| Damn if I didn’t
|
| just go walking and find some horses
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| A man-made lake and some trolls
|
| Came back to my room all covered in sweat
|
| Here at the Swiss Waldhaus Hotel
|
| Filled out an application for a work visa
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| For Japan and Australia
|
| It’s been a few weeks since I’ve left home
|
| And I feel out of place
|
| And out of my element
|
| I work from 7 at night
|
| Until 5 AM when the AD says «Wrap»
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| And a runner named Fabio flashlights me back to my hotel before the sun comes up
|
| Then I get in my bed and talk with my girl on the phone to the birds chirping
|
| How the hell did I end up playing myself in an Italian film
|
| Set in a ski town in Switzerland?
|
| Damn if I didn’t just go walking the Alps all alone on my night off
|
| I felt like Jimmy Page walking the mountains out behind Aleister Crowley’s house
|
| But it was too dark, and it got so cold
|
| That I turned back around
|
| Came back to my room, read Graham Nash’s Wild Tales
|
| Til I fell asleep to the sound
|
| The sound of the birds
|
| The birds of
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| Flims
|
| Yeah I’ve asked around
|
| But nobody knows the names of 'em
|
| Of the birds
|
| The birds of Flims
|
| Yeah I’ve asked around
|
| But nobody knows the names of 'em
|
| Damn if I didn’t just go walking down the road
|
| When a girl named Veronica stopped me
|
| She said she was from Milan and that she recognized me from the film
|
| And that today was her birthday
|
| We talked a little bit
|
| But there was barrier
|
| And she went one way and I went the other
|
| And I walked along the dandelions and down to market
|
| Where I bought her some flowers
|
| On the way back to my hotel
|
| I left them in the lobby of hers, with a note
|
| «Veronica, happy birthday — Mark»
|
| And when I saw her again on the set
|
| She said «Grazie», and I could tell that the gesture
|
| Had touched her heart
|
| Damn if I didn’t go to dinner last night with Paul
|
| But his throat was sore
|
| And I could see that he was feeling ill
|
| He spends more time on the set than I do
|
| And it’s cold out there
|
| And the last two days, he was playing Hitler
|
| I could see he was grappling with that
|
| And I felt bad, and I gave him some words of support
|
| And we talked about John Hughes movies,
|
| home ownership
|
| And the cost of living in San Francisco and New York
|
| And damn if I didn’t go out later with a set dresser or something like that
|
| Named Cipriana
|
| We talked for four hours at a bar down the street
|
| And the music was terrible
|
| But yeah, I liked her, kinda
|
| She’d been with someone for four or five years
|
| And I kinda figured that anyhow, and told her «Well, so have I»
|
| And that made life easier for both of us
|
| And I walked her drunk ass back to her room
|
| And like a gentleman, I didn’t try
|
| And I went to my room
|
| I looked down at the water fountain
|
| From my balcony I felt
|
| The surrealness of my surroundings
|
| I got in my bed
|
| Looked up at the baby blue ceilings above
|
| And thought of my home
|
| And my girl
|
| And I ached for her love
|
| Damn when it all ended
|
| If I didn’t have them fly me out
|
| To New Orleans
|
| Where I saw kitty cats sleeping on porches
|
| And drank real iced tea for the first time in six to eight weeks
|
| And it was nice not to have to walk down that awkward path again
|
| And not to have to yell or to holler
|
| About eating pasta pomodoro for the 38th time in a month
|
| Or that the price of knit hats was 60 Swiss fuckin' francs
|
| Damn if I didn’t go walking the next afternoon
|
| Down Oretha Castle Haley
|
| Where I ate a catfish lunch at Cafe Reconcile
|
| With a side of macaroni and cheese
|
| And cornbread and collard greens
|
| Saw it advertised on channel 99
|
| The public access channel
|
| And I walked across the street to a gym
|
| And I watched two fighters spar
|
| And I talked to them during their break
|
| While they sipped on their Snapple
|
| And I thought, what is life if not a fight?
|
| Or a test of will and grace
|
| Some would match it by throwing bombs like Mike Tyson
|
| But some, like Pernell, are slippery and win cleverly
|
| Some are fearless like Arturo Gatti
|
| But like Henry Akinwande
|
| Some of them buckle and stall
|
| When the going gets tough, with much due respect
|
| Some of them break down and cry
|
| Like Oliver «The Atomic Bomb» McCall
|
| Life’s a chess game for all of us
|
| Hit, don’t be hit, jabbing and hooking and feigning and bobbing and weaving
|
| And the fighters got back in the ring
|
| I thought of my own fight in life
|
| And it was time to be leaving
|
| And damn if I didn’t go to the airport
|
| And fly up to Cleveland, Ohio
|
| I had dinner at Sylvester’s in North Canton with my girlfriend and her friends
|
| And for the first time in a while
|
| I was surrounded by genuine smiles (
|
| beautiful smiles
|
| There at the table with all of them, I felt content
|
| And grounded and rooted again
|
| Then was dropped off to face the hardships
|
| Of a single mom who happens to be one of my closest and dearest friends
|
| Fell asleep in her spare room to the sound of crop dusters
|
| And cars on the highway
|
| Zooming back to my roots where unconditional love
|
| Rules over everything
|
| And I could no longer hear the birds of Flims |