Everybody sing!

But when the house goes up in flames
Noone emerges triumphantly from it
When the scum begins to circle the drain
Everybody loves a winner

Moon's full; sky's bright
You and me are gonna get drunk tonight
We're gonna steal some tractors
Head on into town
Find the main strip
And start mowing 'em down

Don't come to the window
Until you're sure it's me
Don't ignore the obvious
Take a deep breath

Put your hand on the goddamn radio
Put your hand on the goddamn radio

Fields are full of spirits
But noone cares at all
The light above ya flickers
When you hear me call
And I'm shaking when I see you there
Cos I don't know what it means
But the ground is looking dry tonight
And bursting near the seams

Don't come to the window
Until you're sure it's me
Don't ignore the obvious
Take a deep breath

Put your hand on the goddamn radio
Put your hand on the goddamn radio

Interesting idea you've had with this section... hmm. Kinda cool

Larry made his nest up in the autumn branches
Built from nothing but high hopes and thin air
He collected up some baby-blasted mothers; they took their chances
And for a while they lived quite happily up there
He came from New York City, man
But he couldn't take the pace
Thought it was a like a dog-eat-dog world
Then he went to San Francisco; spent a year in outer space
With a sweet little San Franciscan girl

I can hear my mother wailing
And a whole lot of scraping of chairs
Well, I dunno what it is
But there's definitely something going on upstairs

Well, yeah, New York City, he had to get out of there
And San Francisco, well, I dunno
And then to LA, where he spent about a day
He thought even the pale sky-stars were smart enough
To keep well away from LA
Meanwhile Larry made up names for the ladies
Like Miss Boo and Miss Quick
He stockpiled weapons and took potshots in the air
He feasted on their lovely bodies like a lunatic
And wrapped himself up in their soft yeller hair

I can hear chants and incantations
And some guy is mentioning me in his prayers
Well, I dunno what it is
But there's definitely something going on upstairs

Well, uh, New York City , man, San Francisco, LA, I dunno
But Larry grew increasingly neurotic and obscene
I mean, he, he never asked to be raised up from the tomb
I mean, nobody ever actually asked him to forsake his dreams
Anyway, to cut a long story short, fame finally found him
Mirrors became his torturers, cameras snapped him at every chance
The women all went back to their homes and their husbands
With secret smiles on the corners of their mouths
He ended up, like so many of 'em do, back on the streets of New York City
In a soup queue, a dope fiend, a slave
Then prison, then the madhouse, then the grave; ah, poor Larry

But what do we really know of the dead
And who actually cares?
Well, I dunno what it is
But there's definitely something going on upstairs

I was sitting there, I had a comfortable chair
And that was all that I needed...

She turned and said to me, "I need to go to sleep,"
And it seemed so mean
It's almost as if she could not appreciate how cool I was being

If you're in heaven, you'll forgive me, dear
Because that's what they do up there

Johnny Cash is gonna die
the bible tells me so
wherever the man in black ends up
that's where I want to go
He may haunt Folsom prison
maybe San Quentin too
say hello to some old friends
that's the kind of cool shit Johnny Cash would do

Marc wrote:If you're in heaven, you'll forgive me, dear
Because that's what they do up there

This prayer is for you, my love
Sent on the wings of a dove
An idiot prayer of empty words
Love, dear, is strictly for the birds
We each get what we deserve
My little snow white dove
Rest assured

I'm the twisted name
on Garbo's eyes
Living proof of
Churchill's lies
I'm destiny
I'm torn between the light and dark
Where others see their targets
Divine symmetry
Should I kiss the viper's fang
Or herald loud
the death of Man
I'm sinking in the quicksand
of my thought
And I ain't got the power anymore

Don't believe in yourself
Don't deceive with belief
Knowledge comes
with death's release

I'm not a prophet
or a stone age man
Just a mortal
with the potential of a superman
I'm living on
I'm tethered to the logic
of Homo Sapien
Can't take my eyes
from the great salvation
of bullshit faith
If I don't explain what you ought to know
You can tell me all about it
on the next Bardo
I'm sinking in the quicksand
of my thought
And I ain't got the power anymore

Don't believe in yourself
Don't deceive with belief
Knowledge comes
with death's release