I want to fall asleep beside you
bury my thoughts under subconscious blankets
open all the windows and let the light in
I want to be the center of attention
tie up strings around dream ballerinas
take all the paper off our presence
I want you to **** me slowly
and prove to the universe that I am already dead
I want to fall asleep beside you
and wake up in your head

I search for god in the kitchen sink,
washing my hands during surgery,
turning me on like water in my airduct,
giving my ego a ******* haircut,
I might end up dead trying to blow up the sun,
I'm looking for my head,
like a rabbit chasing a gun

This addiction to cogency
is holding me back.
We can snap our fingers, and
tap our toes
in different time but
the results would be the same.
The Pride of Saint Vitus
has a name, but
there are no parades
because, well, can you imagine?
I have little to give but
you are welcomed to it.
Its been said that cynics are disappointed dreamers but
as a disappointed dreamer
I say cynics are *******.
There are judicious uses of time and there are
beautiful wastes.
Its a shame that
I need to lay down in the evenings
when "good" T.V. is on and
the sirens wail a little bit less down on the boulevard but
there are these echoes, see, and
they keep me from reading that book I started in the winter of '77.
Let me rest a minute.

Did you see the stars
As they shone on you
Vivid like a thousand scars
Inside the darkest blue
Did you see the hero

But that hero was you
Onward for people feel
When music becomes true
In the end you're never gone
Eternally remembered in a song