You're working day and night just steady struggling. You think that you can make it by yourself. You feel like giving up, you feel like giving in. But you're determined to get out of this hell.
Standing there alone the ship is waiting. All systems are go, are you sure?. Control is not convinced but the computer. Has the evidence no need to abort.
What I see is monochrome. A flock of birds flying south. I feel as if life has ended. . What I hear is the sound of the wind. Black mass of birds flying beyond.
Leave me alone. I don't like you, go home. Where've you been?. I'm calling you. Are you home, Miss Vicious. . I can't live without your kiss. Are you home, Miss Vicious?.
Man meets boy. Shattered summer, broken dreams. Too young to know. What he wants is so extreme. . He held you down. Told you not to scream or cry. From that day forward, baby.
Do you have to be depressed to write a sad song?. Do you have to be in love to write a love song?. Is a song better if it really happened to you?. . Running down my face.
And I'm wandering the lower east side. Where all the streets have stories. My feet play the role of a folk singer. strummin' the streets like guitar strings.
You're running free at record speed. My legs are crushed and my arms they bleed. Inside of me turns like a washing a machine. While outside I form a smoke screen.
More beer, more beer. All I want is more beer. More beer, more beer. All I want is more beer, more beer. . When I get home from work and I'm dyin' of thirst.
Hey. Hey everyone, look whos talkin now. (Hey). Youre everything we care about. Hey, look at you, youre what we wanna be. (Hey). We should check you out.
I. have wondered about you. Where will you be. when this is through?. If all. If all goes as planned. Will you redeem. my life again?. My life again?.
See the priest in gleaming nappies. Gurgling and burping child at play. Signing warrents, blessing firing squads. are the pleasures of this baby's day.
The mother of the nation has gone; she has hobbled off to her uncertain fate, having only a tycoon's salary given to her to fund the purchase of that monkey-shit-brown hair rinse we know so well. They act like nothing ever happened, but it did. It's too late--too late for the thousands driven to mental illness, premature old age and suicide by the force-feeding to them of a daily diet of despair and the doctrine of their own obsolescence. Too late for the thousands of teenagers who grew up illiterate but unaccountably proud that their nation spent the money it could have been spent on educating them to buy guns--guns which this country is too feeble and unimportant to need to use..
Is it just me or is there something missing?. discovered in that photograph many years from now,. considered satallites tranverse and guide your back,.
Well I check the time. Stand in line. I'm on my own again. By myself. My best friend. All those things you did, you said. Never really meant. So right now I'm back here once again.
Too blind to see. What's going on with me. Too dumb to cry. Too dead to die. Nervously I'm standing there. Too numb to breath the air. Something's wrong, certainly.
Like Elvis, like everyone. We all die, we all live on in photos. And paperbacks, if we're lucky. We're coming back. . Mother Mary over, over. Mother Mary over, over me.
There was a guy. An under water guy who controlled the sea. Got killed by ten million pounds of sludge. From New York and New Jersey. . This monkey's gone to Heaven.
"They are bitter little people. The are gonna scream a bit. The image of a little troublemaker. Animal lunatic. Maybe we can stick'em with it. Choke'em in solutions.
Open Areas. Was the name of the book. He never, never, never wrote. . Man overboard, man overboard. Man overboard. . We paved the roads. We really blanketed everything.