The Thomas Pynchon Fake Book

If you see a train this evening,
Far away against the sky,
Lie down in your wooden blanket,
Sleep, and let the train go by.

Trains have called us, every midnight,
From a thousand miles away,
Trains that pass through empty cities,
Trains that have no place to stay.

No one drives the locomotive,
No one tends the staring light,
Trains have never needed riders,
Trains belong to the bitter night.

Railway stations stand deserted,
Rights-of-way lie clear and cold:
What we left them, trains inherit,
Trains go on and we grow old.

Let them cry like cheated lovers,

I’ll tell you it’s just ─out, ─ray, ─juss,
Spirit is so ─con, ─tay, ─juss.
Nobody knows their a-ges . . .

Walkin’ though bees of hon ─ney,
Throwin’ away ─that ─mon, ─ney,
Laughin’ at things so ─fun ─ney,
Spirit’s comin’ though ─to, ─you!

Nev ─ver, ─mind, whatcha hear from your car,
Take a lookit just ─how ─keen ─they are,
Nev ─ver, ─mind, ─what, your calendar say,
Ev’rybody’s nine month old today! Hey,

Pages are turnin’ pages,
Nobody’s in ─their, ─ca ─ges,
Spirit’s just so ─con, ─tay, ─gious─
Just let the Spirit ─move, ─for, ─you!

‘Twas the penis, he thought-was, his own –
Just a big playful boy of a bone . . .
With a stout purple head
Sticking up from the bead,
Where the girlies all played Telephone
Te-le-phone

But They came through the hole in the night,
And They sweet-talked it clear out of sight---
Out of sight…
Now he sighs all alone,
With a heartbroken moan,
For the Pe-nis, he thought-was, his, owwwwn!

Last week I threw a pie at someone’s Momma
Last night I threw a party for my mind
Last thing I knew that 6:02 was screamin’ over head
Or it might’ve been the’ 11:59

Too many chain-link fences
In the evening,
Too many people shiverin’
In the rain,
They tell me that you finally got around to have your baby,
And it don’t look like I’ll see your face again.

Sometimes I wanna go back north, to Humboldt County-
Sometimes I think I’ll go back east, to see my kin . . .
There’s times I think I almost could be happy,
If I knew you thought about me, now and then

OH . . . thur’s . . .
Nazi’s in the woodwork,
Fascists in the walls,
Little Japs with bucktooth grins
gonna grab yew by th’balls

Whin this war is over,
How happy Ah will be,
Gearin’ up fer them Rooskies
And Go-round Number Three....