Autolycus was the son of Hermes, the god of merchants, athletes and thieves. Fittingly, he became one of the greatest thieves of mythical Greece, steeling cattle and riches from cruel kings and fellow heroes.
In his greatest caper, the wolf-like Autolycus stole a herd of cattle from the wicked king Sisyphus, then dyed their coats a different color so they wouldn’t be recognized. In his older years, he mentored Heracles in the arts of wrestling, and became the grandfather to the heroes Jason and Odysseus.
Ovid once said that Autolycus “loved to make white of black, and black of white.” As a Greek hero, he stole both physical objects and people’s sense of what was right and wrong.
lyrics
The funny thing about it all:
Announce that this is yours,
and yours alone, don’t touch,
don’t move, don’t leave a scratch,
that’s when fingers start to itch.
Paste a mountain onto the plains,
it’s clearly there for climbing,
as firewalls are for cracking,
as boxes are for opening,
as fences are for vaulting.
Like those mystics say:
Owners owned, souls weighed down.
Can’t be taken with, doesn’t help today.
Let the coins fall from your hands–
–wherever they may.
And oh yes, there’s a rush that comes
from walking through the walls,
knowing what lies behind each door,
plucking secrets from the world tree,
having everything for free.
Hands can be filled at any time
no dread at being empty,
Tips and tricks on throws and tumblers.
Pressure points for profit
grab the burning yam, then drop it.
One way of looking at it:
Cheeks stuffed with nuts can’t speak.
Gold locked away can’t gleam.
Traders trade too much to live–
–So only thieves can truly give.
Biometric chips, too easily foiled,
each camera has an obscure angle,
each hide has dyes that best soak in,
nothing can’t fit under a new roof,
what sick bastard would brand a hoof?
The world herself a thief that steals our bones,
She’s careful, and leaves no prints at the scenes.
Lovers steal the heart, actors steal the show.
All gold and lives will go to Hades,
And even the sun will steal the shades.
All in all:
Youth will leave their mark.
A rose upon a table,
a sigil scratched upon a wall–
–An ornate card for them to call.
He has a Bachelor in Music Composition from DePaul University and a Masters in Music Composition from Northwestern
University. Jim Gailloreto is the artistic director of the non-profit Jazz Artists Resource
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