2003-01-25 | KRAZY HARE DEW

little children drunk on bad perfume

heroin milkshakes

kool aid mushrooms

falling off their bikes at the speed of stealth bombers

shooting Chuck Connors

second guessing guests of honor

riflemen shooting up white stuff

spoons of the blind mans bluff

they've all seen enough

roughing it in the shopping cart wilderness

we call it home

our hearts are in the fireplace

with letters sent to addresses that no longer exist

and addressing lost strangers who wish that we didn't

lying on the pavement with the loss and regret of a stool sample pigeon

smashing medical instruments

hanging myself with an endoscope

couldn't find the rope

and the innocent people are the ones who stole the dope

they took away our fun

and sniffed the powder from our guns

they showed us what it's like to get stunned

and how exciting it can be to be shunned by the popular vote

and to spit at the power of the words that we wrote

i've got their back

and they've got my vote

the deck is stacked

but the game is a hoax

elderly people strung out on centipedes

laughing at our broken knees

mouths open catching fleas

leaving in the nick of time

parsley sage rosemary and dime bags

the petty circus is full of face painting slime bags

green liquid all over their heads

speakers surrouding me with sounds of the dead

lionheart wilderness

caged and dreary

unleashed fury

eyes bleed and teary

starry nights full of pointless fights

sad arguments not proving a thing

songs of regret are always a safe bet

for losing the company that leaves you feeling wet

damp and broken, their skin patches pain

even when i'm not making sense i feel sane

it's hard when everyone else speaks in boring tongues

and foreign devils don't want to hear about what it's like to be hung

they're hot and irritable

sitting at the breakfast table with christmas ornaments in their lips

piercing silence making the evil seem non-violent

highly illogical gothic intangibles

garden variety smoky, green and botanical

birds of parasites crawling up the wrong side of the fence

cemeteries full of broken gates and brand new cars with ancient dents

wishing for somebody to grant me some

looking for an answer, but finding none

not knowing where i'm going, but still confident i'll get there

walking through a sensefield with a bag full of wet hares

i'm gonna be successful at whatever i do

i have to make a choice out of my various clues

if i had the time to do all that i wanted

i wouldn't have any left to find out if angry people are haunted

and i wouldn't have any time to spend with my girl

or fulfill my lifetime dream of meeting a guy named Merle

he'd take me to a place that only cool people go

them and the ones who forgot what they were supposed to know

i can tell by the people that i see on tv

that they were supposed to be like me

or rather i'm supposed to follow their steps

and let down my avant "guard" like johnny depp

i'm too talented to end up washed up on some shore of talented corpses

or maybe i'm getting too cocky for someone who doesn't know what his course is

i can't even find out where the funhouse entrance starts

labyrinth of questions, dodging against my mind like darts

misguided middle aged men at worthless

driving in the car pool lane with their sense of purpose

i've got to make it happen before the cows come home

because they're big and full of air like me

but they're pride is all i know

and i've got to get some more

before i can comfortably sleep and snore

for evermore

i feel guilty being comfortable when i'm unaccomplished

but i'm happy, and i've got half of what i've always wanted

i've got to make it so it's just like this, but without the guilt, though

i'm going to prove it myself, without help (like Wilco!)

- premature ejaculation | tantra +