Jake's Final Notes: For my last Songitorial of 2006, I decided to end with a dream. I knew that I wanted the first half of the song to chronicle some of the horrors of this year, while I wanted the second half to embrace an optimism and hope for the year to come. I allowed my stream of consciousness to make the connections for me. I spent only about 30 or 45 minutes on these lyrics. They seemed to spill out, religious motifs and all. As I wrote, I felt as if I were in a dream.
My first Songitorial began with "I woke up this morning, it was New Year's day," and appropriately ended with this is gonna be one long year. Lord, Lord how long it was. After writing a song every week for 52 weeks in a row, I?m exhausted.
From the mining tragedy to NSA wire-tapping to Hurricane Katrina aftermath to the Iraq War to Border Disputes to Darfur to Racist Barbers & Tirades to Castro's Near-Death to Elections to Tall Stacks to Snow Deaths, this year has worn me out.
It's time for me to sleep, and perhaps to dream.
Thus, I feel it's appropriate that I exit with a dream
a dream that we'll all come clean, one way or another, on New Year's day.
Thank you for listening.
The World Will Come Clean - Click Here To Listen
By: Jake Speed 12/24/06
The dust bound hell hounds
Tramping through the death clouds
Dirty boots stomp down piles of graves
Covered up dump yards charred up black cars
Soot-soaked air raids hate-saturated maids
Deep ocean oil slick,
tricked by a get-rich quick scam
spam-covered screened-over eyes
False pride flying in the sky, eagle high
On the list of missed survivors
Chorus: I had a dream I have a dream that the world will come clean on New Year's day
Virus lying inside us, spouting out
Pent up passed down Mississippi scorn
Devil horns hatching out of hypocrites
Splits and rifts in the sacrificial red, white and blue
Truth muddied up in texts, old books, rejects
Making sense to whatever comes to mind
Divided by walls, appalled at calls of dissent
Desensitized to all the reasons why
The street-cleaner comes with his son
He's a reincarnation of the chosen one
He comes from all across the world,
From all across the sea, he's the figment Of everybody's last possibility
He pulls out a brush, he rushes to the
Dark streetside he's hiding absolutely nothing
When they see him down on knees
Painting trash they laugh and point to the gutter
He rises up out of ashes, passes paint to the faint
Of heart and mind
He winds up his watch, he looks to the sky
And a rain drop drips and hits him in the eye
And two by two the rain soaks through
To every single avenue and every single point of view
A few simple strokes, a few light touches
Pretty soon a bloom sprouts up from the crutches