skitter the beat road in front of you
new jersey is suicide baybe, suicide!
when all is said and done
no one sins like you any more.
it’s a liar’s town this fucking place
time is a wasted ghost
we follow home most.
and life is the first slap
experienced in pain
one long line of endless dream
ripped down the middle
in a nightmare of waking screams.
Abandon your cities!
morning clings like death ‘round here
desperation grows in the trees
why the light disturbs the sleeping
embers of nightly delusions
was a mystery to me.
and all the world’s eyes
gathered together in a storm
violence in the hands of others
and hurts from the hates of lovers
lighting the lightning in her kiss
rumbles of indifference.
there was something secret
black and bright, shining like the midnight sun
she loved him once but held onto him for too long
and it grew to poison the well
we had built together
and soon there will be nothing more to tell
but she will still compare me to him
so when we get there, I will divulge nothing
and we will just sit and watch the walls swim.
wasting on the maggot-strewn carcass
of another 8 day blistering binge
dying under the cold sun while snakes
slither in the sand beneath my skin
crucified on the blood-stained hood of a 68Ford
the paint’s been sunblasted boneclean
it is easter, there will be no resurrection
for this philistine.
the dead world calls to me, alone I will travel
just a tumble along the road to an ignoble
fifth a day blind, running, stumbling crash
what a place to run out of gas
I suppose people die out here, I tell the girl
drank all my liquor, now sunmad and Bukowski gone
wandering in the desert, seeking death
and the mind of the steady blue stone cold
lost without a face or a name heading towards an endless horizon
it doesn’t really matter what direction you take out here
it only matters what road you’ve been on
in the end, we’re all just continental drifters
getting poisoned by the sun.
and my mind races back to the time before
I had to run
with me in a shitty motel room, my last 20
drying out, did all the pills I had
another girl and a loaded gun
slowly going mad.
Whose art is Hemingway’s
Hallowed be they fame
As it is in Paris.
Give us this day
Our daily words
And forgive us our lawsuits
as we forgive those
who plagiarize against us
And lead us not
but deliver us from