Rickie Lee Jones More at the Striped Table Lyrics:
downtown i walk for about a mile in squares. there
were short and thick men behind bars. They are
never clean, these men. And their dirtiness makes
them objects of lust. I think its religion that
makes that possible. Or sex is simply dog eat dog,
and when we set our teeth into the submissive we
are aroused. And when we have the opportunity to
role on our backs, with consciousness, willing,
out of costume, well, who would throw that ticket
away. I would not. I sat in the cool shadows of
these men, and my brain is a pimple train, of
secret running out of the left side of my eye the
more comes out the better i feel but where does
this stuff go? i watch the governmentworkers
eating. i watch all the mexican people in their
pretty dresses with their children. i think they
think this is downtown in mexico. they think this
is just a city. don't they know what this is down
here? so i run threads through the secret
community of them, and i am one of them now and no
longer on my knees. there's somebody named ivan
and i saw him at a party he's the guy people said
to stay away from. he put an armful of crank into
me and before the needle was out i was on the
floor. it wasn't his fault really, he was just
trying to be a nice guy. everybody likes a big
shot.

I had no clothes at all, no shoes. I like parading
, i liked walking around the empty city after
everyone was in their drugless beds. Every inch of
concrete was mine. I could sit on any step. and
all angry clouds were made by me. i had been
kicked out of hippy houses all over seattle. the
house on john street. 6th and john. they had me
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sleeping on the roof out there. Those guys in
their thirties who listened to jazz all the time.
The one was really nice. He argued with his room
mate to let me stay. I had no where to go. The
other guy said he didn't care. I'd find somewhere.
Jesus, she'll end up back at ivans.

So the other room mate, he got in a hippy van with
all kinds of nicely dressed hippies. Flowers
painted on the v.w., velvet, boots, the whole
thing. I wished i could be a girl like that. I was
only fourteen, and no matter how many people i
fucked or shots i took or cars i got into i just
could not seem to have that power of older. All i
got was more used. not more big. I wished they'd
invite me with them. I wished i had friends, and
nice clothes, and a place to go. care free, but
rooted. When i ran away my family left the motel
where we had lived in seal beach. I could not find
them now if i wanted to.

there had been ballet lessons, drama lessons.
a.a.u. swim team. i had taken modeling and i had a
guitar. i had percussion instruments. I never had
to do housework. i had to babysit every night but
my mom worked and my dad was hardly around. i
could go walking around and go to peoples houses
as i liked. but i was not liked at home. no one
liked any one there.

under the freeway. there are no signs of life. the
factories loom about her and in every shadow are
eyes. and i n every eye is a strangers car. now
she cowers beneath the freeway , a dragon, and she
counts the seconds in long hand, on her fingers,
until there are so many of them that she cannot
move them any more. time is about to stand still,
as still as living can stand, and it is stopping
here beneath the belly of the dragon. But the
dragon is not stopping. He breathes furiously
traffic above, steel and dangerous fire,
murderous, demeaning, a traffic to aspire to.
poncho comes in with a black eye and a hair cut.
He's ready to dig up the floor
Lyrics: More at the Striped Table, Rickie Lee Jones [end]