| FUEL |
| they were diggin a new foundation in manhatten and they discovered a slave cemetary there may their soul rest easy now that linching is frowned upon we've moved onto the electric chair and i wonder who's gonna be president tweedle dum or tweedle dummer and who's gonna have the big blockbuster box office this summer how about we all put up a wall between houses and the highway and you can go your way, and i can go my way except all the radios agree with all the tvs and all the magazines agree with all the radios and i keep hearing that same damn song everywhere i go maybe i should put a bucket over my head and a marshmellow in each ear and stumble around for another dumb-numb week for another hum drum hit song to appear people used to make records as in a record of an event the event of people playing music in a room now everything is cross-marketing its about sunglasses and shoes or guns and drugs you choose we got it rehashed we got it half assed we're digging up all the graves and we're spitting on the past and you can shoose between the colours of the lipstick on the whores cuz we know the difference between the font of 20% more and the font of terriyaki you tell me how does it make you feel you tell me what's real and they say that alcoholics are always alcoholics even when they're dry as my lips for years even when they're stranded on a small desert island with no place in two thousand miles to by beer and i wonder is he different? is he different? has he changed? what's he about? or is he jsut a liar with nothing to lie about? am i headed for the same brick wall? is there anything i can do about anything at all? except go back to that corner in manhatten and dig deeper, dig deeper this time down beneath the impossible pain of our history beneath the unknown bones beneath the bedrock of the mystery beneath the sewege systems and the path train beneath the cobblestones and the water main beneath the traffic of friendships and street deals beneath the screeching of kamikazi cab wheels beneath everything i can think of to think about beneath it all, beneath all get out beneath the good and the kind and the stupid and the cruel there's a fire that's jsut waiting for fuel there's a fire that's just waiting for fuel |
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