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Soundtrack of a Romance - Text

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It’s amazing how many drugs you find out you actually do
Once you stop doing drugs
You know, you quit eating acid and downing booze
But you still indulge in food, sex, and six billion other nouns
That bury away your so called overall addiction
Right now I’m sitting in a hospital waiting
And I’m using my ability — or, or inability to write, as a drug
It sort of isolates me from the reality of what’s about to happen
I could vividly recall my mood the day that art was murdered
The wind blew a thin layer of dust on my garden burger
Everything you knew was sideways and phallic
The highways traffic added to Friday's madness
The warm wrinkled skin loosely hung off earnest cheekbones
Below eyes designed to bury the wolf under a sheep's clothes
Some peoples sang, a few begged for change
A young girl skipped along with her hand glued to a candy cane
I, however, walked with my back to it as usual
Wanted to turn this dark comedy into a musical
I'm used to reflecting the sorrow the world reflects at me
We're forever intertwined as the anxious and angry
The gloom moves into oxygen, consumed to keep me lost within
A mushroom cloud of toxins deposited to leave the prophets doomed
There I sat on a lead infested picnic table
Waiting to be born, carefully evading mating season's evil horns
I keep performing for the poets and philosophers
But they don't know I was insane before it became popular
I lose something every time I leave my house
Trying to gain something by running my mouth
My conscience don't hold a grudge against my impulse
Honesty should be the best policy but it's not that simple
Have you ever had the sky inject a cloud into your lymph nodes
So all you see is how she gazes through a frameless window?
Everyday I have a new argument with myself
Wonder how I got this far up the ladder
But by now I should have fell
Can't go to heaven, never learned how to pray
Oh well, Rather be in a place with less people anyway
Somewhere between a snare and the extra-tire hogwash
I got caught in a motion of a sex-inspired god talk
My long-lost lover left me to date a real artist
Ain't it strange how the whole story can be told through a guitar rift
I'm a pretentious vendor of invention
A sentimented way of staying the center of attention
Take my advice and never take my advice
I haven't left my own head long enough to really know about life
But I dug dirt out of the ground and found Plato's time capsule
Inside was a note that said, "sorry I lied"
Part of my pride was dead the second that you talked to me
And I knew that no matter what lied ahead you wouldn't walk with me
So alone I traveled
Clown shoes through dirty speed infested tourist colonies
Tricking revolutionaries into thinking my records
A new age life-insurance policy
Then I'm off
And before they get the chance to give me a dirty look
Their money's spent at Borders on a brand new Krishnamurti book
A sturdy hook deserves a better catch phrase
But I'm only still here because they can't detect
Neurotic tendencies with x-rays
It was a perfect day to sit and watch the wind
Cause the recognition of my insanity
Made me want to be hip-hop again

[Eyedea speaking]
My facial skin feels like potato chips
And the way these lights reflect of everyone’s nervous expressions
Reminds me of the fourth grade
A whole month just because I couldn’t outrun the enemy (Football's for idiots)
Anyway, so, how do you solve the drug problem?
Just move to the desert, with everything?
I think the trickiest way addiction manifests
Is through the process of ‘giving it up'
So make music

I make music to ride to, to cry to, to die to
Times two, and finally realize you're alive to
I make music to vibe to, to close your eyes to
Break your mind from each vault that sits inside you
I make music for survival, to find you
To hide from the landscape humanity went blind to
I make music to rhyme to, to waste time to
To die to, to realize I'm alive to
I only pray my lips never follow the ever so hollow descriptions of these pictures in my head that make me sick
I'm the fight between a god-freak and an atheist
That argue the same point no matter which way the conversation drifts
Any human being that believes he's truly happy just found a fake way to escape from his craziness, you know?
I'd trade my dick for a safe place to sit
If I wasn't so afraid of grenades made by spaded patriots
I crave a fix teeth grinded when our hand shakes
So I'm just as approachable as any halfway intelligent sadist is
Mary had a little lamb blood buried in her sacred wall
Til one by one each belief you've ever had raped the bitch

Text eingefügt von Richenza

The Many Faces of Oliver Hart