Idiots are infinite And thinking men are numbered Don't kid yourself This isn't news
Let's start with Tristan Bongo, alone in the race Conscription calling his name One more night of freedom An heiress high up atop the stands
And the lines are open That's Lucky Star, Eye Sore, Doctor Murphy, Sun Tzu, The Clap, Mr. Winner, Spot, Wallace, Mrs. Gonorrhoea, Perfect P, Deadman Walking, and The Company Favourite A son hands dad's hard earned cash to the clerk And she laughs at the gall of the small guido lips “Put it all on Spot, the kid's already won” John Tyler smeared with last nights beer Reflect vomiting Chris who dreams his dream is near In the form of Mrs. Gonorrhea
Reporter reporting the state of affairs Inwardly asks of his prime time hair Why it can't quite rival the manes on these mares The smoothness can't compare The gleaming appliances attract attention The raffle prizes too many to mention Displayed all over the stadium entrance
Hypodermic needles Hidden under a coat sleeves Of sweaty wise-guy money earning men In search of the horse to apprehend
The race is about to begin The race is about to begin
Blondie locked in 4 Eyes' arms Squirming like a dying fish That's the last I can recall
The race was ran Someone lost, someone won I came and I stayed and the same ever since Outside The freaks of the wilderness, open in spring The time before time was the time to sing Unidentified song surging through the brush Transcription futile, let alone the rush You miss when hunched and scribbling notes Here no journalism is ever in vogue Despite the attempts of doctors and saints None have recorded its heavenly grace But I stayed, and stayed, and stayed That race was ran thirty years back And each day since the same Peel back the witness of a million catastrophes To see the spotty remnants each has left I forget in which cups I've pissed From which I can still drink Tonight it's so cold my feet are shrinking Groping around for the sides of my boot It's no night for the blind With all these sirens I envy the deaf mutes Some killer on the loose again Some idiot at large Some Chinese moose again An excuse for the sarge No sirens all silent The log cabin's silent No killer either No creeks in the floor Log cabin, what cabin? A shack's all I have Yes, my cubbyhole's stuffed with skeletons But my neighbours are stuffed with anthrax Where does that leave us? I came thirty years back From Salafessien, via South Schlagenheim To Sunterum and Sunterime The late Sun Sugar's home town Buried not far from here My only friend Neighbor, what neighbor? My shack is all alone This pen, changing lines One line at a time Blindness? What blindness? Sweet blindness A little laughter, a little silence A little magic, a little kindness A little all over me, yes me The first, the last, the everything No trace of anything No sin, no life, no fun, no time, no any-fucking-thing No one, no yes, no house, no shack, no A, no B, no C, no et cetera No one, no two, no et cetera No school, no life, no work, no time, no book, no art, no point, no truth, no use, no friend No know, no knot, no hole, no birth, no end, no real, no fake No king of this useless nameless non-land No end to this nothing nonsense non-song No day set for my saviors arrival, to carry me far Across green waters, above the sky or below the depths Among the white cloud or red steppe Or to fly forever in-between ends Or in-between in-betweens Or in-between no-between Or no nothing, no saviour, no journey, no end A thousand years of no nothing hiding from nothing No reason to hide sins or reason not to sin No reason to pretend No reason to pretend there is not no reason Oh, yes Blondie ran on the track 4 Eyes got stuck in the rail The reporter was caught getting sweaty in the stable Blondie gone, 4 Eyes gone, Guidos gone, Clerk gone, Chris gone Tristan Bongo the man who never left Tristan Bongo never left Still here I stayed
The clown can be a martyr The whore can be an angel The hack becomes a master The crass becomes divine The infinite, infinitesimal And all sins irrepressible No use digging holes to hide The rupture comes and leaves no stone unturned So don't wish for anything The clown can be a martyr The whore can be an angel The hack becomes a master The crass becomes divine The infinite, infinitesimal All sins irrepressibleTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
