I know you can’t look at me like that-
You can’t picture my rapid ascension
But I’m telling you
I was born up there in the heavens
And through a choreographed tumble
I gave all those jerks stargazing a real fright
Gyrating wildly on a hot tin roof
Shining like the sign advertising
My entrance in the marquee light
And all those jerks in the theatre say “Good Heavens!”
I know you can’t look up at me that far
But have you seen those angels
Posing on Sunset Boulevard
Where they hear phosphorescent confessions
From the morning commuters
And the flow of the universe quivers
Staring into their third eyes
I wanna be that guy
I want those jerks watching entertainment news
Fainting under astral projection
And in time
You can be my creative director
You can be my creative director
Pasting me to Tarot Cards and
Fireworking my profile in the night sky
I’ll sponsor a product
And kids will line up to
Bathe in the votive hot lights of my name
It’s a sign
We’re so far reaching
67 miles outta town and
67 million miles from the sun
I know it feels righter than night when UV rays
Penetrate your credulous face
But the spirit of the west glistens much brighter in the
kinetic shrines of the stubbled L.A. Agents
What a sight the streets are in the
alien smog of the neon lunar deities
Give me the keys, we’re going
67 miles for your troubles
In a bubble of cogito confusion
when you clear your head space to the tune of imported incense
Us pretty young things take the place of
Nirvana and since then you’ve come to your senses
I’m not so doe-eyed on the inside
I’m not so doe-eyed on the inside
When you surf TV channels
And gaze through a medium’s eye
There am I
The saint of the teenybopper insurrection
The goddess of hollywood dead resurrection
On a late night program
Where I’m the last thing they see when they cry
So shake a leg to my manifesto
Like those UFO cults in the rock clubs
And abandoned churches did on the night
I made the city of angels starry-eyed and searching for
visions, whether in mosh pits, red carpet
Events or selfish decisions,
made in the name of those wizards who run the whole operation,
The seances, humanoid dolls and TV dinners
The astrology impacting the target market
The facetious “He is risens!"
I’m a scam on the human spirit!
And you can't blame this on youth, fame, voyeurism
Or even religion
But renewed faith in seeing a
familiar face, the mystery of
luminaries in blacklight space
The supernova of the pop of a flash, it takes
A lot of unnatural light to keep the kids
Mystified, and the aura
Oh so strong
I know you can’t find the precious time
But let’s take those jerks outside looking up
to a heaven in orbit where young stars
fall from the sky
Apr 20, 2013
Apr 20, 2013 at 4:35 PM UTC
I know you can’t look at me like that-
You can’t picture my rapid ascension
But I’m telling you
I was born up there in the heavens
And through a choreographed tumble
I gave all those jerks stargazing a real fright
Gyrating wildly on a hot tin roof
Shining like the sign advertising
My entrance in the marquee light
And all those jerks in the theatre say “Good Heavens!”
I know you can’t look up at me that far
But have you seen those angels
Posing on Sunset Boulevard
Where they hear phosphorescent confessions
From the morning commuters
And the flow of the universe quivers
Staring into their third eyes
I wanna be that guy
I want those jerks watching entertainment news
Fainting under astral projection
And in time
You can be my creative director
You can be my creative director
Pasting me to Tarot Cards and
Fireworking my profile in the night sky
I’ll sponsor a product
And kids will line up to
Bathe in the votive hot lights of my name
It’s a sign
We’re so far reaching
67 miles outta town and
67 million miles from the sun
I know it feels righter than night when UV rays
Penetrate your credulous face
But the spirit of the west glistens much brighter in the
kinetic shrines of the stubbled L.A. Agents
What a sight the streets are in the
alien smog of the neon lunar deities
Give me the keys, we’re going
67 miles for your troubles
In a bubble of cogito confusion
when you clear your head space to the tune of imported incense
Us pretty young things take the place of
Nirvana and since then you’ve come to your senses
I’m not so doe-eyed on the inside
I’m not so doe-eyed on the inside
When you surf TV channels
And gaze through a medium’s eye
There am I
The saint of the teenybopper insurrection
The goddess of hollywood dead resurrection
On a late night program
Where I’m the last thing they see when they cry
So shake a leg to my manifesto
Like those UFO cults in the rock clubs
And abandoned churches did on the night
I made the city of angels starry-eyed and searching for
visions, whether in mosh pits, red carpet
Events or selfish decisions,
made in the name of those wizards who run the whole operation,
The seances, humanoid dolls and TV dinners
The astrology impacting the target market
The facetious “He is risens!"
I’m a scam on the human spirit!
And you can't blame this on youth, fame, voyeurism
Or even religion
But renewed faith in seeing a
familiar face, the mystery of
luminaries in blacklight space
The supernova of the pop of a flash, it takes
A lot of unnatural light to keep the kids
Mystified, and the aura
Oh so strong
I know you can’t find the precious time
But let’s take those jerks outside looking up
to a heaven in orbit where young stars
fall from the sky
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