You're all grown up You have your own stove And your own pair of oven gloves You have arrangements and assignations You keep up appearances and have a reputation You sit in the park and work on your sonnets You talk about yourself in the past tense You have opinions that can't be shaken And morals firm
Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean? Do you know what I mean Is your favourite turn of phrase You know what I mean, you know what I mean You know what I mean, you know what I mean Is your second favourite turn of phrase
You can speak English better than anyone And you can cursе like no one evеr has done And you have a bigger dick than any man who's ever lived And you can cum more than a hundred stallions In a room that smells of cigarettes and carrion Under sheets freezing cold with damp You voyage far and wide across plain and ocean Steppe and marsh on celestial bridges And knock down doors and climb in windows And listen in, listen, listen, listen, listen, listen, listen, listen Can you hear that? The signs of life? Not yet awake? The stirring, the screwing up of eyes? A blanket that forms mountains The valley between knee and cheek The steep slide down to the feet The toe poking out—be careful, don't touch! Have discipline, my boy; just watch—stay outside, stay outside In the cold Can you feel it, you can feel it, you can feel it See? There's a universe in this room You scrounger of toilets and pillager of tombs You don't have to work because working is for schmucks You know God will light your way You are ready to admit to murder, to assault To robbery, to pederasty, to fraud You are ready to take the blame for every crime of all men But the jury is out to lunch See upcoming rock shows
You imagine the roaming camera that captures your melancholy You walk the streets that stink of disease You turn up your collar like James Dean You put your right hand under your jacket And pretend you have a gun You put your left hand under your jacket And pretend you're Napoleon You squeeze your spots till they bleed You turn your face so no one sees Do beggars still play accordions? You should pay one to follow you around and play your theme
Soon your nails will sing Soon your earrings will ring Soon your organs will grow little mouths And speak for themselves Soon your body will stage a civil war Soon your heart will burst out free And soon it will look you in the face and ask What have you done? Why have you led it astray? Soon your brain will migrate Soon your balls self-castrate; your feet will scuttle off Your hands will fly away Soon your eyes will glue themselves shut Soon your legs refuse to hold you up So embarrassed to bear your name Your body will vanish out of shame
The first step is acceptance Admit you have no idea what you are doing Admit you have no name and no ambition Admit that you sleepwalk through life Admit that you sleep only sleepless nights Admit your best dreams involve being carried That spirit that enters your room Those arms that envelop poor you! That carry you away In those arms you escape—you dissolve through clouds London shrinks as you leave it behind London turns to a model village And now you are one with yourself You are finally proud Admit that you've tried to cry and can't Admit to yourself; no one else cares There's no jury present; there's no reporters There's no examination; it's only you Soon you'll disappear Soon you won't be here Soon you'll have all the time in the world Soon your lips will unwrap Soon your lips will expand You'll pull them apart, up over your head Soon you'll be inside out Soon your veins will spring off Soon they'll spread out for miles Soon your veins will transport trains all over the world Soon your veins will be a railroad Soon your mind will extract itself And very soon you'll disappear, soon you'll disappear You'll be fine, just relax Soon you'll disappear That's the only factTeksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
