Long time ago, I thought about staying in
An era lost,
Dead and gone,
Despite all the saving and baptisms.

They offered me the chance to lead them, to teach them,
to… to be king.
But my place was here.
So I drank some juice,
Said some words and here I am.

Didn’t seem like it was over though.
I was hitchhiking down a long and lonesome road.
Suddenly,
The skies filled with brimstone and irony,
The ground grew silent and still,
Clocks ticking wound satirically,
The sea drained into nothingness
like some gaping mouth was drinking it,
Dead gods awoke,
and there shined a shiny demon,
In the middle of the road.

He said to me,
“Welcome Moon-and-Star,
Come to me through fire and war.
Come, Legion,
Come and look upon the heart.
Lay down your weapons
And pick up your pen,
It is not too late for my mercy.

Now write the best poem in the world,
or I'll swallow your soul...”

Well, my many faces,
We looked at each other,
And we all said,

Okay.

And we wrote the first thing that came to our heads,
Just so happened to be
The best poem in the world,
It was the best poem in the world.

It went a little like this:

In the beginning, there was one source of light.
It would die and come back every night,
As a woman showing off her thighs
Just a little bit at a time.

In the beginning,
everyone bowed their heads towards the light.
They would dance and eat their friends alive.
We were not happy then,
these were simpler times.

Now we are played,
we’re the moth we’re the flame.
We were aware of the danger,
we could not look away;
my eyes are open.

I forget though
that people are not good to each other,
One on one.
Marx be ******,
The sin is not the totality of certain systems.
Theology be ******,
The sin is not the killing of a god.
People are just not good to each other.

We are afraid
and
We think that hatred means strength.

And so what we need is less brilliance,
what we need is less instruction,
what we need are less poets,
what we need is more beer,
a typist,
more finches.

And now I’m hoping for a poem
That will come to me when I’m asleep.
Because I can’t lie
And so I can’t write.

Our eyes pierce you, demon,
And it occurred to me that we have spent
our whole life
Starting over.

Caught pining for the things that we could’ve been:
We could have been gold diggers
we could have been gunslingers
we could have been a little bigger
we could have been our own ringers
we could have been good writers
we could have been good writers
we could have been good writers

But what we are,
is the silence.
Share with me all your pain.

I won't
Share your love.
I need all your love
Or it’s all for not.

Look what I have found, look what I have found!

Look what I have found, look what I have found!
An artificial light, we come and gather around.
This is why we have lovers and why we have fighters.

This is why the arms race and particle colliders.
Mine is a humble flame, just a little white lighter
And it belongs to me.

And yet
There is a loneliness in this world so great
That you can see it in the slow movements
Of the hands of a clock.
There are people so tired,
So strafed,
So mutilated by love or
No love,
That buying a bargain can of tuna
In a supermarket
Is their greatest victory.

So save me, I can't be saved,
I won't be saved.
I'm a citizen's son,
I don't need no soul.
All the soldiers say,
"It'll be alright,
We may make it through the war
If we make it through the night."
All the people, they say,
"What a lovely day, yeah, we won the war.
May have lost a million men, but we've got a million more."
All the people, they think
That no recall or intervention can work in this place,
That There is no escape.

Look into my eyes and it's easy to see
one and one makes two, two and one makes three,
it was destiny.
Once every hundred thousand years or so
when the sun doth shine
and the moon doth glow and the grass doth grow.

We dance in the thunder
Of collapsing walls and twisting cages.
The great black bellowing,
“I'm a god.
How can you **** a god?
What a grand and intoxicating innocence.
I'm a god.
How can you **** a god?
Shame on you, sweet Legion.”

We screech into the obsidian sheets
that blanket the way-out,
“When the giants of heaven forsake the earth
I shall destroy you for all that you’re worth.
With the bolt of Zeus and our golden throats
I will destroy you and send you afloat.
Whether you pillage the earth or sea
I will destroy you this I guarantee!”

Needless to say,
The beast was stunned.
Whip-crack went his whippy tail,
And the beast was done.
He asked us,
Be you angels?
And we said nay,

We are but men,

One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal voice went snicker-snack!
we left Hymn dead, and with His read-head
we went hiking on ahead.

And the peculiar thing is this, my friends:
The poem we wrote on that fateful night,
It didn't actually read anything like this poem!

And the past followed me anyway.
so sure, I could’ve stayed there,
Could’ve been king.
But in my own way,
I am king.

This morning I woke up; I woke up this morning.

Oh, my name is Jack Stewart,
I’m a canny gang man
And a rovin’ young fellow I’ve been.

I’m a piper by trade,
I’m a ramblin’ young blade,
And ‘tis many the tune I can play.

Now here’s a simple song
To say what they done.
I told them about all those fears
And away they did run.
they sure must be strong,
And they feel like an ocean
Being warmed by the sun.

Their mouth is open wide,
The lover is inside
And the tumults done.
Collided with the sign,
They're staring at the sun,
They're standing in the sea.

I’ve got acres of land.
I’ve got men at command.
I’ve always a dollar to spare.

Note the trees because the
Dirt is temporary.
More to mine than fact, face,
Name, and monetary.

Put money in my hand and I will do the things you want me to.
Vanity overriding wisdom, usually common sense.
Should I delete it? they said they'd read it.
They promised they would never ruin it with sequels.

So come fill up your glasses of brandy and wine.
Whatever it costs, I will pay.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day.

Now picture this, I'm a bag of *****, put me to your lips
I am sick, I will punch a baby bear in his ****
Give me lip, I'ma send you to the yard, get a stick
Make a switch, I can end the conversation real quick
Okay nobody speak, nobody get choked
You wanna here a good joke?

The comedy of man starts like this:
Our brains are way too big for our mothers' hips,
And so nature, she devised this alternative:
We emerge half-formed and hope
whoever greets us on the other end
Is kind enough to fill us in.
And babies, that's pretty much how it's been ever since.

Now the miracle of birth leaves a few issues to address.
Like, say, that half of us are periodically iron deficient.
So, somebody's gotta go **** something
While she looks after the kids.
She'd do it herself, but what, is he gonna get this thing its milk?
He says as soon as he gets back from the hunt, we can switch.
It's hard not to fall in love with something so helpless.
Ladies, I hope we don't end up regretting this.

That was then,
this is the twenty-first century,
And there’s too much aggravation.
It's the age of insanity,
What has become of the green pleasant fields of Jerusalem?

This is the age of machinery,
A mechanical nightmare,
The wonderful world of technology,
****** hydrogen bombs biological warfare.

There used to be a guy for this type of thing,
An underwater guy who controlled the sea,
Got killed by ten million pounds of sludge from New York
and New Jersey.

Water dissolving and water removing
There is water at the bottom of the ocean
Under the water, carry the water
Remove the water at the bottom of the ocean
Water dissolving and water removing.

Then there’s the creature in the sky
Got ****** in a hole, now there's a hole in the sky
And the ground's not cold.
And if the ground's not cold, everything is gonna burn.
We'll all take turns,
I'll get mine too.

Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down
Letting the days go by, water flowing underground
Into the cold again after the money's gone
Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground.

So I ain't got no ambition, I'm just disillusioned.
I'm a twenty-first century man but I don't wanna be here.
My mama said she can't understand me,
She can't see my motivation.
Just give me some security,
I'm a paranoid schizoid product of the twenty-first century.

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.
And all the birds in the trees, well they'd be singing so happily
Oh joyfully, playfully watching me.
But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, oh responsible, practical.
And they showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Oh clinical, oh intellectual, cynical.

Then I had visions, I was in them.
I was looking into the mirror
To see a little bit clearer
The rottenness and evil in me.

You know I think my schooling was phoney?
I guess it's hard not to agree.
You say, "It all depends on money
And who is in your family tree."
Right (right), you're ****** well right,
You got a ****** right to say.
Right, you're ****** well right,
You know, you got a right to say.

Been around the world and found
That only stupid people are breeding,
The cretins cloning and feeding,
And I don't even own a TV.

Put me in the hospital for nerves
And then they had to commit me.
You told them all I was crazy.
They cut off my legs, now I'm an amputee,
******* you.

I don't need no education.
We don't need no thought control,
No dark sarcasm in the classroom.
Teacher, leave us kids alone.
Hey! Uncle Sam! Leave us kids alone!

We wanna grow up to be
A debaser.

“Look at me, look at me
Hands in the air like it's good to be
Alive and I'm a famous rapper,
Even when the paths are all crookedy.
I can show you how to do-see-do.
I can show you how to scratch a record.
I can take apart the remote control,
And I can almost put it back together.
I can tie a knot in a cherry stem.
I can tell you about Leif Erikson.
I know all the words to "De Colores",
And "I'm proud to be an American".
Me and my friend saw a platypus.
Me and my friend made a comic book.
And guess how long it took.
I can do anything that I want cuz

Who gives a **** about an Oxford comma?
I've seen those English dramas too; they're cruel.

So, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth.”

“Look at me, look at me
Just called to say that it's good to be
Alive in such a small world.
I'm all curled up with a book to read
I can make money open up a thrift store.
I can make a living off a magazine.
I can design an engine
sixty four miles to a gallon of gasoline.
I can make new antibiotics.
I can make computers survive aquatic conditions.
I know how to run a business,
And I can make you wanna buy a product.
Movers shakers and producers,
Me and my friends understand the future.
I see the strings that control the system.
I can do anything with no assistance because

I give a **** about the Oxford Comma!
I climbed to Dharamsala too, I did.
I met the highest Lama.
His accent sounded fine to me.

Now, why would you speak to me that way?
Especially when I always said that I
Haven't got the words for you.
All your diction dripping with disdain,
Through the pain, I always tell the truth”

Comedy, now that's what I call pure comedy.
Just wait until the part where they start to believe
They're at the center of everything
And some all-powerful being
Endowed this horror show with meaning.

Now, Uncle Sammy, did you hear about this one?
Tell me, are you locked in the punch?
Sammy, are you grinding on a pelvis?
Hey baby, are you losing touch?

If you believed they put a man on the moon,
If you believe there's nothing up his sleeve,
Then nothing is cool.

Moses went walking with the staff of wood.
Newton got beaned by the apple good.
Egypt was troubled by the horrible asp.
Mister Charles Darwin had the gall to ask.
Well I took out my dogs and them I did shoot,
All down in the county Kildare.
So be easy and free when you're drinking with me,
I'm a man you don't meet every day

And in the Twenty-First Century
From the height of the highway onramp we saw,
Two dogs, dead in a field,
Glowing on the oakland coliseum green seats wasteland,
Dogs, dogs we thought were dead,
They rose up, rose up when whistled at,
their rib cage inflating like men on the beach being photographed,
A guard dog, guard dog, for what? for what?
Against tofers ellis pennyless athletics fanatics,
Getting into games through a whole in the fence,
For the owner of the blue tarp tent,
Pitched by a creek beneath an onramp,
In the privacy of the last three,
Skin and bony tree, devoid of leaves,
And us undeceased, and our new cds,
Dippin' on goodies, oakland
it's hard to stand the sight of two dogs dead under a sky so blue.

But you think you can tell
Heaven from hell?
Blue skies from pain?
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

I’ll say they secretly long to be some part of a car crash,
Long to see their arms stripped of the tendons,
The ****** of swelling exposed veins,
Webbing the back of their hands,
To be a red tendoned dog,
To be red tendoned dogs,
Blood breathing by the side of the highway.

Oh, their religions are the best.
They worship themselves yet they're totally obsessed
With risen zombies, celestial virgins, magic tricks.
These unbelievable outfits.
And they get terribly upset
When you question their sacred texts,
Written by woman-hating epileptics.
Their languages just serve to confuse them.
Their confusion somehow makes them more sure.
They build fortunes poisoning their offspring,
And hand out prizes when someone patents a cure.
Where did they find these goons they elected to rule them?
What makes these clowns they idolize so remarkable?
These mammals are hell-bent on fashioning new gods
So they can go on being thoughtless animals.

See the dwarfs an' see the giants,
Which one would you choose to be?
And if you can't get that together
Here's the answer, here's the key.
You can freeze like a a man of century thirty.

I'll save my breath and take it with me
Till a hundred years and so
Shame you won't be there to see me
Shaking hands with Charles de Gaulle.
Play it cool an' Saran wrap all you can
Be a century thirty man,
You can freeze like a century thirty man

So I live like everyday is my last,
But I plan for tomorrow as if I will never pass.
A Pharoah on the subway
Who never had dreams of jets but fell asleep on run ways.
I just know that one day, that anything I needed I could mold.
Get everything you want it ain't always good for the soul.
A mix of self-worth, some help, a little control,
And I don't know the rest, good as mine is your guess,
The recipe ain't the best, to make it though is our quest,
And if you choose to accept, the meaning of life is yes.

So, we ain't going to the town,
We're going to the city.
Gonna trek this **** around
And make this place a heart to be a part of, again.

That’s the dream but
There are times when all the world's asleep,
The questions run too deep
For such a simple man.
Won't you please, please tell me what we've learned.
I know it sounds absurd,
Please tell me who I am.

Is this my starring role
Or just a cameo?
Who am I living for?
Well, I can't take no more,
'Cuz when it rains, it pours
What am I living for?
I don't got much, but I got heart and soul.
I found myself through all the highs and lows.
Oh Will I drown in the pain,
Or go dance in the rain?
What am I living for?

So, I can lead a nation with a microphone?
And I can split the atom of a molecule?
Look at me, look at me
Drivin' and I won't stop
And it feels so good to be alive and on top
My reach, is global
My tower, secure
My cause, is noble
My power,
is pure.

And it’s the end of the world as we know it.
it starts with an earthquake
Birds and snakes, and aeroplanes
And Lenny Bruce is not afraid
In the eye of a hurricane, listen to yourself churn
World serves its own needs
Don't mis-serve your own needs
Speed it up a notch, speed, grunt, no, strength
The ladder starts to clatter
With a fear of height, down, height
Wire in a fire, represent the seven games
And a government for hire and a combat site
Left her, wasn't coming in a hurry
With the Furies breathing down my neck.

Paranoia, paranoia,
Everybody's coming to get me.
Just say you never met me,
I'm running underground with the moles, digging holes.
Hear the voices in my head,
I swear to God it sounds like they're snoring.
But if you're bored, then you're boring.
The agony and the irony, they're killing me.

I’m dead but the world keeps spinning.
Take a spin through the world I left,
It's getting dark a little too early.
Am I missing the dearly bereft?

Timmy, Timmy, Timmy Turner
He was wishin' for a burner
To **** everybody walkin'
He knows that his soul in the furnace

Young man walkin', wishin' for a burner
Four, five, six, ten ratchets on 'em
Ten men with 'em, ten clappin' on 'em
Dead men with 'em, dead men, get 'em
Four-five rip 'em, four-five zip 'em
You talk money, young men get 'em
Beluga, beluga, beluga
he fell in love with the Ruger
he fell in love with his jeweler
he fell in love with the mullah
It's all about the rule
It's all about the move
It's all about the rules

That was then,
Now I am a man, man, man,
Up, up in the air
And I run around, round, round, round
this downtown and act like I don't care.
So when you see me flying by the planet's moon,
You don't need to explain if everything's changed
Just know I'm just like you.

So I pull the switch, the switch, the switch inside my head.
And I see black, black, green,
and brown, brown, brown and blue, yellow, violets, red.
And suddenly a light appears inside my brain
And I think of my ways,
I think of my days
and know that I have changed.

So, be easy and free,
when you’re drinkin’ with me
I’m a man you don’t meet every day.

Too opinionated,
too open-minded,
or indifferent.

Too real,
too fake,
or inconsistent.

We ask ourselves
to know the other.
"Kindness," we say.
It's no matter how
hard,
soft,
or careless.

One is
asked
to assess their total failure,
or mediocrity,

against the striations of normalcy
until one finds themselves
in odds and errors.

There are some people
in such strangeness
that finding the right pill
is their greatest victory.

There are some people
who are so normal,
so consistent,
that looking at themselves
without a filter
is their greatest defeat.

But you know
and I know
and they know

that as the screens darken,
as the red curtain rises,
as the black stage beckons,

you know
and I know
and they know

that it does not flatter.
And there is no flatter
curve
than mixing with the grain,
or mixing our tears
with the rain.

And like long talks
our blood spills upon the floor,
thicker than water.
But water has been there before,

running wild-eyed through alleyways
on days darker than **** from hard work.
And we're so dehydrated
that a single drop of truth,
reality,
inflates our brain like a dry sponge.

There is a mental expansion so painful
that shots to the belly
might be a blessing,
if keeping it real is the smoking gun.

It’s a constant that we are
killed by hands entrenched in opinion,
convinced they are
the open ones.
It is an error
that is
the total failure of a life lived out of focus,
measured in "I'm right" and "they're wrong."

There is a glass ball of hindsight,
but it is foggy
from too much pride,
too much embarrassment,
or no awareness.

It is fear though,
scratching at the chest
like starving rats
in a newly opened cage,
that can keep anyone from looking back
on their failure to be
self-aware.

Too opinionated,
too open-minded,
or indifferent.

Too real,
too fake,
or inconsistent.

We ask ourselves
to know the other.
"Kindness," we say.
It's no matter how
hard,
soft,
or careless.

One is
asked
to assess their total failure,
or mediocrity,

against the striations of normalcy
until one finds themselves
in odds and errors.

There are some people
in such strangeness
that finding the right pill
is their greatest victory.

There are some people
who are so normal,
so consistent,
that looking at themselves
without a filter
is their greatest defeat.

But you know
and I know
and they know

that as the screens darken,
as the red curtain rises,
as the black stage beckons,

you know
and I know
and they know

that it does not flatter.
And there is no flatter
curve
than mixing with the grain,
or mixing our tears
with the rain.

And like long talks
our blood spills upon the floor,
thicker than water.
But water has been there before,

running wild-eyed through alleyways
on days darker than **** from hard work.
And we're so dehydrated
that a single drop of truth,
reality,
inflates our brain like a dry sponge.

There is a mental expansion so painful
that shots to the belly
might be a blessing,
if keeping it real is the smoking gun.

It’s a constant that we are
killed by hands entrenched in opinion,
convinced they are
the open ones.
It is an error
that is
the total failure of a life lived out of focus,
measured in "I'm right" and "they're wrong."

There is a glass ball of hindsight,
but it is foggy
from too much pride,
too much embarrassment,
or no awareness.

It is fear though,
scratching at the chest
like starving rats
in a newly opened cage,
that can keep anyone from looking back
on their failure to be
self-aware.

A man walks down the street,
He says, "Why am I soft in the middle, now?
Why am I soft in the middle?
The rest of my life is so hard.
I need a photo-opportunity,
I want a shot at redemption,
don't want to end up a cartoon
in a cartoon graveyard.

Sometimes when people meet me,
they think I look the sad type,
but when I look in the mirror
I see someone that's learned it all the hard way.

When I pretend I’m happy
I never feel that sappy,
I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine.

I'd rather be a shadow than a veil.
Yes, I would,
If I could,
I surely would.

When I hold back a tear
To make a smile appear
I'm only painting the clouds with sunshine.

Eighteen and jaded with a gun in my hands.
I was fighting for freedom and just what is that?
Bills to the banks and food for the kids,
money for college but couldn't get in.

It was violent times,
And you shouldn't have to sell your soul.
In black and white
They really, really ought to know.”

A man walks up the street,
He says, ”Well hey little Hollywood!
You're gone but you don't forget!
You got the cash but your credit's no good!
You flipped the script; you shot the plot!

Now Shout, shout, let it all out!
These are the things you could do without!
Come on, I'm talking to you, come on!

Walking toward him, Hollywood begins to shout,
“All around me are familiar faces,
worn out places, worn out faces,
bright and early for the daily races,
going nowhere, going nowhere!

Getting closer to him, he quiets down and says,
“Now I've heard there was a secret chord
that I could play, and it’ll please the Lord.
But you don’t really care for music, do you?
It goes like this, the fourth, the fifth,
the minor falls, the major lifts,
the baffled king composing Hallelujah.

But why am I short of attention?
Got a short little span of attention.
And, whoa, my nights are so long.
Where's my life and future?
What if I die here?
Who was my role model?
Oh, was my role model always there?"

The man starts speaking with Hollywood,
“Now, I have a secret to tell,
From my electrical well.
It's a simple message and I'm leaving out the whistles and bells.
So, you must listen to me,
filibuster vigilantly.
My name is blue canary, one note, spelled L-I-T-E.
My story's infinite,
like the Longines Symphonette, it doesn't rest.

I’m hoping and waiting for something to sing
like the angels in heaven or the bones on the street.
I’m hoping for life to find a new voice.
Oh, the song that needs singing has already been sung before.”

Hollywood says solemnly to Lite,
“I might put on my blue suede shoes
and board a plane.
I’ll touch down in the land of the Delta Blues
in the middle of the pouring rain.
Buddy Holly, will you look down over me?
I’ll get a first-class ticket,
but I'm as blue as a boy can be.

Those one-track minds,
they took me for a serving boy,
kiss them goodbye.
I shouldn't have to jump for joy.
You shouldn't have to jump for joy.

I'd rather sail away,
like a swan that's here and gone.

And I find it kind of funny,
I find it kind of sad,
the dreams in which I'm dying
are the best I've ever had.
I find it hard to tell you,
I find it hard to take,
when people run in circles it's a very, very,
mad world.”

Lite says to Hollywood,
“I could be your only friend.
I'm not your only friend,
but I'm a little glowing friend,
but really, I'm not actually your friend,
but I am.

Your faith was strong, but you needed proof.
You saw the rivers running all aloof,
their beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.
You were tied to a kitchen chair,
they broke your throne, and they cut your hair,
and from your lips they drew the Hallelujah.

They gave you life
and in return you gave them Hell,
as cold as ice.
I hope you live to tell the tale."

Hollywood says angrily,
“Well, humans are boring, dangerous morons,
with no respect for life.
And maybe the rabbit who lives in the forest
is clever-er than our dads.
And maybe it's time we watch the sun rise
knowing it's our last,
as life soldiers on without us,
just a figment of the past.”

They start walking up the street
And Hollywood says,
“A long, long time ago,
I can still remember how that music
used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
and maybe they'd be happy for a while.

I look to the sea.
Reflections in the waves spark my memory,
Some happy some sad,
I think of childhood friends and the dreams we had.
We live happily forever,
so the story goes,
but somehow we missed out
on that *** of gold.
But we'll try best that we can
to carry on.”

A gathering of angels
appeared above his head,
they sang to him this song of hope
and this is what they said,
they said: “come sail away, come sail away,
Come sail away with us.”

Hollywood looks around,
he’s on a street in a strange world.
Maybe it's the third world,
maybe it's his first time around.
Doesn't speak the language,
He holds no currency.
He is a foreign man.
He is surrounded by the sound, the sound
of cattle in the marketplace,
scatterings and orphanages.
He looks around, around,
He sees angels in the architecture,
spinning in infinity,
He says, "Amen and Hallelujah!"

Lite mutters, “Well, maybe there's a God above,
as for me all I've ever learned from life
is how to shoot somebody who outdrew you.
But it's not a crime that you're here tonight,
it's not some pilgrim who claims to have seen the light.
No, it's a cold and it's a very broken Hallelujah.

But soon I’ll be all a shiver
With every paper I deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep,
I won’t take one more step,
But I’ll remember to cry
When I read about this dismembered guy.”

Hollywood says to Lite, he says,
“Did you write the book of life,
And do you have faith in God’s strife,
If that book tells you so?
Now, do you believe in rock 'n' roll?
Can music save your mortal soul?
And can you show me how to entrance and glow?

If you'll be my bodyguard,
I can be your long-lost pal.
I can call you Lyre,
And Lyre, when you call me, you can call me Oll.”

Lite says to Hollywood,
“Now, for ten years we've been wandering alone,
And moss grows fat on a rollin' stone.
But that's not how it needs to be.
When a jester sings for the king and queen
in a quote he borrowed and painted green
And a voice that’ll come from you and me.

Painting the blue, beautiful hues,
colored with gold and old rose.
He’s playing the clown,
trying to drown all of his woes.
Though things may not look bright,
they all turn out alright
if he keeps painting the clouds with sunshine.

Hollywood chimes in,
“Well, I don't know why I talked to you tonight.
I've got the feeling that something ain't right.
I'm so scared in case I fall through the air,
and I'm wondering what fruit this talk bears.”

Lite looks off into the distance and says,
“There's a feeling I get when I look to the West,
and my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen rings of smoke through the trees
and the voices of those who stand looking,
that's you.

And it's whispered that soon, if we all call the tune,
then a jester will lead us to reason
and a new day will dawn for those who stand long.
And the forests will echo with laughter.
Remember laughter?

Always look on the bright side of life,
Always look on the Lite side of life.

If life seems jolly rotten
Then there's something you've forgotten,
and that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing.
When you're feeling in the dump,
don't be silly chump,
Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing.
And

life is for singing,
and life is for dancing,
and life is for making love.
Life is for learning and thinking and teaching,
and life isn't giving up.
Life isn't buying and selling and wishing
that everything came for free.
Repeat after me:

Always look on the bright side of Lite.”

Hollywood looks to the distance with Lite,
“Well, life is for sharing.
but sometimes it's hard when you've hardly got enough.
Sharing is caring
but will you still care if the water gets really rough.
Life jackets on, lifeboats supported,
and people will drown the same,
As the water of life falls out of the sky
and washes the whole thing away.

Lite looks at Hollywood, “Well Oll, I've been here before.
I know this room and I've walked this floor.
You see I used to walk alone before I knew ya,
And I've seen your flag on a marble arch.
But listen, life,
life is not some kind of victory march, no,
it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah.

Oh, and while the king is looking down
the jester will steal his ***** crown.
The courtroom will adjourn,
no verdict will return,
and while leaning into the teeth of sharks,
a quartet practices in the park,
and we sing dirges in the dark,
the day the music dies.”

Hollywood realizes something,
“Well Lyre, you’re the picture opposite me,
of my primitive ancestry,
which stood on rocky shores and kept the beaches shipwreck free.
Though I respect that a lot
I'd be fired if that were my job,
after killing Jason off and countless screaming Argonauts.
Bluebird of friendliness,
like guardian angels, you’re always near.

Oh, Life is for livin’, as long as I'm breathin’
my life won't be wasted on me.

Now I've done my best, I know it wasn't much.
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch.
I've told the truth, I didn’t talk to you, Lyre, just to fool you.
And even though it all went wrong
I'll stand right here before the Lord of song
with nothing, nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah.”

Then Hollywood whispers to Lite, who is drawing his gun,
“it's a cold and it's a very broken Hallelujah.”

Grinning, he pulls the trigger.

And so, the bullet of Hollywood’s gun went so deep;
And Lite’s belly closed upon the shrapnel,
so that he could not draw the bullet out;
and the dirt came out.

There once was a ponderous piper Peter,
Whose arm burned off in a heater.
It's now hard to fit pipe,
But he doesn't gripe.
He's got one arm, a mouth, and his peter.