Trophies for last place,
And a Holiday for every weekend.
A taste of this and that...
OF Italy and Ireland and Asia and Germany
and every township in the county,
and 3 collective Miles of
Portable Toilets,
Strategically Positioned
throughout each event.
cause there is going to be a Lot of ****...

Hooray for whatever we are celebrating this weekend.
Whichever one of the 30 different Woodstocks
Or week long Music Festivals
That exist only so
the Hippest of Hipsters
can congratulate each other
on how Indie they are.

Ya know, it's happy hour somewhere...
Why not party
All Day, Everyday?
Devalue the weekend
Like we have thanksgiving
And New Years.
A Five Kay For the Common Cold,
And We'll even give trophies for last place.
Cause we're all winners here.
and we're all hungry.
And What represents your heritage better than
Pizza or sauerkraut or General Tso's
And endless flowing barrels of refreshing, Ice cold, Domestically brewed and Nationally brand recognized Alcoholic Beverages?

IT's The Great Dumb Down, Charlie Brown!!!
A symptom of the Universe
If there ever was one.
Mass anesthesia to keep us all content
With our collective mediocrities,
our Forfeit Potential,
Our Day Job that doesn't pay very well,
But kind has benefits.
So we stay on.
In fear of nothing better.
It makes feel important.
Like Wheel of Fortune makes us feel smart.
(Wow, you can spell?!)...
Dwindling returns in a world of Beige and Pastels
And the Muted Grays of limestone concrete.
We Accept less and we Get less and we accept less and we Get less
And On And on and on,
till we hit that lowest common cultural denominator,
where your race is what food you eat,
And we all qualify for the special Olympics.

When I was born man sent rockets into space ,
Castros missiles pointed war heads ,
yes Pigs of War gathered like none before .
Screaming I came into this dark world ,
yet craved nothing but my mothers milk ,

Then Winter came .
But foulest ice ,
and snow stopped trucks in their tracks ,
Milkmans will did break .
For wind and hale could never stop me or my will forsake .
Yet how the Cheve Impala roar ,
found her picking sea shells from a tropical islands sandy Shaw .
A Galaxy of moon rivers could ever temp me to walk away
from its ever fading moon light night .
How I found this darkness like a worm finds its rest ,
How this slab of mine turned over again and again.

If only I had seen Brasil dance through Italian defences ,
Sons of Welsh miners ' Edwards to Williams he must score '
Claim the triple crown .
As is Gypsy was penned for Zurichs smoke filled concert halls ,
Santana's Latin rhythms light up Woodstocks samba party .
Or two lovers in each other's arms after war had ended.

Only my rose is no longer red ,
for no one does its petels bleed ,
and my hand is so numb with pain .
For my rose lies fallen in the snow ,
and other feet have vainly passed over ,
Worst of all
I feel l have lost your love .

Once fought a war against itself...
Ah “union” that’s it!
I would have conquered the world with you
And enjoyed it
I would have raised your children freer than Eagles
Encouraging raptors and sharpening hawks
And sending the doves to the jungle Woodstocks...
I’d have shown you the moon’s
Other side of world peace
I’d have pitted the mutants
Against the police
With my Marilyn sins of god’s poster boy fame
And an Atlas’ industry’s shouldering blame
For my Camelot crowned
Common welfare campaign
Yet still redder than rebels
And burning cross devils
I’d drop it at liberal art
G-bay pig levels
To keep the uranium
Darkness at heart
As the panthers at home
Come to tear yours apart
I’d be crises of missiles
Hellbent on augmenting
Our brothers in arms races’
Change implementing
Preventing the Birmingham vanguards
From falling
No matter the cost
Of the Berlin Stonewallin’