“The old writer, like all of the people in the world, had got, during his long life, a great many notions in his head. He had once been quite handsome and a number of women had been in love with him. And then, of course, he had known people, many people, known them in a peculiarly intimate way that was different from the way in which you and I know people. At least that is what the writer thought and the thought pleased him. Why quarrel with an old man concerning his thoughts? “In the bed the writer had a dream that was not a dream. As he grew somewhat sleepy but was still conscious, figures began to appear before his eyes. He imagined the young indescribable thing within himself was driving a long procession of figures before his eyes. “You see the interest in all this lies in the figures that went before the eyes of the writer. They were all grotesques. All of the men and women the writer had ever known had become grotesques.”

The whispers Behind my back So loud I can hear every word And accusation It brings me So near to collapse I don’t know what I’ve done wrong It scares the hell out of me What they say I’ve heard it for so long So long I want to run away To where these hands can’t hurt me again I want to fly away To find a place where I don’t have to pretend These hands are not wings More like talons so sharp That I am cut by them My own hands tear me apart I see the looks I get from strangers And acquaintances They vilify me And the hatred burns inside of them I don’t know What I’ve done wrong But somehow I’ve done it again Again… (so turn these hands to wings) I want to run away To where these hands can’t hurt me again I want to fly away To find a place where I don’t have to pretend These hands are not wings More like talons so sharp That I am cut by them My own hands tear me apart I want to run away To where these hands can’t hurt me again I want to fly away To find a place where I don’t have to pretend These hands are not wings More like talons so sharp That I am cut by them My own hands tear me apart

I don’t know how to say the words That linger in my head Like dusty cobwebs Of what I should have said So I write it down Cough it out And I guess That’s never quite enough These paper pills And bottled dreams And broken romance underneath My open arms A quiet touch And I don’t know what it means But you left me hanging on a thread of hope and dreams And never-end but who was I to believe in what you said? I write the odds and ends of thoughts That linger like the dust On every rusty countertop And I only write what I must And the bloody scraps Of what I told you Fall apart and fray These paper pills And bottled dreams And broken romance underneath My open arms A quiet touch And I don’t know what it means But you left me hanging on a thread Of hope and dreams And never-end But who was I To believe in what you said? If you Only believed in what you saw Then maybe what I showed you was the truth Or was it You only loved me because you hated every other person Well I guess we have that in common These paper pills I’ve saved my dreams In crumpled paper in between The dust and dirt inside the seams And I know now what they mean Well these words were true, I knew, I said, “to confound,” as if that made some sense I guess, suppose, you had the right To leave me here inst ead With nothing, but these Paper pills to keep me sane.

“Sit down, my boy You need to learn how to hate” An old man told me long ago He told me “I’ve done so much wrong You could never know But all of us are Christ And we all get crucified” And I’m starting to get what he meant when he said that “All of us have always been dead And when they hang me from the lamppost on Main Street I’ll already be…” He said with finality A hint of a shout “these souls are empty sinking ships Filled up with doubt And all of us are Christ And we all get crucified” And I’m starting to get what he meant when he said that “All of us have always been dead And when they hang me from the lamppost on Main Street I’ll already be…” That was the death of me I guess we’ll finally see When we slip under the sea I’ll praise the sky above And let myself fly away And find the rest of me And I’m starting to get what he meant when he said that “All of us have always been dead And when they hang me from the lamppost on Main Street I’ll already be…” (dead)

The water is up in Wine Creek," cried Joe Welling with the air of Pheidippides bringing news of the victory of the Greeks in the struggle at Marathon. His finger beat a tattoo upon Ed Thomas's broad chest. "By Trunion bridge it is within eleven and a half inches of the flooring," he went on, the words coming quickly and with a little whistling noise from between his teeth. An expression of helpless annoyance crept over the faces of the four. "I have my facts correct. Depend upon that. I went to Sinnings' Hardware Store and got a rule. Then I went back and measured. I could hardly believe my own eyes. It hasn't rained you see for ten days. At first I didn't know what to think. Thoughts rushed through my head. I thought of subterranean passages and springs. Down under the ground went my mind, delving about. I sat on the floor of the bridge and rubbed my head. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, not one. Come out into the street and you'll see. There wasn't a cloud. There isn't a cloud now. Yes, there was a cloud. I don't want to keep back any facts. There was a cloud in the west down near the horizon, a cloud no bigger than a man's hand. "Not that I think that has anything to do with it. There it is, you see. You understand how puzzled I was. "Then an idea came to me. I laughed. You'll laugh, too. Of course it rained over in Medina County. That's interesting, eh? If we had no trains, no mails, no telegraph, we would know that it rained over in Medina County. That's where Wine Creek comes from. Everyone knows that. Little old Wine Creek brought us the news. That's interesting. I laughed. I thought I'd tell you—it's interesting, eh?" Joe Welling turned and went out at the door. Taking a book from his pocket, he stopped and ran a finger down one of the pages. Again he was absorbed in his duties as agent of the Standard Oil Company. "Hern's Grocery will be getting low on coal oil. I'll see them," he muttered, hurrying along the street, and bowing politely to the right and left at the people walking past. When George Willard went to work for the Winesburg Eagle he was besieged by Joe Welling. Joe envied the boy. It seemed to him that he was meant by Nature to be a reporter on a newspaper. "It is what I should be doing, there is no doubt of that," he declared, stopping George Willard on the sidewalk before Daugherty's Feed Store. His eyes began to glisten and his forefinger to tremble. "Of course I make more money with the Standard Oil Company and I'm only telling you," he added. "I've got nothing against you but I should have your place. I could do the work at odd moments. Here and there I would run finding out things you'll never see." Becoming more excited Joe Welling crowded the young reporter against the front of the feed store. He appeared to be lost in thought, rolling his eyes about and running a thin nervous hand through his hair. A smile spread over his face and his gold teeth glittered. "You get out your note book," he commanded. "You carry a little pad of paper in your pocket, don't you? I knew you did. Well, you set this down. I thought of it the other day. Let's take decay. Now what is decay? It's fire. It burns up wood and other things. You never thought of that? Of course not. This sidewalk here and this feed store, the trees down the street there—they're all on fire. They're burning up. Decay you see is always going on. It doesn't stop. Water and paint can't stop it. If a thing is iron, then what? It rusts, you see. That's fire, too. The world is on fire. Start your pieces in the paper that way. Just say in big letters 'The World Is On Fire.' That will make 'em look up. They'll say you're a smart one. I don't care. I don't envy you. I just snatched that idea out of the air. I would make a newspaper hum. You got to admit that."

I saw her in the window Like a sculpture hewn from Marble like a goddess of a god that I mistrust Her form did tempt me To break apart the bonds That held me to my love and to my throne and to my bones I dreamt I was in Hell And the Devil spoke He said “do just what you please, But please, don’t blame your lust on me,” He told me fear Had driven me to him And he would do by me As I would do by sin Lord, if I am to sin Then make me a sinner Give me a reason And let me burn that bridge For I am in love With naught but the strength of God I will not stray And I will not budge

I guess you’ll never believe that I’m the one Take me for a man or let me alone if this is the best that I can get you can have your lovers I’ll take the rest You can keep your lovers I’ll be what’s left He screams at me in tongues and phrases Words I cannot understand His dreams are made of you and I am Standing in the way of all his plans I never really loved you I just loved the love you gave and all these Made up thoughts of you and me It will not hurt for me to walk away I guess, that I’m not the one that you love And that’s something I can live with Even if it makes me feel ashamed And if you want to run away with him I will not chase you Be free, be free, be free…

I’m not meant to stand still To watch the world pass Without passing my judgment Or having the last laugh I’m no fool I’m no queer Oh, I’m no queer I’m no queer I don’t want your kindness I don’t want your help Stay away Stay away from me I’m perfectly sane and there’s nothing wrong here No, I’m not I will strike you down

My only lovers are the Doctor and the death The rest of me has lingered before the door And then strolled out to face the night Like kisses on red lips I blew away with the cold, dark wind Some part of me had always wished I could drift away And disappear from sight 800 dollars in a cookie tin behind the wall I left it there to remind me of The dreams I had and the risks I took And the promises I broke and kept These words rang true then and still do, my dear I let you leave too soon my urgent Cries won’t keep you safe and please just stay I don’t know what to think anymore (You once were young, just go, be free) I cannot leave you I can’t (Just) leave I dreamt a dream I was flying away and I took your hand and you touched my face I was loved I was loved

The memory’s been invading your head tonight It won’t go away And you can’t take it anymore A little less hope and a little more praying And the clock ticks Closer to midnight So drink up You know it’s just what you need Let the pain sink in And it will set you free Drink up And wash away your shame Let the poison consume you And swallow the liquid pain Once upon a time You were young and innocent But now all that remains of you Is a broken body and a shattered mind And you’re almost done and through Yeah, you So drink up You know it’s just what you need Let the pain sink in And it will set you free Drink up And wash away your shame Let the poison consume you And swallow the liquid pain No more hope left Only guilt and shame The bottle’s on the table And it’s waiting To be your liquid pain So drink up You know it’s just what you need Let the pain sink in And it will set you free Drink up And wash away your shame Let the poison consume you And swallow the liquid pain So drink up You know it’s just what you need Let the pain sink in And it will set you free Drink up And wash away your shame Let the poison consume you And swallow the liquid pain

I’d better quit talking If I want to hear you think out loud About what you think About you and me And whatever we could be I started to blink But you cut me off with a kiss and my eyes stayed shut I guess I was never brave enough I guess I was just a toy To you I never know what to do when you hold me Do you believe in what we thought we were? I’d better quit breathing If I want to see you smile I know you won’t miss me You haven’t looked at me in a while I tried to blink But you cut me off with a kiss and my eyes stayed shut I was never brave enough I was just a toy to you I never know what to do when you hold me Do you care if I walk away? Fuck you and your sophistication You never cared and you’ll never be scared of anything Not falling your way Or falling apart at the seams Darling you’re so goddamn exceptional Go on, believe that you were worth my time Believe that, believe that You’re never worth my... You’re never worth my time Voice 1: You’re not worth my time You’re not worth my time You’re not worth my time You’re not worth my time Voice 2: I tried to save it, I tried to save it but you’re not worth my time You’re not worth my time I tried to hold it, I tried to hold it back you’re not worth my time You’re not worth my time Voice 3: Fuck you and your sophistication You never cared You never cared Voice 4: I was nothing but a toy to you Nothing Nothing Nothing

I have seen them all pass and disappear Like ghosts of the dreams of yesteryear They’re all the same They’re all departing Trying to find the peace Within restarting And if it’s all the same to you I’d rather go quietly in the morning And never see you again I’d fly away In the morning I dream of silence And solitude Find my place Where I want to go And stay there forever Hiding away from you I have seen them all flee their mortal fears And run from the scars, the screams they hear They’re all the same They’re all departing Trying to find the peace within restarting And if it’s all the same to you I’d rather Step quietly out the door in the early morning air I’d leave quietly You’d never hear me go I dream of silence And solitude Find my place Where I want to go And stay there forever Hiding away from you “The young man's mind was carried away by his growing passion for dreams. One looking at him would not have thought him particularly sharp. With the recollection of little things occupying his mind he closed his eyes and leaned back in the car seat. He stayed that way for a long time and when he aroused himself and again looked out of the car window the town of Winesburg had disappeared and his life there had become but a background on which to paint the dreams of his manhood.”