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The Hard Taco Project
is a Simple Concept

I will write and record one song a month,
every month, until I am dead


I have been doing this since
1993 and so far my health is good.

Hard Taco Radio

The Princeton Pauper

When the outlaws are mirroring antics
Of classical freaks and hopeless romantics.
Will you be caught in the stone age vice.
Will you be the one playing Taps
When the worlds unite, drawing one colored maps
As the crosses ignite, dissolving your one paradise.

You blow your cover with a single dash
One spasm of light, then like a burned out flashcube
You sit in your clam,
And blame the hand that smashes your shell against the rocks.
You shove your freedom in the face of God,
And while you're dragged into bed, you smile and nod
While in the back of your head,
They're propping your body up in a cardboard box.

When they dwell on the first book of Dante's,
The rangers, the rogers, the walters and montys,
Are they exposed with a pinwheel Pontiac rammed between their thighs
The paddleboat is pushing me ashore,
The mistletoe broke, and the key's on the floor
And I'm still trying to read the musical score
That keeps scrolling in your eyes.


No recording available
Copyright 1992 Zach London

The Playground Skara Brae

Tell me mother, tell me when the curtain falls,
Will the seats be empty
Will the last thing fate recalls
Be the driftwood on the skyline scratching out my name,
Or will it be the bumbletree that plays the giving game
Beowulf is not the one to blame.
Mother, our two worlds just aren't the same.

Just inside the foyer sits an ancient box,
The etching says Pandora and it runs like melting clocks.
In the box there is a feline and a jar of tetracide
And idly we wonder if that cat has up and died,
And in my mind that cat will be my guide.
Dr. Schroedinger is right there by our side.

Come to the Playground Skara Brae
Say the things the children say,
Free your skies from clouds of grey
As the hours drift away.

Throw down all your seaweed,
No more scritching flakes
Or big old nasty ugly hairy scary fire drakes.
Bake a batch of bubbly Johnny cakes,
Eat them right up now for goodness sakes.

Straighten up you lilly bunks,
Hang your brow to dry.
Take the hand of Aquaman you needn't tell him why.
Long-haired freaky people need apply.
Beowulf is just another guy.

Come to the Playground Skara Brae
Say the things the children say,
Free your skies from clouds of grey
As the hours drift away.
See the willows as they sway,
Hear the pillows as they pray,
Taste the ocean's salty spray
At the Playground Skara Brae!


(Adam Bilsky - co-author)

No recording available
Copyright 1993 Zach London

The Other Side

As our minds trail upwards towards the sky,
Two stars torn asunder bid goodbye.
Stardust settles under clouds
Of former slaves and furrowed brows.
Let your starved imagination fly,
Fly so high!

Too many people sharing one face.
We will be strong in the land of Zion.

We'll do what we can,
'Cause we are the chosen nation of men,
Nation of everybody!
We'll pitch our tents on the other side!

As our circle closes we stand tall,
Now a brand new future heeds our call.
Constellations spinning mad,
A world of visions to be had.
We'll be strong while mighty mountains fall,
We'll give our all.

Too many people sharing one face.
We will be strong in the land of Zion.

We'll do what we can,
'Cause we are the chosen nation of men,
Nation of everybody!
We'll steer our flocks to the other side!


(Maury Loeb - co-author
Mitch Rotter - co-author)

No recording available
Copyright 1993 Zach London

The Only Serious Thing

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From "Down the Wrong Pipe"

There is a drawer
Of letters, poems and plays
That somehow survived
A dozen moving days
There is a salty sting that
Tells me that I'm home
Wax Stax went belly up
Since Ive been on my own

Let's take the Plymouth
Pick up the girls and drive
From Silver Spring
To Oakland Avenue
And it might just be
The only serious thing I do

Five friends built a city with a stupid name
But so achingly beautiful just the same
We found a stick
And scratched our names in wet cement
A desert Bohemia
Where we could just invent

There's no percentage
In dwelling reverently
On things that weren't so great
The first time through
But it might just be
The only serious thing I do

There's no percentage
In dwelling reverently
On things that weren't so great
The first time through
But it might just be
And it's probably
The only serious thing I do
The only serious thing I do


Copyright 2005 Zach London

Discography