As I travel down the track, all my memories flood back
We were runnin’ at ease from enemies
And rushed back to your momma’s flat
It’s the only place but home I feel relaxed enough to crap
I know it sounds crude, but there’s something in that
And I was drawing crazy pictures and before I was done
The pictures started pulsing like an alien lung
And I said “oh my god this is just begun”
And it was twelve more hours before I was done
We were up on the rooftop and I’ll tell you the truth
I was convinced I’d already fallen off of the roof
And these weird metal things rolling around in outta space
Were teleporting me from place to place
The last time I did acid I went insane
There’s a charm, there’s a blade
There’s a lot in the rain
There’s a hope, there’s a chain
There’s a lot in the rain
I call for the captain sayin’, “I gotta go home!”
I call for the captain sayin’, “I wanna go home”
Them good days are gone
Tell my mother I’m going home, I have been destroyed by hippie powers
Sometimes they were comedic— or relentlessly horrifying
They were the foes of society, whether fighting the local sheriff, or a secret agent
Frequently they mirrored our times: the gangster villains which rival real newspaper headlines of the present day
Collectively, they are the components which have fueled nightmares for decades to come
The villains
The bitterness is a lowest sin
A bitter man rots from within
I’ve seen his smile, yellow and brown
The bitterness has brought him down
On occasion, we all do battle with motivational paralysis
Unable to perform some simple task
Trapped at the stage of analysis
Thoughts of the shortness of life may beget
Bouts of shortness of breath in your chest
Doubts about the worth of the nights you got left
Crowding out all the fear and regret
A couple times last week
I tried hard to speak
A couple times a week
I might know how to speak
Everything seemed to go my way last night
Everything seems so wrong to me this morning
I know things will be brighter later tonight
In the clearing stands a boxer
And a fighter by his trade
And he carries the reminders
Of every glove that laid him down
And cut him ’til he cried out
In his anger and his shame
“I am leaving, I am leaving”
But the fighter still remains
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