How Many More

by Lorenz and the Butterfly

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1.
How Many More 05:45
lyrics
We sat on our front porch Watched the neighbors stroll by First daffodils, then azaleas The tulips weren’t far behind Each day like the next one Thankful that March had some sun March turned to April Glad to see people on the street Leafed out trees, pounding pavement Ahh, those miles wore on my feet Wake up, 7:20 each day Put the Desert Rose away How many more Since yesterday? How many more Since yesterday Still sit on that stoop each night Irises replace azaleas Another three weeks gone by Thinking about travel that was Each day like the next one Thankful that April had some sun April turned to May Can’t look at the news feed Afraid of what it’ll say Free folk marching to be freed Wake up, 7:40 each day Put the coffee cups away How many more Since yesterday? How many more Since yesterday Our little boy turned sixteen Drives with mom, tall is I am now Stronger than I was at his age Keeps his chin up somehow Each day like the next one Thankful that May had some sun May turned to June Will the curve down? Got no clue. Still sit with our drinks on that porch Hydrangeas, purple and blue Wake up, 8 AM each day Dishes in the drainer can stay How many more Since yesterday? How many more Since yesterday How many more Since yesterday How many more?
2.
The Earnest Ones 04:33
lyrics
I gave away all of my pants just in case they were sewn by a kid. My fair-trade tea really takes a stance. I buy it without a plastic lid. Every decision is a chance to point to me and all I do to make the world a better place. I must be right because I read Noam Chomsky while you watch TV. I rest my case. How can you trust someone who knows no irony? Every word or phrase taken literally, lost on him are nuance and subtlety. The world is black and white. With him you must agree. I’m glad to hear that you are pro-choice, but your tastes are way too mainstream. Do you even read The Village Voice? You’re just living a suburban daydream. To recycle, carry cans a hundred miles. If you don’t eat ‘em, compost potato peels. Organic cotton shirts, they come in many styles. Don’t eat tuna, salmon, shrimp, or eels. How can you trust someone who knows no irony? Every word or phrase taken literally, lost on him are nuance and subtlety. The world is black and white. With him you must agree. Deforestation, I know how to stop it. We need some data to get through peer review. My rhetorical skill – no one can top it. Because it’s published now, it must be true. Commit to Science and we will cure society of bad behavior that I call disease. I’m so certain that I don’t listen to your plea, saying “you take your cues from the Nazis.” Watch out! Here come the earnest ones. Their exhalations make the air weigh a ton. Don’t listen to Skynnard, but do like Neal Young. You better hide from the earnest ones. They’re coming to get you, the earnest ones.
3.
Found and Lost 04:52
lyrics
I found a bicycle on the shores of Lake Erie. Never gives up her dead, they say. Maybe just not in a hurry. Fifty years she had to churn that silvery frame. And I took home a sand-filled rust-belt ready made. Posters of a soldier plaster the U-bahn stations, protesting a war backed by the United Nations. “I gladly die for cheap oil,” said the boy with a perfect smile. I took one from Nollendorf and left nine to beguile. Are memories enough, or should I fill the basement? The attic? The crawl space? Or pay storage unit rent? I found them once and can lose ‘em again. Hoarding worthless treasures is no less a sin. I don’t need all this stuff anymore. New things always wash up on the shore. I have an old picture of the fastest man alive nosing out a maiden under a tight-hold hand ride. Floyd signed “I did it!” Jockey P. Val. was having fun: “Two out of three isn’t bad,” he wrote and flew too close to the sun. I bought a long black coat from a Haight Street vintage vendor, just like the ones the angels wore in Wings of Desire by Wenders. The girl who lined up tuna cans nursed her baby, Rae. She said that coat made me look just ike Bobcat Goldway. Are memories enough, or should I keep all the clutter? Piles of junk everywhere! I grow old and putter. I found them once and can lose ‘em again. Hoarding worthless treasures is no less a sin. I don’t need all this stuff anymore. New things always wash up on the shore.
4.
Death Rattle of Hate 05:28
lyrics
I logged in to analyze my results from 23&Me, spit and genomics weighing in on who I’m supposed to be. DNA relatives with German names in rural Ohio— I imagine angry blue-eyed white men who didn’t vote for Joe. MAGA madmen, centimorgans storm the capitol. Do you believe that nurture shapes the nature of the soul? Hey Viking man, they didn’t even wear horned helmets like yours. They’re mostly white, but they have single payer and the peace award. Did you want tin soldiers to martyr you like in Ohio? A guardsman’s bullet as the food for your wretched vine to grow. MAGA madmen, centimorgans storm the capitol. Do you believe that nurture shapes the nature of the soul? Boys proud of insanity? I wish I had faith to pray this cacophony is the death rattle of hate. …. of hate The bill of sale from an ancestor rocked Rita to the core. “How could anyone do that?” she asked her professor. He began his studies of the South over 40 years ago. Yet, he could only answer Rita: “I just don’t know.” Strands of DNA, a wicked man, and a child sold. Do you believe that nurture shapes the nature of the soul? Boys proud of insanity? I wish I had faith to pray this cacophony is the death rattle of hate. …. of hate We all feel the sadness, but I don’t need to pray to believe this madness is the death rattle of hate. …. of hate…. of hate.
5.
The Gleeful Nihilist 04:07
lyrics
His pet black widows lived in Mason jars by his bed. I was scared to live next door to him and so I said: “Maybe get yourself a hamster instead.” He chuckled and replied, “No, we’ll all be dead.” Meta-modern lit. and combat boots were his thing. 6 foot 4 with piercing blue eyes and an eyebrow ring. A tattered copy of Infinite Jest— he read it three times through but not for any test. The world is coming to the end of its days. He shrugs it off and says, “Let’s go out with a blaze.” He’s a gleeful nihilist, a tattooed question mark on his inner wrist. Although injustice gets him pissed, he smiles knowingly, the gleeful nihilist. He cooked peyote in our 20-quart pasta pot. Accidentally dosing all of us, he cared not. “It’s much better to be stoned anyway. You’ll be sober again within a day.” Now he wakes up at the crack of noon Most every day. Morons and reprobates fill his world anyway. “I think I’ll take a nice long walk down by the bay. Maybe stop and chat with neighbors on the way.” The world is coming to the end of its days. He shrugs it off and says, “Let’s go out with a blaze.” He’s a gleeful nihilist, a tattooed question mark on his inner wrist. Although injustice gets him pissed, he smiles knowingly, the gleeful nihilist. We’re all gleeful nihilists, feeling certain that no God or even truth exists. But when it rains the sun is missed. We smile knowingly, the gleeful nihilists. He smiles knowingly, the gleeful nihilist.
6.
Catsburg Field 03:48
lyrics
Head north on Old Oxford Highway. Turn right where the Wal-Mart used to be. Farmers can’t make it on cows and hay. So, they subdivide the back forty. No one’s buying feed anymore. Selling persimmon jam and lottery tickets ain’t enough to keep that general store from going out of business. No more corn and tobacco in rows. Still, the grass at Catsburg Field grows into the baseline. Where are those farmers sons? Driving their trucks to the ballfield at night. Drinking 40s with their shot guns, they take turns shooting out the lights. They have no seed to sow. Still, the grass at Catsburg Field grows into the baseline. Spring of 2020 rolls around. There’s perfect weather for playin’ baseball. Minors and majors are all on lockdown. Players sit around and stare at the wall. These kids can’t face their foes. Still, the grass at Catsburg Field grows into the baseline. There’s no one left to mowe. So, the grass at Catsburg Field grows Into the baseline.
7.
Factory Error 03:44
lyrics
James has Thomas’s face. They’re mixed up all over the place. I’m tryin’ to understand how he feels from a canvas of wood and steel. Henry and Gordon are at it too. Their numbers are upside down. The green engine came out blue. Proud Gordon is wearing a frown. I watch them go round and round while my head rests on the ground. Do you hear that whistle sound? A few moments of peace I have found. I am not a factory error. Take a good long look in the mirror. Do you see the ghost of Asperger staring back and signing the Spiegelgrund orders? Factory errors crack me up, and some people laugh at me. I try not to interrupt. If you could only see what I see. I watch them go round and round while my head rests on the ground. Do you hear that whistle sound? A few moments of peace I have found. I am not a factory error. Take a good long look in the mirror. Do you see the ghost of Asperger staring back and signing the Spiegelgrund orders? Today I’m filled with joy and can barely hold it in. I’m not too old for these toys. After all, they are my kin. I watch them go round and round while my head rests on the ground. Do you hear that whistle sound? A few moments of peace I have found.
8.
Silver Linings 05:27
lyrics
A green cicada took a morning nap on our window screen. I hear her siblings all night, but none of them do I ever see. All these things I never knew I had before are silver linings etched in a solid oak, bolted shut red door. She plants a garden on a foggy hill in Cardiff by the Sea: a few tomato plants, some basil, squash, and an English pea. Soil, water, sun are there just as before like that towering pin oak outside my ever-shut front door. Every day I take the time to feel without the pining for petit bourgeous life, to mourn the dead and stop the whining. Keep-up-with-Jones shackles off and no longer binding-- the cicada’s song is sliver lining, gets me through today. Lego Anikin is sliced in half on our red oak floor Tuesday afternoon sometime ‘round quarter after four. All this time I would have spent some other way, not hearing “chosen one” or acting out this light saber play. I see their faces in the gallery of my Latitude-- richer, grayer, wiser, some would say exquisite taste in food. All these dear ones whom I always had before-- I saw them so much less when busy lives took us all on tour. Every day I take the time to feel without the pining for petit bourgeous life, to mourn the dead and stop the whining. Keep-up-with-Jones shackles off and no longer binding-- the cicada’s song is sliver lining, gets me through today. Frankie’s walks are 2 or 3 now, sometimes 4 a day. Makes no difference to him when his Portland skies are gray. This new family I didn’t know I had ‘til now. I got to know her on my mobile phone somehow. Charred oak whisky and cicada song before I go to bed blend together all those silver linings swirling in my head. All these things I never knew I had before. What were we thinking pushing, building, climbing, always wanting more? Every day I take the time to feel without the pining for petit bourgeous life, to mourn the dead and stop the whining. Keep-up-with-Jones shackles off and no longer binding-- the cicada’s song is sliver lining, it gets me through today. Gets me through the day. Gets me through a day.
9.
How Many More PG 06:59
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released May 15, 2021

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Lorenz and the Butterfly Durham, North Carolina

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