I wonder if they ever dreamed, they would get just what we gave them?
She had a hairbrush mic and a fantasy band
She opened up with We Are The Champions
Went into right into Under my Wheels
I was trying to figure out how I feel
DonTravolta
I’d write the ending without any sorrow
Step out of your toga and into the fog
You are a prince on the ocean
In the pinch, in the sky, in your eye
When there’s no one left to fight, boys like us don’t shine so bright!
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
The scammers and the skimmers all swim around together and every dealer has a fish tank
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
We’re the people that we wanted to know and we’re the places that we wanted to go
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
she’s upset because they keep changing the taste of coke(they did it again)
Tell my mother I’m going home, I have been destroyed by hippie powers
So why see the world, when you got the beach?
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
There’s no need to watch the bridges that we’re burning(it’s running again)
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
My oh my, man just leave us alone
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
There’s still life to be lived in hell
A couple times last week
I tried hard to speak
A couple times a week
I might know how to speak
Everything seems to go wrong when I stop drinking
Everything seemed to go my way last night
Everything seems so wrong to me this morning
I know things will be brighter later tonight
