We burnt all the skin from the palm of my hands,
With an old zippo lighter and deodorant cans,
I went to the palmist and asked her to read:
No heart line, no sun line, no life line, no need,
Said all that I wanted was a quiet life,
Not one predetermined by minuscule slices,
Into my flesh and the broad, she agreed,
One look in my sad eyes, she had to concede.
"Baby... the girdle of venus got me... got me down on my knees,
And baby... baby I got the death rattle and you're six months old shakin'
Me."
Traced my right index finger 'long the roof of every car,
On the walk back to your house in the cold from City Arms,
In the frost I drew a dick for every girl that wouldn't fuck me,
Woke early the next morning to see the frost had bitten me.
My blisters black and touch cold,
Like a cute stuffed toy bear's nose,
The kind of gift I'd give you,
Like a less committed Van Gogh.
And you,
You are an angel, that's why you pray,
And I am an ass, and that's why I bray.
Your halo slipped to frame you,
Like a photo, porthole window,
I see blood-spill in the pure snow,
You see sweet-sauce on ice-cream cones.
And you,
You are an angel, that's why you pray,
And I am an ass, and that's why I bray,
If you were tomorrow, I'd be today,
And this is the end...
[I'm serious, so listen now.]
Baby I got the death rattle and baby, I got it bad,
I've been diggin' my grave for quite some time, when I'm not diggin' up the
Past,
And I chewed my only neck-tie, from the metal frame of my bed,
Where I tied your wrists together, spent all night givin'...
[Oh, you get the message, don't you.]
Not headstone,
But headboard,
'Swhere I wanna be mourned.
