We Were the Future

songs by Michael Amo and Rick Fathers

Back in 1996, Rick and I called ourselves “The Molly Blooms” and recorded a CD titled “Shiver Logic”. Ron Fathers sang and played bass. Ron Heigelsberger sang and played drums. Michael Jack produced.  Below are a few tracks from that project and subsequent efforts.

We begin with a song about our curious fatal attraction to fear-mongering strongmen…

MR. SMOOTHBOOTS

On a spoiling summer night, she lays down, too tired to fight

but there’s a peace to giving in as the killing drums begin.

Of course she knows it’s wrong to sing his insect songs

but in his arms she feels her soft world turn to steel.

 

She will dress in black and brown because he likes his ladies plain.

He will meet her at the station with a bright bouquet of pain.

Now her march begins under a canopy of flame.

At his feet she lays her hate in exchange for his good name.

 

He’ll collect your tears. Gather up your fears.

Wear them as his crown. Mr. Smoothboots.

Welcome in the nicest homes. He’s the man who no one owns.

 

And now he bends her face till she’s looking in his eyes.

And now he lifts her veil and he blows awaand he blows away ty the flies.

And now that they are one, he will paint her country red.

Swinging from the lamposts, they will waltz until she’s dead.

 

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From barroom fights to stadium lights. Hello, Mr. Smoothboots.

Burnt ozone and cheap cologne. Greetings, Mr. Smoothboots.

A soft voice on your intercom. Come in, Mr. Smoothboots.

A strong arm for your sleepy head.  Lay down for Mr. Smoothboots.

© Unstrung Songs 1996

 

Gun Culture USA

      Waiting For The End Of The World - Amo/Fathers

Just for kicks, I tried to write a song from the POV of George “W” Bush.   Then the lyrics took on a life of their own and Rick did his thing, adding a swooning slide guitar that makes Doomsday sound absolutely fabulous!

I’m through with liquor. I’m through with drugs. Got a higher knowledge now giving me a rush.

Gave up on women. I’m married now. I’m all done dealing with that look like I don’t know how.

I’m only waiting for the end of the world. I’m only waiting for the end of the world.

I’m only waiting for the end of the world. I’m only waiting for the end of the world.

I had a business. I grew it large. But it always felt like there was someone else in charge.

Used to spend my nights crawling up that wall. Woke up on my neighbour then I heard the call.

I’m only waiting for the end of the world. I’m only waiting for the end of the world.

I’m only waiting for the end of the world. I’m only waiting for the end of the world.

I can see it on the TV. I can hear it being sung.

I can see in the faces of the old and of the young.

I can taste it in the water.  I can feel it in my gut.

You and I are fallen and there’s only one way up.

 

Ever since that day I’ve been a dynamo. I got a team that tells me all I need to know.

I’m up all night waiting for the beast to show.  I had a word with my Redeemer and he says “Go”.

I’m only waiting for the end of the world. I’m only waiting for the end of the world.

I’m only waiting for the end of the world. I’m only waiting for the end of the world.

© Unstrung Songs 2015

 

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      Black Box - Amo/Fathers

It’s not easy being a tiny, angry cog in a huge and indifferent machine.  Thank God there’s Starbucks, Google, Netflix and – Black Box!

Sub-standard. Uncreated.  That’s how they made you feel. Now you’ve slipped their choker chain.  You’ve got technology.

Did you really love the girl? Never mind. It’s through. You’re stepping out of just alright into a warm, exciting room.

Black box. Splendid in design. Imagine all the changes when this black box is mine.  Powerful and righteous like a king from olden times.  Black box will make me stronger.  Black box will make me shine.

Left scratches on your psyche.  Panties in the sink. Left you wounded in your bedroom with your leaking pride to drink.

Six and half by seventeen. Exquisitely noir.  Cold, quiet titanium.  Attaches to your car.

Black box. Splendid in design. Imagine all the changes when this black box is mine.  Powerful and righteous like a king from olden times.  Black box will make me stronger.  Black box will make me shine.

Black box …

© Unstrung Songs 1996

 

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A song about the staggering odds against a perfect relationship – as personified by every songwriter’s best friend – monkeys!

      Monkeys And Typewriters - Amo/Fathers

Nine glasses of beaujolais.  Two strangers are moving in together. Seven months at one address. Both of us feel things are getting better.

You told yourself that you would go before the mailbox filled with snow if our hearts remained in separate rooms. My deadline was the maple tree. The first red flag and I would leave if our words still raised the leaking roof.

Monkeys and typewriters – We locked ourselves into the bridal suite; Now twenty fingers tap on unknown keys. One day you and I will write our masterpiece.

Christmas was a real event. The tree fell down and we got bent together. New Year’s saw us take a vow. We’d part as friends then try again whenever.

I moved into a bachelor flat. You stayed with friends and babysat. My heart ached like an unmailed valentine. On St. Patrick’s Day, we faced each other at a reading by your brother. Once again our stories intertwined.

Hindus, Moslems and the Jews. The Capulets and the Montagues. God knows we’re in good company. We tear down walls and put up fences. Can’t we make love and still make sense? We start in bed and end in tragedy.

Monkeys and typewriters – We locked ourselves into the bridal suite; Now twenty fingers tap on unknown keys. One day you and I will write our masterpiece.

Monkeys and typewriters, monkeys and typewriters…

© Unstrung Songs 1996

 

 

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      Zero At The Bone - Amo, Fathers

Groan…  Yet another I-am-an-agoraphobe-in-an-unhealthy-relationship-with-Emily-Dickenson song.  My wife Mhairi Fyfe sings the part of Emily. Kirk Elliott plays the violin.

Emily, don’t weep for all the holes punched in the sky.  Way up there in heaven, they don’t mind the stimuli.

Emily, don’t listen to the voices in the grass.  They’re nothing but the whispers of bad men out of past.

We got four walls, got warm sheets, got everything we need.  Got curtains on the windows.  Got Star Trek on TV.

Promise me, dear Emily.  I’ll never be alone.  Promise I’ll never feel that zero at the bone. Promise me, dear Emily.  I’ll never be alone.

Emily, I love your women’s way with words.  There’s shelter in a sentence.  Adventure in a verse.

Emily, in this quiet room, we touch the end of time.  And then we honour Eden when man and woman rhymed.

When burning tigers lit the night as bright as any day.  We didn’t need no poetry. Just what was there to say?

Promise me, dear Emily.  I’ll never be alone.  Promise I’ll never feel that zero at the bone. Promise me, dear Emily.  I’ll never be alone.

I am waiting for your love.  Your promises, my love.  Safe, secure inside your love.  Sheltered from the cold.

I realize, poor Emily, you couldn’t help yourself when vowel and meaning Webster came sliding off the shelf.

He promised you power over the times you felt afraid of the creature in your soul that wouldn’t speak its name.

He stained your lips with sweet words.  He cast angels into stone.  He nailed us down on paper like a contract or a loan.

I forgive you, Emily, for how could you have known that there is no name worth having when having means no home?

Promise me, dear Emily.  I’ll never be alone.  Promise I’ll never feel that zero at the bone.

© Unstrung Songs 1996

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2 Comments

  1. Hey There,

    Ron just showed me this site! May I say right on, fantastic, and WooooHoooooo!!!
    It has become a reality!
    Congratulations!

    Cheers,
    Kari

    p.s. May I share this everywhere????

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