to be alive. We’re never going to finish up here; The spills will shut them down before they’re done. These skeletons we’re building on this rumour of a road They’re all just for fun. We’re just digging up arrowheads, Playing with toys; Our smiles are as wide As the sandbox is wide As the mountainside, Miles wide For all you prideful boys. Now they’re sayin’ this dirt is sacred ground, But my family is sacred to me. I don’t know law, I don’t know politics; I only know the job: overtime ain’t free. So maybe this wasn’t our hill, And just maybe our machines don’t belong, But maybe there’s somebody getting richer somewhere else For something more wrong. Hey man, we’re just digging up arrowheads, Playing with toys playing with toys, Our smiles are as wide has the sandbox is wide As the mountainside, Miles wide For all you prideful boys.

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6. Love Is In The Air Tonight Well, the servers’ skirts are shorter here Than the sets between the breaks As the TV poker dealer Flips the flops and ups the stakes; The old men clutch their tickets While the young ones clutch their beers, And they share a glance in passing Thrown across the sea of years. And Levon’s in his city shirt— He’s slithering up the bar— All the girls who know are scattering Like a flock before a car. He rolls them in his snake eyes And he says he “likes their style” While he saws through their resolve With his prepared piano smile. And the jukebox sings again, And the carpet stains are Arthur Murray footsteps And the dance begins again… Love is in the air tonight, In the air tonight You can smell its desperate trail, oh, Restless beings searching for delight, Love is in the air tonight, so try not to inhale. The boys who work construction In their checquered flannel shirts Draw a dotted line of double shots And down ’em till it hurts, While the college grad behind the bar Came home to spin the wheel; Now he spends his evenings pouring drinks, His weekdays pouring steel. There’s Hettie from the Market in her brand new coat of face, With her lips of Lexus burgundy and slips of Texas lace, She’s eyein’ that bartender; and he knows he’ll never see Another champion champagne Havisham half so ravishing as she. And the jukebox sings again, &c. I remember you from Saturday when I was playing late, And I do believe you’re chasing me… Or am I chasing you now? So hard to keep it straight… Would you like to have a drink with me? I don’t know who you are tonight Behind your press-on smile; We’re just dying embers in the dark But that should last us for a while. And the jukebox sings again, &c. Restless beings searching for the light, Love is in the air tonight—so try not to inhale.

7. Getting Bloody When I was just a little lad, My mother said to me: “I’ll take you to the playground, son, But stay where I can see.” She parked it on a park bench Where the gravel met the mud, And playtime wasn’t over Till my shirt was caked with blood. Rusty nails and hollow logs, Old grey wood and strangers’ dogs, Getting bloody, [GETTING BLOODY!] Getting bloody. [GETTING BLOODY!] Trying not to get half killed Made our children better skilled: Getting bloody [GETTING BLOODY!] Taught us all how to not get dead. We learned to play upon the steel, We learned upon the dirt, We learned the strength to hang on tight ’Cause falling actually hurt, We played with sticks and took our licks As happy as could be; My Mom said, “if you lose an eye, Then don’t come crying to me!” Rusty nails, &c. Sure, we got some splinters from the wood, Some red burns from the slide; We got a little battered But nobody ever died, But then one day the dozers came: I thought they were fantastic, Until they tore the playground up And put down molded plastic! They told us they “believed in us.” That clearly wasn’t true: They don’t trust us to run and play The way a child should do Without their firm neurotic hand To coddle and condemn. Now for the sake of blessed safety We’ll be stuck on the bench with them. And now the playground sits unused For everyone to see; We stay indoors to get abused By smartphones and T.V., But back behind the parking lot I’ve found a deep ravine; The rocks and rotten logs there Are the best you’ve ever seen, Rusty nails, &c. Getting bloody [GETTING BLOODY!] Taught us how to stay alive!

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9. Duncan Street Ruby It’s a sin to be seen after dark in this town, In the mouths of the widows who talk. It’s a crime after sunset to come wandering down Past the storefronts to silently stalk, So in twilight we come, when the light’s burning low Like a yard fire that’s dying with no place to go. There are nights, there are days, when everything’s grey Like a half-rendered dream in the night, From the words of my wife to the years of my life I have milled into sawdust and spite. But she gave me her hand as we stood on the stair, And I swear I saw gold in the gold of her hair. Oh my Duncan Street Ruby, Where can you be—where can you be? And she says the big city’s just a prison for pretty girls— But they have no chains, Only nurses and shelters with angels for your veins, And the faces keep changing there; nobody knows you— At least, no one who pays. In this town, she’s a shadow, a rouge desperado— All she can count are the days. It’s a long shroud of fog on the water tonight All the islands are lost in the dusk It’s a cold northern wind ’round my collar at the light Where it picks up the grit and the dust And the sun’s going down on the hills to the west— Then she’s laying her curls on their shadowy breast. My Duncan Street Ruby, Where can you be—where can you be? Now the night has come down; all the young folks are out, Huddled close ’round their joints in the dark. For the ghost of an hour, I’ve been drifting about, Like a dry leaf in search of a spark. Guess she’s finally gone, to the needle or the brine, To the white bed for one at the end of her line. My Duncan Street Ruby, Where can you be—where can you be?

10. End of Grace You told us you were leaving. I never could believe: There’s no one left so decent As to give us time to grieve, But there’s nowhere left for poets On the hot side of the Pearly Gates. It was a civil and a proper hour To make an end of grace. The magic’s in the music And the relic’s in the word; I hope you will forgive me When I find it all absurd How we fight for your fedora, Casting lots for your last shoelace— It’s in our nature, I suppose, This tattered, shabby end of grace. I thought we were above it; I thought that we could learn, But we’re counting up their silver While the blazing crosses burn. It’s the night of the Thorns, It’s the hour of the upturned face, Half a minute to midnight And the pyrotechnic end of grace. There ain’t no more detention In the classrooms after school: You can’t have contravention Once you overrule the rules, And they’re teaching all the man-cubs To pickpocket second base: In the rocket’s red glare, You just grab ’em by the end of grace. It’s standing in the closet. It’s drinking every night. It can’t abide the darkness But it doesn’t know the light Because they stole its sacred pronoun— Maybe pawned it for a laugh someplace— Now it’s one small step for an end— Of grace. First they break your leg. Then they break the crutch. We’re just delicate angels. Doesn’t take very much. They Krazy Glue™ your heart pills shut Just to watch your face. It takes such tiny little things To make an end of grace. Today they stand united On a mountaintop of skulls— The old men for their terror, The young ones “for the lulz.” They adopt a daughter standard And they’re day-trading future dates, Where with such little things They sport to make an end of grace. I dreamed I was a meteor A thousand miles wide. My body hit the lithosphere And everybody died. Pheidippides himself Was never happier to end a race. It made for good T.V. And a strangely fitting end of grace. I wish I was the Darkness. I wish I never woke. I wish I could forget About the thousand times you spoke. But the weeds are spawning heroes Who are called to these drowning days. So I stand with broken heart and open arms, I stand with open heart and broken arms, I stand with broken heart and open arms, here, At the end of grace.

12. Inuksuk You can hear the porch bulb hummin’ As you sit beside her sweatin’ And you think of goin’ home, ’Cause she’s the kind of girl Who waits until the weddin’ In a young man’s eyes. When all you got’s a hammer, well, The whole world is your nail. You got an ‘’81 Camaro, son, The old town gets to feelin’ like a jail In a young man’s eyes. You’d like to think that you could save her If you take her from this town, From this land the good Lord gave her, This home that she built on hallowed ground, But you know that she’s no highway, Your Inuksuk in her polyester gown. Now she had a lover long ago Who moved across the water. Oh, he never found his fortune, But he set down roots The day he saw his daughter In a young girls’s eyes. When all you got’s a single shot, You don’t never wait for better: Plant your seeds where they have fallen; Plant your kisses on a laser-printed letter For a young girl’s eyes. And when she asks you if you’re leaving too, You don’t want to let her down, Watch her face fall down like ashes, Watch the spindle of her future come unwound, But you know that she’s no highway, This Inuksuk on the edge of her hometown. When all you got’s a cell phone, Your whole world is a cell, But a shining three-inch window’s Big enough to see she’s just not sleeping well, Even with a young man’s eyes. The thing about a settler is He’s never really home. All the highway is his poison; It’s the only thing his bones have ever known— Except a young girl’s eyes. She wants to keep on keeping on; She’ll settle for the chance to settle down In her diamond-ring world, Shining bright although it’s not so big around. She will wait for you forever, Your Inuksuk, weather-beaten, homeward bound.

12. The Only Thing The only thing that broke the glass (And smoke and mirrors fade so fast) Was when you said, “I do love you”: There’s no denying the obvious now, child. The only thing that ever hurt Was how you said, “I do love you,” Like I didn’t already know, Like I couldn’t feel the wind blowing, As if there was some other spark inside That could have kept me going. After miles and miles of angels’ tears And lotus smiles of ten long years We realize what matters Are these seventy-seven things called love, Which make us mad, mad as hatters. The only thing I want from you Already grows inside me Like a river, like a holy river, Cold and grey, And if you dam the water The water just finds another way.

13. Queen Of The North She was born in the harbour of Germany’s port, The shipyards of Bremen her watery womb, And in spite of her thirty-eight years on the sea, To the shame of investors in Coastal B.C., The Queen of the North’s a notorious tomb, Ah, the Queen of the North is a tomb. It was ’round about midnight, the first day of spring (2006 was the year of the crime), The winds in the Passage were cresting gale force, And the Queen of the North was four miles off her course— And where was the captain for all of that time? He just wasn’t on deck at the time. And a company memo from some years before Set out these requirements for captain and crew: “In case some buffoon falls asleep at the switch, We call for three certified hands on the bridge.” And the pilot and watchman, they didn’t make two— Those two didn’t even make two. Now the logbooks are missing; the inquests are closed— So no one can tell how the helmswoman failed To notice an island out there in the dark Sixty-eight times the size of New York’s Central Park As onward the ship of fools merrily sailed, As onward it merrily sailed. Well, perhaps she was rattled that night at the helm: This was, after all, her first shift with her ex, For he was the other man there at her side, And they’d just broken up—or else said so to hide The twelve minutes they’d spent having steaming hot coffee, All alone on the bridge having coffee. Now the helmswoman tried—we must hope—to change course: And the ship’s autopilot turned off with one knob, But the voyage was fated—and fate must be blind— For you can’t fall asleep at a switch you can’t find. But at least those computers were doing their job, Well, at least they were doing their job. So the ship ran aground on Gil Island that night, Bearing fifty-nine passengers, forty-two crew. That’s a tenth of the maximum passenger load, And to this happy number a miracle’s owed, For the crewmen who counted forgot only two, And the sea claimed the lives of just two. And their deaths were a tragedy, you can be sure, Like the twelve hundred barrels of fuel in the tank That painted the whitecaps a rainbow array And poisoned the shellfish throughout Hartley Bay, But the real disaster came after it sank— The real tragedy, after it sank. For songs have been written since mid-1912, Of the voyages fated and ships that were lost, Of the hundreds who died when the good ship set forth— But only two died on the Queen of the North, And the Company knew it could swallow the cost, Aye, it knew it could swallow the cost. That’s only two mothers deprived of a child, It’s only four orphans to wish they had lived, And 108 Mile House a speck on the map, An electoral district whose votes aren’t worth crap, So there’s no need to help all those families forgive— There’s no need to make families forgive. Soon the families came to seek justice in court, But the case was a case that the courts wouldn’t try Without fifty grand in upfront legal fees— That’s the price now to see and be seen in B.C. (And I’ve heard a good verdict costs twice that to buy; A good verdict costs twice that to buy). Soon an out-of-court settlement flushed down the pipes, And the families went home to an emptier town. Now the Queen of the North lies an infamous wreck, With Shirley and Gerald, asleep below deck, In peace, undisturbed by the roar of the Sound, Undisturbed by the roar of the Sound. She was born in the harbour of Germany’s port, The shipyards of Bremen her watery womb, But in spite of her thirty-eight years on the sea, To the shame of investors in Coastal B.C., The Queen of the North’s a notorious tomb, Ah, the Queen of the North is a tomb.

14. Shades of Summer If I should tell you the shades of summer I’ve seen welling in her eyes, I think you’d realize you ‘d have to hold her tight And never let her go I hope you never know the shades of summer Softly blooming in her voice. You wouldn’t have a choice, You’d have to keep her close And tell her to be true. If I could tell you the shades of Summer I’ve felt tangled in her hair, I think you’d have to care; You’d beg her timid heart To let you come inside. And so I have to hide the shades of summer I’ve seen flashing in her dance. I wouldn’t have a chance; you’d fill her heart with joy And never set her free. But in her dreams she dreams of knives, Of knives and of shadows long, We are fools with foolish lives But it seems we have in dreams A “shadow life” where nothing’s wrong, Nothing’s ever wrong… If she could tell you the shades of summer She’s been painting in her mind, I think that she might find Another colour made for painting in the shade. It never should be said that shades of summer Never fade and never bleed, Or that they never need to hear their names aloud, To know that they were seen. In her dreams she dreams of knives, My knives and my shadows long, We are fools with foolish lives, But it seems we have in dreams A “shadow life” where nothing’s wrong, Nothing’s ever wrong… If I should tell you the shades of summer Softly blooming in her voice. You wouldn’t have a choice, You’d have to keep her close And tell her to be true (to you).

15. The Well Well, the big city water’s got nothin’ on home; It’s drawn from strange lakes under alien skies, And I dream—when I dream—the pipes carry me home To come back and drink from the well of your eyes. Now the kids run to school, and the years run to years, But my soul is a well, and the well has run dry; If a man could pay rent and get by drinking tears, I would come back and drink from the well of your eyes. All the races I’ve run for the money, All the things I have done for the fame… Well, you might find it funny, But I find you doin’ the same, Well, the world here’s the dog, and my head is the bone; If I ever get chewed on enough to get wise, I will lay down my burden and leave it alone— I will come back and drink from the well of your eyes. There are times I have fallen for money, There are times I went all in for fame, But at my most fallen, You still find me callin’ your name, Sometimes love is just doin’ the best that you can, And we both understand that the love never dies, Though you’ll be an old woman, and I an old man, When I come back and drink from the well of your eyes, When I come back and drink from the well of your eyes.

16. One More Song We used to spend our days Thinkin’ of the ways That we could leave this town behind. No sooner than we do, We end up feelin’ blue, For the troubles that we leave here are troubles still in mind, And we all want out, That’s what it’s all about, But you never do leave home, I find: You might walk a lonely road, You might bear a heavy load, But your home is just a melody that time cannot erode, So play me one more song To last the whole year long, And I’ll see you when the summer rain comes calling, When the muggy weekend breeze Spins samaras from the trees And old friends spin their stories set to melodies like these. Child, don’t you cry, And don’t you say goodbye: You never find a way to get a way to get away. We’re never really gone; We may say we’re moving on, But we’ll be rained on before long on the same rainy day, We’ll be rained on soon on some same rainy day.

17. Parking Lot At Dawn You can have another hour; Don’t you worry ’bout the time. I’ll get up and make the coffee, For I’ve got something on my mind. Down below the bedroom window, In the parking lot at dawn, Everybody’s going somewhere; Everyone’s just tryin’ to get there— Well, everybody’s movin’ on. All the promises that I can make All the words that I might find to say, Maybe all we have is time to take— But I want to take that time. All the lonely nights that we have spent, No need to call ’em rushing back again, Rushin’ back again. Days of love don’t last forever, But I will never be unkind. I can hear them in the morning In the pickup trucks below, Leased-to-buy on speculation Of the places they will go. Everyone’s in such a hurry, But it’s all the same to me: When we peel out on the pavement, We’re all victims of enslavement To the folks we’re tryin’ to be. And all the promises that we can make, All the words that we might find to say, Maybe all we have is time to take— But I want to take that time. All the lonely nights that we have spent, No need to call them rushing back again, Rushing back again, For I may not always love you— But I will never be unkind. You can have another hour; Don’t you worry ’bout the time. For I may not always love you, But I will never be unkind. Yes, I will never be unkind.