review

ANOTHER CONVERSATION WITH MYSELF

I’ve wasted more time speculating

When will it get across?

To fools that buy into the notion of

“We’re sorry for your loss”

Just give me a break,

Guerrillas fight an

Unseen enemy

East of Cambodia

While deep inside

Danger ahead

All hands on deck

A band of brothers dying in a jungle

For liars who’d never pick up a weapon to

Stand post and watch

In Southeast Asia or Iraq

But they’re sorry for your loss,

It’s the very conversation

I’ve had so many times before

Hapless forms of aggravation

I told myself all this before

Just a little conversation

It’s déjà vu from ‘64

Another grave abomination

I told myself all this before,

Battle is not about

Searching for some glory in it

Go into a mortuary now

The unsung of brave men will sacrifice not for a flag

To die upon some soil they walk alone,

King George

Said it’s

All right

Sleep tight

Reflecting on a Tuesday morning where two towers stood

Was this all part of the plan?

Lest you forget some

September ahead

Never be the same,

It’s the very conversation

I’ve had so many times before

Hapless forms of aggravation

I told myself all this before

Just a little conversation

It’s déjà vu from ‘64

Another grave abomination

I told myself all this before,

It’s the very conversation

I’ve had so many times before

Hapless forms of aggravation

I told myself all this before

Just a little conversation

It’s déjà vu from ‘64

Another grave abomination

I told myself all this before,

Deceive the masses to insure

Corruption motivates the war

I told myself all this before

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

BARTERTOWN (2009)

It was the winter of Seventy-two

On the corner of Chestnut Avenue,

Contemplating a teenage affair's

Worth of pain that this heart hadn't known;

In January's frozen air

Adolescence embarked its question there,

Choose any crying waif with a frown

Crawling Main Street live in the Bartertown;

So often you'll squander the rules

Reminiscing some dreary afternoon,

Branded by a trade going down

At the scene of the lamenting clowns,

Bartertown;

Retain the summer of Seventy-six

To the swoon of a ten cent guitar lick,

A Minstrel's song complete

In its social malfunctioning grace;

The woman's face I dared to beguile

Wanton in brandish Gallic style,

Is just a glimpse of the tail

Through the Bartertown annuls of love for sale;

And as the spring of Seventy-nine

Brought no ears to the deaf or sight to the blind,

Pervasive passion awaits

In her dreams while she still tries to hide

From the solace mistake in her eyes;

Wearing a black dress until it comes down

Write the scene of the lamenting clown,

Bartertown;

Succumb the autumn of Eighty-eight

From a green and white pub of Irish taste,

Another toast to hanging the bar

In a waitress's rapture of charm;

Cheers to ignite her Cuban flame

I lost long before my cards were played,

And never realized from the start

Fascination submits to a vagrant heart;

Nothing's changed since Seventy-two

Where the malt's poured on Bachman Avenue,

When I remember that trysting place

As a Cranberry House in disguise;

And so I bid you the Bartertown,

If it's boring you haven't even found

One reason worth staying in, erase,

That is, seeing its demise,

As she haunts you with smoke in her eyes

Wearing a black skirt until it comes down

Write the scene of the lamenting clown;

Bartertown got a town

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

BLACK IS THE COLOR OF MY TRUE LOVE’S CAR

Black is the paint

Zero lag constraints

No car’s ever beat

Her ‘Vette on these streets

Last night, just as every other this week in some chaotic abyss I became enthralled once again by the vile vixen and her Lingenfelter twin - turbo Z06. A charming yet elusive 505 stock horsepower pumped up to about 750 at the rear wheels, long straight ash blond hair, four hundred and twenty seven cubic inch displacement, chestnut brown eyes, titanium connecting rods, a 5’7” frame;

It doesn’t matter where we spar

Her Bowtie leaves the road a scar

Black is the color of her car

Define speed

Her turbo thrust

Maintains my lust

Innate G forces

Eight hundred horses

It doesn’t matter where we spar

Her Bowtie leaves the road a scar

Black is the color of her car

Define speed

Chevy’s best and fastest; smoking the Vipers, Cobras, F430s, S600s, and twin-turbo Carreras, as well as all of it’s sibling C4s, TAs, Goats, SSs, Z-28s and C5s. Even classic super- charged 426 Hemi MOPARs are no match for this fucking ‘Vette from hell;

It doesn’t matter where we spar

Her Bowtie leaves the road a scar

Black is the color of her car

Street tires find

Mid – nines, sick times

I’ll take this ‘Vette

You make your bet

Six-speed paddle shift transmission with automatic modes, a 40 inch rear end, 19 inch wheels, a 27 inch waist,0 to 60 in about 3 seconds, a playmate’s face, ¼ mile times in the mid – nines, with a top end of over two hundred and thirty miles per hour,

Getting rubber from all six gears in the greatest engineering marvel the General had ever created. Yes, I know I’m a worthless prick for my abuse and I think I like her, but I know I love this car much more especially since I don’t have to make any payments, worry about insurance, registration or bullshit car repairs;

It doesn’t matter where we spar

Her Bowtie leaves the road a scar

Black is the color of her car

It doesn’t matter where we spar

Her Bowtie leaves the road a scar

Black is the color of her car

Define speed

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

IN THE END

You know what it's like, dreams don't stay forever

The last time I saw miracles I can't even remember

You know what it's like, searching for an answer

When you might believe it are you scared to even try

I know what it's like, being quite alone

A warm body waiting at home but no friend to call my own

You know what it's like, and ask if I'm sincere

We're always known so little shown

Maybe you could tell me in the end,

You know what it's like, I fell prey to passion

“Love is blind” had caught my eye and had nowhere to run

You know what it's like, meaning who needs you too girl?

If you decide to stay with me would you still

believe me in the end,

Time waits for no one we're all getting older

As one escapes into fantasy, You know that's not how it's

supposed to be, If you don't want to listen dear then,

take the time to tell me what you fear; Uh ha?

I know what it's like, a chance that I could make you see

All the time I’ve waited if it means that much to me

You know what it's like, I told you it all before

Dreams don't last forever darling, would it really matter in the end,

Would you still believe me in the end, Maybe you could tell me in the end,

Next time won't be therefore in the end repenting reminiscing in the end

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

ISLAND IN THE SOUND/ SEATTLE WAITS

Midnight the stormy sound arises on the docks

A flagship of the northwest sails on through the dark

As they ride the Ides of March

The brave don't count their fear before they're gone;

Daylight there's a brown-eyed girl in Lincoln Park

her raven hair's invited one familiar spark

If she only breaks your heart

Will you count the tears before she's gone;

Romance, find your ticket and afford to make the chance

I know Seattle takes, it's my fortune

The girl with a raincoat staring at an island in the Sound;

Lorraine tastes bittersweet in Sea-Fare Town

But only for the moment have I one regret

That alone she'll soon forget

I won't count the years before I try;

Romance, find your ticket and afford to make the chance

I know Seattle takes, it's my fortune

The girl with a raincoat staring at the quiet sound alone;

The end is just a reason to get home

As the fog rolls in from Vashon Island through this park

here I'll leave an empty heart

And I won't count the years before I'm gone

I won't count the years before I'm gone.

Welcome back the Golden West, my friend

It's a cloudy haze from the Bayshore exit

You know King county doesn't make the same kind of rain;

The lonely river runs dry and weary

See the shadows of the ghosts on Geary

This story travels from here to Monterey;

While the base freaks are talking senseless

On Ocean Beach, in the city of Saint Francis

The sellers markets wide awake tonight

Across the Bay;

Seattle Waits

How Seattle Waits

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

LIVING ON THE WESTERN SIDE

Breeding generations of

lazy spoiled apathetic

whining sloths,

Who really gives a fuck?

On the western side

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

NEW RULES FOR THE NEW FOOLS

Jackie drew his fate upon the bar

From that Smith he put four shots with no remorse

In Jimmy’s heart

He went too far

Vengeance paid for Stevie’s death

Hails Jackie marked with no regrets

Outside a State of Grace

Beyond Times Square

To die out there

The docks abide with fratricide on

New rules set for the new fools

One time Kings of the Kitchen

Full of bad blood deep from the old school east of the Hudson’s tears

Pails of Bushmills

Frankie make’s a pact with demon seed

While Kathleen berates her tryst

In Terry’s hoax

She becomes some kind of priest

Betrays her trust

Consumes her lust

He’s just a cop turned criminal with

New rules set for the new fools

One time Kings of the Kitchen

Full of bad blood seeded deep from the old school east of the Hudson’s tears

Pails of Guinness

Retribution found its way

As fate would have Saint Patrick’s Day

When Noonan shot them all

So from the grave

Jack’s soul was laid by

Terry’s aim to Pat’s chest and Frankie’s head

Beyond Times Square

To die out there

The docks abide with fratricide on

New rules set for the new fools

One time Kings of the Kitchen

Full of bad blood deep from the old school east of the Hudson’s tears

Pails of Bushmills

New rules set for the new fools

One time Kings of the Kitchen

Full of bad blood seeded deep from the old school east of the Hudson’s tears

Pails of Guinness

Jackie’s gone

To die out there

In Kitchens lair

The docks abide with fratricide

A suicidal warning

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

PORTRAIT OF A TENDABERRY GIRL

I get a flame in my heart

Every time I hear her voice of reverie

She’s been alive from the start

I can tell you as she comes down to surry,

From Central Park westward

To Broadway and East 3rd

The Goth looking girl’s still there,

I will drink a toast to Eli

With some red and yellow wine

It’s gonna take a miracle now

To find a Tendaberry rhyme,

I can see the thunder’s fury

In her passion eyes of May

And when I die throw trains of blossoms

The New York,

Tendaberry way;

Laura

I get a pain in my heart

Just to think just to think

She’ll never write one more song

Laura

And she was chic from the start

Even when the business did her so wrong,

As music keeps changing

Her soul is raging

You better hide your hearts,

I will drink a toast to Billy

With some red and yellow wine

It’s gonna take a miracle now

To find a Tendaberry rhyme,

I can see the thunder’s fury

In her passion eyes of May

And when I die throw trains of blossoms

The New York,

Tendaberry way;

From slow dance to romance

My adolescent fantasy

It would have been my honor then

Just to walk with her through NYC,

I get a flame in my heart

Every time I hear

Laura

I can tell you as she comes down to surry,

Critics are scheming

Websites are screaming

Stop analyzing her,

I will drink a toast to Eli

With some red and yellow wine

It’s gonna take a miracle now

To find a Tendaberry rhyme,

I can see the thunder’s fury

In her passion eyes of May

And when I die throw trains of blossoms

The New York,

Tendaberry way;

I will drink a toast in gladness

To her passion eyes of May

And when I die throw trains of blossoms

The New York,

Tendaberry way,

Evermore to hear her play

The New York,

Tendaberry way;

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

Ramblood Recon Records

THE BEGUILED

Another night in south bay land the meek came out to play

With all the dancing freaks in droves their boldness becomes quite array

Buying drinks all night to find a restless gap between her legs

But is she so far amused or incensed with one more life to save

Still throughout a band plays on completes the job hence they were paid

And might as well be whispering no one listens

I’m not going to waste your time

I get to work and read the room

The zombie force arrived too soon

This club is like an evening whore

Serviced through its cover door

The first set beckons to unfold

The singer seems to have a cold

Her vocals aren’t out of time

Still the owner starts to whine

All the while the beguiled sets off in trance

Abusing us with twisted forms of ballroom dance

By now the groove has settled in

The condescending management say

“You guys sound like AWB,

now turn it down and hear that beat.”

It falls in place so typically

A female screams hysterically

The losers have started a fight

Who’ll break my gear this useless night?

All the while the beguiled sets off in trance

Abusing us with twisted forms of ballroom dance

Ironically the party ends

The tenor didn’t make a friend

When lines of Trane and Brecker find

Drunken patron’s bump and grind

All the while the beguiled sets off in trance

Abusing us with twisted forms of ballroom dance

As I reflect, into this bar a free man came up to me

And asked what kind of strength I gathered all around my screaming lead

I tried to say with my guitar it’s that which burns within my wave

He just smiled then wished me luck ‘cause he felt I was meant to play

End with that to hit the road headed towards the Yosemite way

He never arrived the Pacheco Highway took him then

It’s not going to waste your time

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

THE CEE TOE SHUFFLE

Raze any wound

Phase any mood

Call out the demons

Inside there

Swooned by your moon,

To say what he means

Is not what it seems and be told

Once he agrees

You can find him

Down to the knees,

Rolling around with a simpleton clown isn’t getting you out of this spot,

Pushin’ a groove, makin’ the moves, keepin’ it loose, slick is the goose, gettin' it

on in the back of a GMC bed with another sick drunk for a buck,

It’s not the place to copulate it’s time you did appreciate,

Mary just hides the cee toe

Until it gets down,

Pending a mindless freak show,

Making the rounds,

Succulent barfly magnets

Are painting the town

A goddess, a witch exasperates,

Baiting that mound,

Wearing a frown,

Under the gown;

Waning in vain,

And out of the game,

The hope to succeed,

With your quandary,

Might be insane,

Don’t test the fate,

If he can’t relate,

To deal or to not,

Is the choice that,

You shouldn’t make,

Running around with a crankster in town isn’t getting you out of this spot,

Pushin’ a groove, makin’ the moves, keepin’ it loose, slick is the goose, gettin'

on in the room of a sordid hotel with another lame trick for a fix,

Since you just want to fornicate it’s time you did appreciate:

Mary just hides the cee toe

Until it gets down,

Pending a mindless freak show,

Making the rounds,

Succulent barfly magnets

Are painting the town

A goddess and witch exasperates,

Baiting that mound,

Wearing a frown,

Under the gown;

Chloe’s got a cee toe see through,

Staci’s prone to shock the bistro,

Julie’s fishnets aren’t retro

Nikki’s tastes like Zen Shiseido,

Marci’s done her cee toe see through proud;

Raze any wound

Phase any mood

Call out the demons

Inside there

Swooned by your moon,

Rolling around with a simpleton clown isn’t getting you out of this spot,

Pushin’ a groove, makin’ the moves, keepin’ it loose, slick is the goose, gettin' it

on in the back of a GMC bed with another sick drunk for a buck,

It’s not the time to copulate when he cannot negotiate,

Debbie’s got a cee toe see through,

Heidi could care less what breaks through,

Kelli’s sports a dancing exposé,

Mary just hides the cee toe

Until it gets down,

Pending a mindless freak show,

Making the rounds,

Succulent barfly magnets

Are painting the town

A goddess and witch exasperates,

Baiting that mound,

Wearing a frown,

Under the gown;

Suzi’s got a cee toe see through,

Jacquie loves her cee toe peak, but

Mary’s got the cee toe shuffle down.

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

THE WELL RAT REVISITED

The system weighed its scales inept today,

Technicalities send vengeance on its way,

As the well rat pleas, again, then walks away,

Justice is caged once more, to lose in vain;

Bobbi Sue, is twelve in May,

A parent raised this child from love in pain,

Frenzied looks the face, of rat's disgrace,

When she becomes the victim from the rage;

A girl morose, befalls Memorial Day,

At twelve years old, alone she'll run away,

And as Bobbi Sue, was raped in shame,

The system's way that failed can take the blame,

Mocking justice, wouldn't seek a well rat's grave

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

WHO TURNS FOR YOU

At home alone

The spouse left you in a money tree

Lost between

Hells behind all that make-up

Not a sane design

Sell the bling

It’s under sized

Your boat, fur coats

3 Benzes are sold

Clearing out every trophy

Tied to this vile tryst

No soul, its old, just fold now,

Who turns for you?

It’s all you do

To pay the fool

As you get screwed,

You can’t go back

To cut some slack

Just make the move

And you will prove

Your hapless state

Can dissipate,

Just dump your mate

With your estate

And you can vent

When it’s all been spent

Use every cent

With no repent,

You’ll nail this fight

The pawn is running scared

Many squares to beware,

You can tell your dumb ex it was a waste of time

As all the wealth is undermined,

The scratch and patch

Are gone, mere facts

You’ve been through every hell,

A lonely heart needs to start,

With soul, be bold, just go now,

Who turns for you?

It’s all you do

To pay the fool

As you get screwed,

You can’t go back

To cut some slack

Just make the move

And you will prove

Your hapless state

Can dissipate,

Just dump your mate

With your estate

And you can vent

When it’s all been spent

Use every cent

With no repent

It’s all you do

As you get screwed,

To pay the fool

Who turns for you?

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI

ZEBRAS

For those who can relate this is a tale inside the hate

From the Raider Nation archive of most infamous of dates

On December Twenty Third Nineteen Hundred and Seventy Two

Where the banks of the Ohio and Allegheny form a slough

Desperate Mr. Bradshaw threw a lame-duck down the field

The Assassin’s hit on Frenchy should have all but closed the deal

Somewhere through the shadows another 32 appeared

And took an illegal catch into the endzone in full gear

Counting zebras on the grass

Might as well just wipe their asses

With the little yellow flags

That’s fifteen on the Silver and Black

Here’s another true story you can all appreciate

On New Years Day at Mile High in 1978

A back named Lytle fumbled on the two-yard line

Once again it was Tatum hitting in a style so sublime

Mike McCoy picked it up went 98 yards to a score

But the zebras had their way acting like Rozelle’s little whores

Nullifying that TD was so typical to us all

What’s it gonna take to get some fair playoff games called?

Counting zebras on the grass

With the little yellow flags

In disgust I heard the few

Huddle of striped shirts screw

A Stork, Branch, Snake, Ghost, Assassin

Tuz, Atkinson

Counting zebras on the grass

Might as well just wipe their asses

With the little yellow flags

That’s fifteen on the Silver and Black,

Ruining seasons one and all

Incompetent bastards making calls

In disgust I see the small

Huddle of striped shirts with the ball

A snowy scene in Foxboro set the tone for this retort

To the single worst call in the history of modern sport

What team retains possession if the QB loses the ball?

And what’s the use of pass rush defused by judgment calls?

Anyone with half a brain knew Woodson’s hit on Brady’s right

Was a fumble recovered by Biekert in the worthless chilly night

A season wrecked by zebras is nothing new to the Silver and Black

Travesty is here forever; nothing gets it back

Counting zebras on the grass

With the little yellow flags

Ruining seasons one and all

Huddle of striped shirts with the ball

In disgust I heard a true

Incompetent bastard screwing

Rich, Brown, Rice, Jett,

C-Wood, Chucky, Big Al

Counting zebras on the grass

Might as well just wipe their asses

With the little yellow flags

That’s fifteen on the Silver and Black

Ruining seasons one and all

Incompetent bastards making calls

In disgust I see the small

Huddle of striped shirts with the ball

Counting zebras on the grass

Might as well just wipe their asses

With the little yellow flags

That’s fifteen on the Silver and Black

Ruining seasons one and all

Incompetent bastards making calls

In disgust I see the small

Huddle of striped shirts

Stephen Foglia Ramblood Publishing Company/BMI