Der Lyrics
1. Out of the Womb/Into the Void.
2.Sonic Reducer. I think I read David Thomas wrote this one, and let the Dead Boys play it on the condition they didn't put his name on it.
3.Camel City. I come from Camel City, where the scum floats to the top, they climb on top of that little white dick, appoint themselves the big dick cop, where the hippie leads the tool, they burned the garden, and bought a sign that said, "Ain't the garden cool, give it up, thinking you're worth something, thinking you need something, and I ain't got shit to do, except sit around, and chainsmoke with a bunch of fucking kids, I can't stand these fucking girls, that cram their lungs, and cram their pussies while their brains get dust and mold, I can't stand this fucking noise, the poets and the folk-art, one-finger guitar, and the key of R bark, and I wish that I was dead, not 'cause I'm suicidal, but 'cause it's the only high I can afford.
4. Oedipus Rocks. I don't give a fuck about the virtue of hard work, all it gave me was a padded cage, and the chance to watch you rot, about the importance of an education, all it ever taught was recitation, lies and fear, about the blessings of the lord, all he taught me was castration and the hatred of the damned, about the hardships of this life, I've known that ever since you let me down, You're acting like the King of Siam, with your recliner throne, your case of beer, and your jester with remote, you rule your kingdom with a bloody trail of tears, only noticing your bastard child when he's sneaking out the door in search of life, First you're asking me if I'm getting into drugs, as if I need a catalyst to feel this dead inside, if my cherry's still intact, I say no and I jerk white tears in shame, if satan's the god I kneel before, I say it beats the fuck out of your hippie on a stick, if I care about my future, well I'm busting ass not to be a waste like you, you're acting like the Queen of the Nile, swimming in a sea of valium, gin and speed, wondering why the uniforms you bought for me at 3, are tearing at the seams revealing me, I'll be the victor in the end, when blood flows from daddy's head, and mommy's juices stain the bed, when every trendy intervention fails, and years and fears explode, I'll be your god.
5. I don't like Mondays. I think Bob Geldof wrote this when he was in the Boomtown Rats.
6. Marite Says. It must've been nice to have felt like a princess, It must've been nice to have been queen for a day, but you abdicated your throne, 'cause you had school on Monday, and I was left alone to tame the savages in my soul, It must've been been nice to have broken the rules once, it must've been nice to have felt deviant, but you had to spit because you feared of addiction, and I was left holding the marks and the bag, and I guess it's wrong to love, to be created or destroyed by one sound from your lips, but I've just been given one shell to inhabit, and I can't just smile and forget, 'cause old habits die hard, it must've been nice to have gotten some action, it seems to have become your religion since, but I've been denied the right to share in your new faith, 'cause our bond is too close for sex, It must've been nice to have found a new planet, it must've been nice to have touched the cosmos, but what you thought was heaven turned out be black space, and it is my eternal resting place, and I guess it's wrong to love, 'cause I'm sanctioned for caring at every turn, but I can't just turn off extremes of emotion, just like you can't bring yourself to care, it must've been nice to have been part of something, until you found out what it required on your part, you left me alone and my soul was ravaged, and I found I'd given you all that I had, I lived a life with no end or beginning, I said the future would bury it's own dead, but I'd prefer death to this suffocating feeling that from here there is no other course, and I guess it's wrong to love, 'cause the word only brings painful associations to your mind, imagining the world that exists across the tangled lines, must make you run like hell to the safety of your mother's arms, I can't be spared for morons being sold their fucking souls, crouching in terror from the footsteps in the hall, if you ever see through smoke and snow, and wanna live to be young and dignified and old, I beg you to give me a call.
7. I Killed Your God. I can't see it any other way (what good is a god who can't feel guilt) I gotta end my misery, one quick slash of the razor blade, his bullshit drove me insane, and I killed your god, saw what he had to offer me, castration or eternal suffering, said, "Fuck this shit, man, I wanna be free," What do you do when you've been fucked over by your folks, what do you do when you've been fucked over by your school, what do you do when you've been fucked over by your friends, what do you when you've been fucked over by yourself, oppression masked as divine decree, iron-studded fist of love for me, there's just one way to kill the shame, there's just one way to make amends, get down off of that fucking cross, I'll die for my own fucking sins, blamed when the director's work is shoddy, unleavened bread or the forbidden fruit tree.
8. October 31st, 1968. Poetry is gay.
9. America. America, what do you say to your bastard son? What do you say to your black sheep breed? What do you say to your grotesque child, you say, "Fuck off, fuck of and die." When I was a child, I was promised the fields were bare, and the trees that blocked my view were products of my own youthful naivete, where are they now when my elders slam my head into those trees, drenching more of my mouth with blood each time that I attempt to breathe? America, what do you say to the men who feel? What do you say to the outstretched hand? What do you say to the pissed-off youth? You say nothing, nothing at all, when I was young, I was informed these thoughts were real, and not contrived, and that a living, speaking, breathing fucking life was not a toy, where are they now when I'm a number on a page, a fucking cog in a machine, conscripted, whoring only for a warm place to waste my dreams? America, what do you say when the knife is grabbed, what do you say when the slaves up-rise? What do you say when your blood is spilled? And the Phoenix burns, and flies away, on the night that I became a man, I shot my blood with purest rage, and felt the burn of the founding fathers pounding in my veins, I saw a world in constant flux, a culture struggling in it's chains, and vowed my heart and mind and flesh for our freedoms, this world is yours, this world is mine, and in our hearts, and in our minds we all know where the motherfucking power lies.
10. My War. I think Chuck Dukowski wrote this, and Black Flag played it.
11. Fanon the Flames. I know what I am, and I know what you think, I'm just another colic monkey whoring for the machine, well naivete fades, but the donkey's eternal, seen his sweat and his blood turned into heightened expectations, you're a cog in the imperial machine, a monkey in the organ grinder's scheme, you rim the asshole holding the strings, and then tell me to be all that I can be, you make me feel like John Travolta, 'cause I want a life outside these walls, 'cause I'd rather be a small-time slave than a big-time whore, 'cause I want what I fucking deserve, well, the clock struck the hour, and you're holding me down, as if there's something more important than me sitting around, then you threaten a man who's been read all his rights, and watch him walk out the door into the freedom of night, you're an ape in the facade of a man, a cuban waiter in the promised land, doing tricks for the scraps in his hand, thinking you can break my soul.
12. Flower of Evil. Since I was young, I was promised that if I gave all that I had, someday I'd get what I deserve, but though I never cared for goals, I seen my brothers who put out until they bled, and were left choking in the mud, how many times can one be told he's dumb, before he's lost the will to fight, how many times can the ancient lines be splattered 'cross the post and times, before we give in, and live to find our needs, and say, Why do we fuck? 'cause we're horny, Why do we kill? Because it's fun, Why do we steal? 'cause it's not given. Why do we pollute ourselves? 'cause we're bored. Since I was young, I was promised that if I put my faith in god, someday I'd find the purest joy, but now I'm bored and old, and though I fight I can't find love, or one excuse not to leave my brains on the window, but I know that the worst death or suicide, is to clasp my hands in prayer, and I know that the only outlet for this rage is to intrude upon your sanctuary, wipe my ass with hymns of praise, and say, when I see something, I fuck it, and if I can't fuck it, I shit on it, and if I can't shit on it, I bury it, and if I can't bury it, I fucking destroy it, and say, Fuck it 'til it's dead.
13. Merde A Deo. Jesus died on the day that I got fucked, and satan died on the day that I learned of my need for love, and I walk these suburban streets alone, searching for a light that's free from steel and wire, searching for a sign that don't say stop or slow down, searching for a love so pure, she leaves my self-destruction in dust, searching for a reason not to die, Cobain died when he had it all, and it still sucked, Thunders died on the day his only joy, left him cold, raped and alone, and I hear plastic cries on numbered steel, searching way to stop the rain, searching for a way to purge the pain, searching for a note so pure it unites every human soul, searching for a reason not to die, My parents died on the day I fed myself, teachers died on the day I saw the pain, fear, and confusion in their souls, and I wear a uniform, and whore myself, searching for a reason not to die, I wake up bleeding in the night, cold sweat dampening my cum-stained sheets, unable to free my mind from the dream, that I'm gonna grow old, and die alone, and I find myself on my front porch, screaming to whoever'll listen in the sky, demanding to be reborn or destroyed, and I go back to bed betrayed, Romance dies when lovers come of age, friendships die when they finally realize, there's no way out of the woods, seasons pass, and I grow colder by the day, searching for the peace to dream again, searching for the strength to form a goal, searching for a thought that cleans up this cesspool we call earth, searching for a reason not to die.
14. Sister. Sister, I hear that you been slacking away, and you been throwing away, all the things that's gonna see you through, sister, I hear you jumped back in the bag, and you been bouncing around like a pinball but there ain't no free game, but I remember the time when I was green and lonely, and you gave me your time, and you were loving and understanding, wise past your years, with the patience for brilliance, that knew it could never have you, but was grateful just to have you near, well he's still in the city, and tonight he's been crying, 'cause he's watching you rot, and his hands they're all binded, but he'll do all he can, even if all he can do, is let you know he ain't forgotten the angel that you can be again, sister, I hear that you been walking away, from the shit that we hate, but we all gotta do just to eat, sister, I hear that you was hurting your man, by fucking his friends, and he got the revenge he deserved, sister, we love you, sister, please come back home, sister, we need you, come back, and come back straight.
15. Heroin. Lou Reed wrote this, dumbass.
16. The Song Ramones the Same. Suburban asylum in 1990, couldn't get laid, and I couldn't get high, hack horror writer with no aspiration, black sabbath and hinton were my only inspiration, stealing food and stealing help to put death fascinations on the printed page, I heard three chords on a bootleg tape, and felt the greatest joy I'd ever known, the passion found itself defined, the passion found itself contained, the timeless beat found another soul that was struggling to be born before it died, if you're body's contorted, and awkwardly shaped, if your brain's too wild and free to be contained, if the world can't relate to the things that you say, if you want an excuse to survive another day, then Freak, you've found a home, I wore the babble as a badge, I clawed my scars to watch them bleed, I took the long march backwards with the headphones on, I found a scream among the deafening clang of steel, bitches came and bitches went, friendships died when the needs weren't met, but with the pounding throbbing through my walls alone, I beat the pain and fear to submission, the scream, the pound, are as eternal as the uselessness, and the struggle is the only thing we have, endurance is a debt living men can't pay, the will is blind, but the mouth has nothing to say, my childhood died tonight in a blur of fire and rage, the outstretched hand was pulled away too soon too late, the children may never know the test of faith, 'cause the first last rebels have thrown it all away, the world I know has lost it's core, the dividing line of rock 'n roll, but the demands are those I could never meet, and the war has lost all meaning...
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