I Grabbed That Chicken From The Pan

from by the Crow Quill Night Owls

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well I grabbed that chicken from the pan and put it to my mouth in wonder
burnt my lips on those eels hips because I could not stave my hunger

I got chicken grease in my blistered beard, shunned by my community they think Im weird. it's the antithesis of the sum of the squeerd but I don't know what Im talking about.

well my central nervous system's like an oyster plugged in, absinth retina, purple electric skin, all my records spin at 78 rpm they wont hire me for public relations.

cause I dance on the moon wearing yellow shoes with my polka dot pajamas on
photo synthesis, broken string theory blues all my molecules of reason gone.

Im like a mad scientist with no test tubes, no one to help me dig up graves.
my parallel universe's split in two and then got multiplied by a broken calculator.

now these sideways buildings spit and cuss at me as they lean with open jaws.
..and I wring my hands as I quicken pace. my collaborations pause.

I found myself crawling through the junkyard graves of the forgotten and the yet to come.
where kaleidoscopic voices fade in landfills of elysium.
where the skeletons sickly notes ring out from their harps in steam, and the boiling breath burns sickly sweet from the barcode machine.

where the nightmare landscape bends and twists as the sky grows dim, and malevolent infinity grinds to oblivion.

through the guillotines of garbage foul and the chopping blocks of day I heard the distant dying embers of a thousand voices say.

"Oh honey child, you've got much to learn. that sun it shines so bright but it also burns". staring at that holy fire through the blood stains and scars, and the tumbleweeds of broken bones and repossessed cars,

well my body shook like a thousand worms all electrified with light... and I traveled on in search of hope through the seething rancid night.
for 13 days I wandered on through a labyrinth cluttered high. broken clocks, worn out socks, and refuse brittle dry.

broken ladders, broken lamps, fuse box cinders, worn out amps, radios with no receivers, slot machines with broken leavers

I I slipped in old food, I skidded in slime, got tangled up in shower curtains of grime,
barbed wire seemed to cling to my cloths, I got terribly sick and my heart became closed,
and the icy winds blew through my bones till I wished that I could die,
and the halo of buzzards could smell defeat in the crematorium sky,
and a rusty tear streaked my sooted face from out a bloodshot eye, and there was only one thing left that I could do.
everyone in this town is half asleep but they're walkin' round, and the universe gets so grotesque, you can spin your wheels while you try your best, and if you think too hard... you feel just like the shadows of an old graveyard, where you can lose your mind in the dark where you're forever crying.

it's not hard to get delusional. when you see this wold as usual.
and it's garbage in, and garbage out and it's the next big thing that people talk about,
and salvation seems like a distant star, you feel just like a detective in a old film noir who's strong but has his heart in the pan that is always frying.
so I grabbed that chicken from the pan and put it to my mouth in wonder
burnt my lips on those eels hips because I could not stave my hunger

I got chicken grease runnin' down my spine, walkin' crooked down the line.
like a cat on a fence, balanced in ragtime, had to leave everything that I knew behind.
and the only thing I know left to do is just. skeep bap beedle am skee ba beedle am
seep skap skeedle um skoo.


from Wrap Your Troubles In Dreams, released May 24, 2013



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the Crow Quill Night Owls Port Townsend, Washington

the Crow Quill Night Owls are a band that plays jug band, jazz, and string band music of the 1920's and 1930's.
they were formed in 2007 by guitarist Kit "Stymee" Stovepipe and tenor banjoist Windy City Alex. they've since added Baylin Adahere on washtub bass.
the group fluctuates from a duo to a six person band and often features members of other bands in similar genres.
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