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08/23/09, 07:31 PM
I was just about to drop the needle
And show you how it is when the man strums.
You threw a punch, I—deserving.
Found the cut and blood.
And it was a promise only living and found in Folk.
He managed to give direction.
With the rags of Nepoleon,
and an age that means much less than a name.
But I’ll never be here again.
I’m losing respect for lyrics I've lived through.
I was never clever in ’68—or alive.
Something about losing love, he claims.
What he means now could mean anything later.
I’d ask where I was but I’ve been here for some while,
And I can’t seem insane.
Guitar strings are too loose.
Collect your picks and stop the drummer
Before he steals the van.
It will get worse, then disappear.
The only witnesses will hate the answer,
Despise the weight of a record,
And never close their eyes,
to taste--appreciate.
I still call it a shame,
But what kind of person finds time to spend
with those who prefer to waste it?
I did.
I miss the habit.
He’ll crave the cigarettes, and they’ll beg for press.
And show you how it is when the man strums.
You threw a punch, I—deserving.
Found the cut and blood.
And it was a promise only living and found in Folk.
He managed to give direction.
With the rags of Nepoleon,
and an age that means much less than a name.
But I’ll never be here again.
I’m losing respect for lyrics I've lived through.
I was never clever in ’68—or alive.
Something about losing love, he claims.
What he means now could mean anything later.
I’d ask where I was but I’ve been here for some while,
And I can’t seem insane.
Guitar strings are too loose.
Collect your picks and stop the drummer
Before he steals the van.
It will get worse, then disappear.
The only witnesses will hate the answer,
Despise the weight of a record,
And never close their eyes,
to taste--appreciate.
I still call it a shame,
But what kind of person finds time to spend
with those who prefer to waste it?
I did.
I miss the habit.
He’ll crave the cigarettes, and they’ll beg for press.