no holes in the roof. the rain can't make it's way in. we're sittin' down. you can lay back down. keep your head down. they'll think we're asleep. although you're there.
I've been lying,. To keep you from this pain. Now your crying,. And to know that I'm to blame. And I'll miss you. But its over now. . I'm so sorry,. That it had to be this way.
You got me awake. You got me down. You got me stuck in the ground. . You drive me mad. You drive me wild. You like to play just like a child. . 'Cause every time you take it down.
It's ok baby. For you to feel. Take as much time. You need to heal. Such a pretty girl. . I was once where you are. So in love. I once had begged. The great lord above.
Bumblebee. You're my little bumblebee. Always there to rescue me. When trouble comes awry. Can't you see. What it is you mean to me. Everything is peachy keen.
.... . 1234-1234!. . She don't like fashions, she don't like phonies. She don't like junkies, she don't like druggies. She just wants my beef baloney.
Every kid's no good and. let them hang themselves. Leave them where they are,. Stacked neatly on the shelves. . All your kids are deaf mutes. All your kids are deaf kids.
James Jesus Angleton sells sunlamps door to door. in this so-called peacetime, even spooks fight to stay alive. I don't much like him, but I sit and mind his car.
At the platform's end, where the crowd grew thin. and the light was dim on our shoes. where we sat there so tense,. not to touch though we meant to (I think).
In rags in their normal place. where diesel machines roar by. Pale dawn, at the scrapyard gates. Fast food parks and hardware mines. Not smiling or frowning they,.
Well, hello.. You can no longer depend on the land in which you were born.. You can no longer depend on any land in which you choose to place yourself..
no one comes from here. and so i'm not afraid. everyone's the same as me. we don't talk the same. so we don't talk at all. and our hosts just look on with glee.
in the winter in a seaside boarding house. the killer swigs and wheels. round his room telling how he made that. weeping spinster kneel. yellow light seeps through a fly-glown lampshade.
August the 20th: Yes, folks, it's another cold, clammy day in England. A large crowd has gathered around the police station. Everybody--EVERYBODY--wishes to have contact with a certain little Irish writer within. Not to discuss his works, though the works are known to them; they've been published in the tabloid papers by the police under the heading "Barbaric Butcher's Brochures". No, they want to tear his very head from his body, for what it is alleged he did in the way of mortal damage to two soldiers in a nearby public lavatory. The night draws in. Nobody would say a word about him, except a fool like me [(and his skin)]..
No dates to miss, no home to phone. No face to kiss, no good alone. No family, no history, a permenant delinquency. No will to smile, no room to cry. No time to think.
Green bed of bottles, open to the sky. Bare head of drunk man, the beads of sweat go dry. He says he's sorry, tender as a lamb. she says, "go", meaning, "stay", meaning, "You have to pay".
{Le chien est le meilleur ami de l'homme}. . Maniac creature with gigantic teething. Pay attention to that killing machine. Staring (at) me with eyes of hate.
She's got something that makes me wanna fly. She takes me higher, till I reach and touch the sky. She gives me glory and a love that makes me shine. .