KRISTEENYOUNG

Music For Strippers, Hookers, and the Odd On-looker

Son Of Man

The Depression Contest

Stop Thinking

Everybody Wants Me To Cry

You Must Love Me

That’s What It Takes, Dear

I Won’t Be Home for Christmas

Comfort Is Never a Goal

He’s Sickened By My Crude Emotion

Lily Sincere

Keyboard Like A Gun

If You Marry Him

Protestant

Halfway Across The Atlantic Ocean

Son Of Man

Never again will I let you in.
Never again. Never again.
Not by the flair of your cheeky chin-chin.
Never again, on a whim, my house blown-in.

I, once, swallowed you.
Then, you swallowed me.
Now it’s all just shit, Son.

Never again will you get within.
Never again. Never again.
Vision impaired by your Trojan slick gifts.
Never again will I forget my war path.

I’ve been at your feet
and above your head.
But, I’m of your side, Son.

Never again can I have a friend.
Never again. Never again.
My mouth will care with a peck of a kiss.
But, never again: open-lipped, heart-full-access.

If I can’t talk to you,
you can’t talk to me.
I’m not your employee, Son.

I gave my all to you.
You took my best and left.
You’re just another man, Son.

Son.

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The Depression Contest

My pain is more abstract…na, na, na, na
and greater than yours.
My tears are more nuanced…na, na, na, na
and deeper than yours.
So, pity me. Harder, pity me. Faster, pity ME.
My story’s an epic…na, na, na, na,
Forget telling yours.

You can try,
but your stock strife
won’t win my
Depression Contest.

My parents were absent…na, na, na, na
and meaner than yours.
The damage was glamourous…na, na, na, na
and SOOO more than yours.
That’s why I’m this…why I can’t do that…why I’m just not…THIS.
My reasons are precious…na, na, na, na.
and better than yours.

You can try.
You can cut and slice.
It’s skin deep in my
Depression Contest.

I win. I win. I win. I win.
I win. I win. I win. I win.
I lose. I lose. I lose. I lose.

My pain is my handshake…na, na, na, na.
It’s firmer than yours.
My tears are my make-up…na, na, na, na.
It sparkles and charms.
I’m such a freak…such a little freak…such a little…
My story’s my mantra…na, na, na, na.
It cradles and arms.

You can try.
You can crocodile cry.
But, it’s the time of my life…
Depression Contest.

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Stop Thinking

So, early to bed and lay your big head.
You never (oh, oh, oh, oh)
forget what they’ve said. Tapes play in your head
forever (oh, oh, oh, oh).
Please, put it to sleep and put it on me.
Endeavor (oh, oh, oh, oh).
I know you’re well-read, but I’ve new plans for that head.
I’m clever (oh, oh, oh, oh).

Pre-chorus:
Dear, you know I love you to death,
but that’s what your mind has in mind.
Dear, you know I love you to death,
but that’s what your mind has in mind.
Dear, you know I love you to death.

Let it go…all the reasons for “no”,
and stop thinking (ya, ya, ya ,ya ,ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya ,ya).
Stop thinking (ya , ya, ya, ya , ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya, ya).

Your witty words said have got you ahead,
wherever (oh, oh, oh, oh).
Yes, we butter our bread with your jumbo egghead.
However (oh, oh, oh, oh),
If you don’t head down, you could crack your crown,
and sever (oh, oh, oh, oh).
Your thoughts feel like lead. Here’s my lap for your head.
FEEL BETTER! (Oh, oh, oh, oh)

Pre-chorus:

Let it go…all the reasons for “no”,
and stop thinking (ya, ya, ya ,ya ,ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya ,ya).

It feels right. So, for once in your life
stop thinking. Stop thinking.
Stop thinking (ya , ya, ya, ya , ya).
Stop thinking (ya, ya, ya, ya, ya). Stop. Stop. Stop.

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Everybody Wants Me To Cry

Maybe I died just being born.
Maybe they laid eyes and said, “Oh, Lord.”
Maybe I tried a little bit too hard, jarred and marred.
Maybe they hate this song, too, so far.

I want to go home,
but not to my home.
I’ve a dream of home.
I know it’s out there.

OH,

I don’t know what I say,
and I don’t know what I do,
but I know that soon you will join them, too.
It’s true.
Everybody wants me to cry.
Everybody wants me to cry.

Maybe my life is the gods’ big joke.
Or maybe they’d say my name they don’t know.
Maybe it’s this: I’m just plain no good, underfoot.
Maybe the crux is all cock and bull.

Now, it seems, you’re someone
who’s like me…my someone.
I can’t believe, all along,
you were out there.

OH,

I don’t know what I say,
and I don’t know what I do,
but I know that soon you will join them, too.
It’s true.
Everybody wants me to cry.
Everybody wants me to cry,
and they’re satisfied.
Everybody wants me to cry.

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You Must Love Me

Why should I spare your feelings
when no one spares mine?
Can you spare a feeling?....
‘cause I’m surely losing mine.

Bruises on my wrist?
I cannot resist.
Lashes from your tongue
are a serenading song.

You must love me.

Why should I hand you feeling
when it’s not returned in kind?
You can’t handle this feeling
‘cause it’s the bone rattling kind.
So, I placed all my feeling
under concrete skin.
Now, “nothing” ’s the same as “something”
and only hand grenades get in.

Knocks upon my knees,
you’re the only one for me.
Smack marks on my mouth,
I can’t help but shout

YOU MUST LOVE ME.

Push me on the playground,
I will take you down.
Pull my ponytail,
you’ll be the one to wail,

“YOU MUST LOVE ME.
YOU MUST LOVE ME.
YOU MUST LOVE ME.”

Why should I spare your feelings
when no one spares mine?
Can you spare a feeling?...
‘cause I’m surely losing mine.

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That’s What It Takes, Dear

Life’s been cold.
So, I’ve grown a concrete coat.
That’s what it takes.
Life’s been choked.
So, I broke three thousand throats.
That’s what it takes, dear.

Half-sound, half-drowned,
the only Movement’s t’ward ground.
But, birth’s in Earthen dirt,
Domine fimus.
That’s what it takes.
You feel a low flame memory:
Summer long ago.
Astride, you glide and cry.
Open-faced, open….
That’s what it takes, dear.

I don’t want your AH-AH-AH-AH arms
AH-AH-AH-AH arms

I don’t need
your march for the dead of heart.

I don’t want your hug-of-war.
hug-of-war.

I don’t need your…
I don’t need your…
I don’t need you.

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I Won’t Be Home for Christmas

I won’t be home for Christmas.
I’ve got better things to do with my time.
My life’s in flight this Christmas,
and your smirks and sheet sets
can’t quite coax me to crash yet.

I’ll be floating on verbs and adjectives:
my electronic spirits.
Smoke screen glowing like a winter’s fire side,
speechless, reachless
like Santa,
like Jesus,
like Jimmy,
like present love.

I won’t be home for Christmas.
I just really cannot spare the lost time.
My life’s alive this Christmas.
And I won’t get back in the coffin
for a popcorn tin.

Reeling, rolling in nouns (drunk with hyphens)
in a participle snowfall.
My love’s far off, yet, right before me:
magic travel
like Santa,
like Jesus,
like Judy,
like present love.

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Comfort Is Never a Goal

Reruns…You must’ve dreamed ‘em.
You must’ve thought you’d told time.
Oooooh, comfort is never a goal!

Music…You want it soothin’.
You want it duck down-old times.
Oooooh, comfort is never a goal!

Routine….It’s how you got things.
It’s how you lost all your time.
Oooooh, comfort is never a goal!

You had a painless life, and that’s a constant pain. Oh, yeah.

But, does it feel familiar? Oooh, are you comfortable with this?
Do you feel like you’re at home? Oooh, well, I think you’re home sick.
Power top ‘cause you’ve seen the shot. Oooh, now’s the time I move like this.
Does it feel familiar? Oooh, are you comfortable with it?

Children…You’re supposed to have ‘em.
You’re supposed to do as your time.
Oooooh, comfort is never a goal!

Foreigns…they should be workin’.
They should know you need “me time”.
Oooooh, comfort is never a goal!

You won. You got it ALL done.
Now you do nothing, but time.
Oooooh, comfort is never a goal.

You feel your pointless life. Go win some video games. Oh, yeah.

But, does it feel familiar? Oooh, are you comfortable with this?
Does it feel like you’re at home? Oooh, well, I think you’re home sick.
Power top ‘cause you’ve seen the shot. Oooh, now’s the time I move like this.
Does it feel familiar? Oooh, are you comfortable with it?

OOOOOH

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He’s Sickened By My Crude Emotion

Oh-Oh-Oh…Let me send this note to you. Oh-Oh-Oh…Then, you send one back to me.
Oh-Oh-Oh-…St. Louis sits on my lips. Oh-Oh-Oh…But, my keyboard shoots from the hip.

I open with piercing pitch.
My next trick’s Twist and Twitch.
Spill my guts in 5 minutes,
I’m fond of a flashy finish…
So, I take you in my mouth, and throw you about to get a rise out.

He yawns. He sighs.
He’s sickened by my crude emotion.

Oh-Oh-Oh….Now he sends this note to me. Oh-Oh-Oh…So I send one back to him.
Oh-Oh-Oh…Stomping ground can box your ears. Oh-Oh-Oh…But, a note floats in the air.

He implies. He refrains.
He plays kiss-SLAP with a phrase.
His small talk’s a Work of Art.
Those Brit boys love their discourse.
Me? I just want to scream, “OH, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU!!”

He yawns. He sighs.
He’s seen it all… like crude emotion.
He laughs. He hides….
He takes my heart, my crude emotion

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Lily Sincere

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Keyboard Like A Gun

It used to hurt. It used to hurt a lot less
when va- seline co-vered the camera lens.
Oh, how fascinating.
And now you got, and now you got a pocket.
Got it in there al- ways to pop it.
Oh, how fascinating.
Don’t live your life. Don’t live your life: observe it.
Just when you start to live you stop it.
Oh, how fascinating.

My camera’s like a gun!
My camera’s like a gun!
My camera’s like a gun!

We used to have, we used to have the goddamn
Sense to lock our di-a-ry dull flap.
Oh, how fascinating.
Now we excel. We excel at self-portrait.
Go to A-N-T-M for college.
Oh, how fascinating.
And every pore, and every pore’s digi-zoom.
“Today I walked to CVS. Gosh, I hate my stupid job.
Then- I – thought, puppies are just really cute.”
Oh, how fascinating.

My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!

Every day does not have to be seen.
Every day is not a scene.
Some days….some days, just feel.

My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!
My keyboard’s like a gun!

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If You Marry Him

I saw the best minds (oh, my)
of these bleak times (oh, my)
with new words never heard (oh, my)
become + 1’s (oh, my my my ).

If you marry him…if you marry him
it’s nature’s game. YOU do YOU in.
If you marry him…if you marry him…
don’t you complain…you gave it to him.

Now you begot (oh, my)
like livestock (oh, my).
You were reachless (oh, my)
Now his attendant (oh, my my my).

If you marry him…if you marry him
It’s nature’s game. YOU do YOU in.
If you marry him…if you marry him…
Don’t you complain…you gave it to him.

You don’t believe me,
But you’re the same old story.
We’ve been tricked for centuries.

See…

If you marry him…if you marry him
It’s nature’s game. YOU do YOU in.
If you marry him…if you marry him…
don’t you complain…you gave it to him.

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Protestant

Domine exaudi orationem meam. Domine exaudi orationem meam.

I always wanted to be a Catholic…but, I was cursed in being a Protestant.
Oh the life…to recite the right words I should pray.
Oh the life…to not have to decide what to wear everyday.
But, I am just a snake handler, emotion-as-a-drug dealer, a tv pitch wheeler screamer.
I make it all up as I go. Then, sell it as a video. See Betty at the tape table, tape table.

I’m in love with an Irish boy whose penetrating eyes pierce my chest and steal my breath.

Inter
With myrhh
In moonlight,
Eternal Passion Song.

Lecturn
in stained
glass sunlight,
place grace upon my tongue.

Domine exaudi orationem meam.

Where I’m from everyone is catholic…but, somehow I was born being protestant.
All my life, it was meetings in basements and abandoned schools.
All my life, it was windowless, sound-baffled, beige, barren rooms.
But, I would see them in the evenings going to their special teachings and hear next-day- storytellings.
This is where the first line’s drawn and you can feel which side you’re on. Still,
robes and smoke leave me in awe, so in awe.

I love an Italian boy with a beatific touch. Place your hands where it’s relevant.

Inter
With myrhh
In moonlight,
Eternal Passion Song.

Lecturn
in stained
glass sunlight,
place grace upon my tongue.

Place your martyr mouth where my mouth shouts.
Place your mosaic mouth where my mouth shouts.

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Halfway Across The Atlantic Ocean

The day…
that it became…
clear…
was…
the first time that I saw you for the 150th time,
but can you blame me?
I was reaching, reaching…
halfway across the Atlantic Ocean.

The place…
it socked my square jaw face…
my toe had dipped to rate
and you grabbed me, in up to my waist.
Contrary to unpopular opinion, the water was welcoming warm,
and we slid easily,
wrapped up and reaching, reaching…
halfway across the Atlantic Ocean.

GONE, GONE, GONE: I have enough rope when you’re
gone, gone, gone. The oven’s cozy when you’re
gone, gone, gone. Prescriptions filled when you are
gone.

The time…I grope to find
that there is no sign…
with bottomless hope, I’ll dive.
Then, I will swim ‘til my limbs are numb and dim,
With a paralysed hip, I’ll slip, fingertips to sea lip.
Eternally reaching, more than
halfway across the semantic ocean.

GONE, GONE, GONE: I have enough rope when you’re
gone, gone, gone. The oven’s cozy when you’re
gone, gone, gone. Prescriptions filled when you are
gone, gone, gone. It’s cocked and loaded when you’re
gone, gone, gone. My knives get sharpened when you’re
gone, gone, gone. It tastes like almonds when you’re
gone, gone, gone. The traffic’s playful when you’re
gone. Take flying leaps when you are
gone. Autoerotic when you’re
gone. See, I’ll be fine when you are
gone.

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