This isn’t what I was expecting Again at each other’s’ throats Right when I should be hearing Mannheim Steamroller songs Just tell me what to say, So I won’t drive my folks away What do I do, what do I do? Please don’t let this suck Shut the fuck up, everybody Let me get my rest Oh please Oh please This isn’t what I wanted from life To be entangled in all of this Up at each other’s throats Just when the calm could be clear I don’t want to start this again But seriously just please let go And don’t tell me you’re sorry You’ll do it again This stigma is what I want to get rid This stigma is keeping me down Will you ever shut up Will you ever make up Will you ever achieve peace Before I die

I don’t feel it when Mr. Kite makes a horse dance Did John Lennon trip on acid? Hell yeah! Too much squash is not an acquired tase Oh, Styx! Melt that ice cube! Is he in other projects than NWA? NWA is a Grammy winner! Please save us from “Are We Done Yet?” You blew your education man; now you will die! Endangered species taste so good, but we don’t like it! On the commercial break, you’ll be no hyper! Run away to the lighthouse and drink some acid! Man, that’s one good energy drink! The rappers love to sample Styx and they yell “No!” “Kilroy Was Here” is one stupid album! My girlfriend cut that coke! It tastes like sugar – it is sugar! I’m all outta ideas. So you think you can dance? Then what about THIS?!

I think there’s a problem Can’t seem to pinpoint it Could be coming from this house The peacock molts on TV Darling, can’t you see it It dies and becomes the network ID Brought to you in living color Fuck you, the color’s long gone Talk about defeating the purpose. I think it was a pleasure Not to see young Darren on TV Because of the shitstorm Surrounding his fandom Darling, turn off the TV The peacock represents all malevolence Wants to fatten the audience With Swanson TV dinners And TV shows based off on movies Try to adapt Dom Cobb for your cable The Fab Four killed all the color Motherfuckers took over the station Made them prouder than the kids on the Imus Ranch They made a new variety show Jeff Altman and some hot ladies Can’t speak a damn word of English Chicago lost their heroes One by gun and one by ego With Woof Dachshund on TV CBS is still on TV They haven’t got a new hit Since Freddie Prinze ate the gun Tartikoff on the TV Making it enjoyable and “artistic” Fred fucked up, Brandon saved the day

Look at me, this quivering mess Do you salvage me? Do I fade out like a fake out on a Beatles song? So purposeless, another day to go… Fingertips fly from the sky. A screaming rumble composed the chaos. And the sun comes up at Christmastime, but I’m still a mess, cut in half. You’re like the sun that shines in my heart. Your torch will stay even when it’s dark. Stop putting yourself down. La da da da… Do you look at my face? Can you sympathize to a freak like me? I’m not much of a talker, not much of a lover. Do you cringe at my happiness? You want me to be like Owl City, With his ultra-sweet reality. Well, I can’t go there – where’s the pain? In all the fireflies, fireflies. Why do you want me to fake a joyful gaze in my deepest low? It’s not genuine – I feel like I’m lying to all the dudes looking up at me. Should I sing about galloping unicorns drinking from the turquoise streams even as the world folds like a MAD back cover gag – from the great harmony into a cacophony?

On Mink Livsey, there’s some lovely apartment building with damages towards it on the balcony. There’s charred places and people still live there, wondering why it happened in the first place or why they were connected to their adventures to it. Some couples make out within former housing or some run pirate radio stations. And if I don’t see if the weekend at the college is crap/weird, You know that I’ll be long gone into that big house! I’m dealing with stuff at Highton View Terrace that you dismiss, As being very small and really insignificant. Our two real remotely friends, the ever-lovable Hikari and Takreu, decided to dress for the heat as it was sweltering a 100-degrees Fahrenheit in Tokyo. Takeru put on a t-shirt, blue jeans, and his white shoes while his girlfriend donned a green dress and tight jeans. They walked down the street and saw an empty building in Highton View Terrace where radio equipment was placed. They got in and decided to turn on the equipment, really for a rock station in Atlanta. Forgive me, this song is, like, old.

When I first met you in 2003, I didn’t know how you would alienate me. You were just another artist on the Internet To realize my visions that were stuck in my head. As the hands went right, I grew to you more. You let me lodge when the con came forth, But then again, a few minutes ago, The glass went Memorex and I let you go. So you cried in the building, awakening the other attendees, And you claimed you found grace, but you will never recover me. Two days ago, you were just a simple seller, Tearing pages from the pad you had; well, You have your smile to the patrons. I thought you were something special. But then I took my nap, And I heard a noise from the back And I saw you, my shoes in your hand, Whispering repetition – you were afraid. I’m sorry Rose, I’m sorry Rose, I’m so sorry Rose. It’ll never happen again. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was in a safe place, Until you showed me my deeds. You deserve to shun me. But I found newfound joy. I found His blood in the hall. I found the thing that will keep us glued together furthermore. So why am I now a pariah? Why am I the Jesus of the Internet? I don’t know if I can stay anymore. I can’t accept the past. Oh, don’t you start with that shit Even if you did rediscover your god, You still abused my presence. You don’t deserve my forgiveness. I want you to stay away from me I want you to shut your mouth, So please leave me alone FOR GOOD. That’s okay if you want me gone forever Because Jesus will change your mind in the end And when you put that joint in the trash You’ll run back to me. We’ll be good folks in the middle of the desert And you’ll be happy that you never left me And well, let’s say Jesus does great things With something as pathetic as me. You’re not an exactly beautiful bronzed Adonis. You’re probably a lonely man who sits at home Living off of others’ urges to fuck Staring into the void of your TV screen. You never seemed to improve yourself In the seven years that we were friends So when you told me you still lived at home I cried a little inside. But maybe that’s my Divine destiny Is something that would lead me to bigger things Making the world a better place for you and me All to the perfect plan of the Creator’s will Soon, all will be like children of this world No one would want to tolerate the sinners anymore And I can place my colorful pictures upon the refrigerator buildings. You stop it right there You’re letting your dreams get the best of you Have you seriously questioned your own faith? Have you thought of other possibilities? You know I saw you in the midst of heat And you were so happy that you were that way Why were you so driven? Why did you go that low? I don’t want to hear anymore fucking excuses I don’t want you to say that you’re sorry You were born an asshole And you’ll die like me in Hell. I’m sorry Rose I’m sorry Rose Please let me into your life Please don’t abandon me I thought I did the right thing I abandoned my shameful past I starting over a new page In the notebook of my life But you don’t understand I never felt so clean in all my life I feel that I can forgive myself Or at least I did once And now the dream’s gone Time to stare into the charcoal tickles But they’re all gone I got rid of them And now I crumble into the floor Shut my eyes Think of another time Before my dream fell apart.

Driving on the highway Streetlights in my eyes Cup of coffee slightly tilting I have to do this alone The kids will soon be dead If I don’t save them from this Buster Poindexter has gone too far Down the road again He will make them bleed He has no human mercy Whatever is practical to his needs He’ll do it gleefully And I pull into the industrial park Drenched in total dark A couple of shots ring out THAT’S IT NO MORE MR. NICE GAMES IF THERE’S ONE MERE SCRATCH BUSTER’S GETTING EVISCERATED EAT HIS OWN FINGERS ENDS JUSTIFY THE MEANS NO MORE GRIN ON MY PERFECT FACE HE WILL BLEED GREEN OR I WILL TAKE CARE OF HIS FAMILY! There he goes off Into the sunset Into the vacuum His head explodes A fit of fiery fury In this pit of blood I was reborn to protect those kids New found respect for the family Proper punishment, organization music Driving on the highway Tethered to the duty Saved the family So off I go For this I wave goodbye With ten broken fingers On the road I lie down Dead and somehow alive This is a beautiful place Where we reside and pass our history along Decide which is beautiful and which is real Field of horses, field of children Raining pain from the sky, ALL MELTING.

I smoked a pack of Lucky Strikes Even though I’m prone to cancer My wife packed her things and left Because she saw my infidelity last night. My tractors full of excess from the humping. It’s like a man who dresses like a fox. It’s New Year’s and I’m wearing sandals in the show Because I was born to be nothing. I’ll put on my Rockville Records records And follow my life to the Testament of Farrar But somehow I think I missed the gist My life seems like BNA Dipping Copenhagen until my bile duct falls out And riding on bulls called Fu Manchu Skydove on the mountains – killed my dog Had him with a bottle of bud All these brooding teenagers stick to cliché and poor attempts at nerd’s slow metal. They should put on Kenny Chesney and have barbecues in their record store.

Met in front of Federal Hall You looked like you came out Of some Army meeting And we saw the Chrysler Building What did you say? Something about an ape on Empire? I didn’t agree with your initially But soon I did But it just a set-up So I could get your emotions in this. Kept on denying it - The old man said you had to accept it. So what if they drugged To see like a Little Sister? That doesn’t concern me at all And it should make you lie to yourself. Back at your place, day after day, The love grew stronger between us Each successive moment, I’d take you Away from your Jim Beam and in the bed And now I’m with child And I’m part of you As you hallucinate a false vision Of what I could be

So, I was sprawled on my bed, looking through a book I found in my dresser drawer. Somebody’s clipped out what appeared to be half of the novel, save for a few wise words…and how they boldly spoke promises and impracticality, but I was in my nadir. And on my face I went just to see him in my mind. And I slit my throat, suddenly hearing a new voice – he wasn’t all Geddy Lee, but more like Steve Taylor. Sign me up for the mailing list. Before the inevitable change, I was so down on myself that I had to find a way out. Reliant on magazine subscriptions, I felt like my energy went away. And there I was that night in nothing on my bed and I finally got my glimpse. His words of wisdom, his act at the end – how can I pass on this new thing? Am I obligated to take my words down a notch, fit into the crowd, and make songs fit praise, or can I drive in another direction – head on down the beaten road and slip in a little “fuck” to widen the technique? But he has his new chain turned my music into a waste – I can’t truly express things on my mind. “It has to do with God,” he says, “don’t let those fags in the game because we know they aren’t right…neither are the kikes?”

Down Main Street Heart pumping Might die From here on out I’ll be the killer Or the killed Hole myself My hotel room Wait patiently For that moment To come When it does I’ll be ready She tried Tried so hard To run away With a broken Heart Inexplicable Inexplicable indeed I escape But I was found And then I Sat in my car Gun to my head Praying to God That I’ll be safe They tried to Calm me down But I said no It had to be my destiny Closer to my heard They Tried to Calm me down But I said no It had to be My destiny Pulled the hammer Closed my eyes Closed my eyes Got what she deserved

I hear America singing, as I sing of myself, And you experience, as I experience. The problems of yourself are my problems. The youth and the young singing cries of happiness, As you have sung the song of laughter. At age six weeks, I sang this song of laughter Then, at one and a half years of age, the Lord put the mute button on me. Those are my parents' song. They pulled me through to talk again, at age seven. I am now sixteen years old and good at talking enough to help me achieve... New goals and Mario raceway records, and to finish my homemade Nintendo Power magazine. The magazine's songs, the ballad of Sonic the Hedgehog on Game Boy. The rudeness of the teenager's song, The despicable mention of rude words and...D-R-U-G-S. I am not afraid to speak, despite the hazardous flukes in America's song. My song that I sing, although I talk well, My peer relationship is low, and my loneliness is off the scale.

Back of my mind I remember you Warm glow in your eyes Lips wording sweet surprise But why did he have to di it Sell me out to his benefit In my pod I try to stay still But I’m crying, Maria Caught a glimpse of a horse Without its owner to guide it through Flying through these stars In the eternal night lit up somewhat But why is the horse alone? Why isn’t its owner alive anymore? What’s the point of sacrifice it all it does Is make you cry, Maria? Give me everything I need, oh no. Front and center stage Some sort of turned over canvas Backing with my life Printed like Mangum’s odd confessions In this pod I fester Falling apart like some dork I try to keep calm But my eyes cry blood for Maria Insert lyric about reference here Maybe I’ll do something funny I guess genocide is funny I guess genocide is George sold me out cause he blows And I’m running out of words to say I’m crying I cry, I cry like Maria does Give me everything I need, oh fuck. Can’t you see, Maria? Can’t you see? I’m falling apart – teenage symphony shambles! I’m crying until I can’t breathe, And even that I cry into God. All he does is bring out the pain! Now it’s time to sleep forever.

Part 1: “Deadlines Are Looming” Who grew the Kentucky bluegrass in the front yard, Where the trees shade the 4pm sunlight in summer? The neighborhood is lazy on this day, or students are, Filling deadlines while their fathers look over them. The city’s in the distance while the charter bus Runs through the suburb, being the only noise and/or disturbance Except for a girl and her band – a boy on lead vox and guitar And they’re all hidden on their zoion, their yearly reminder. Deadlines are looming throughout the city. It’ll be one more day until they all go to another world, Far away from the corrupt Earth with flaming skeletons. They don’t support that their semi-pastoral life is to end When the developing Gestapo barge to make an unruly strip mall Anchored by a Wal-Mart and a Utopian With fast-food restaurants smashed into their homes. Yet, they sing about the dangers and turmoils of Urban construction, with promises that it’ll end up just like Some mall in Chicago. How can suburban idyllicness survive? The girl’s band reminds us all of our fate. Yet as they pack up their instruments to go to a party which is down the block next to Vernon’s old house they’re in suspension of belief in their lyrics the words they prophesize and meanwhile at the lead’s house his family unlike him and his hand have a party they don’t expect the door to come down and the shaven men to order them to transport The band sees the neighborhood plowed down Instead of having a reclamation of objects The soldiers tell them to go The leader sees other transports there “The car is unhealthy,” shouts someone dying The solder removes his bayonet from the man’s heard Leaving his body to char in plumbic smoke and fallout. The leader watches his brother’s teeth rot from the safety of the transport. Part 2: “The Deal” What is this scary urbanite place? I have heard people call this a concrete jungle. I’m more used to the suburbs and their serenity Where minors’ sons kill inventively under alter egos. There’s this man on the corner in a blue collared shirt. He’s standing up on the corner hawking a strange spatula. It’s metal and divided into five compartments full of ground chuck. He announces its name as what I expected to hear. I went to the counter and got out my Citibank card So I could satisfy what this man was selling. He handed me his item of interest And to my surprise, it actually worked. As I walked away with my new item of interest More and more people ran to the prophet’s counter. He could stop the destruction of the suburbs with his silvery tongue So I walked back to him, fighting the fanatics. I stand next to my friend in his blue-collar Lacoste shirt Watching the prophet hawk more and more items to potential buyers He brought out six or eight tubes of some magical green substance, stretched his hand And said to me, “Carl, come in. I want to make a proposal.” What do you want? When do you want it? How can we get it? How do we fight it? Why do I have all of these TV items? Why do I have all of these trinkets? Why do I feel like I’m de-evolving into lesser? Why do I feel like I’m not so smart? Maybe it’s the government that’s doing this! Maybe it’s my mind in this world! Maybe! Just maybe! I can get this out of my head! Part 3: “Griots and Street Performances” I remember a story my mother told me I remember a story a stranger told me While I was in my bed While I was at a Shoney’s It started in a jungle long ago It started at a Shoney’s I ate With a hunter killing monkeys and tigers With a cook undercooking the Big Boy Burger What is with these unrelated stories from griots and street performances? The hunter was spared by the Mormon tribe The chef came to my with a butcher knife And he bathed in their cooking pot And he cut off my shoe laces As the tribe added in the A1 steak sauces As I ran away into Gatlinburg He felt a bit more sleepier My shoes felt loose so I took them off The hunter shot a Saturday’s warrior I ran into a Rhythm Section music store And dumped his carcass into the pot And went on my knees at the sight of Alice Saturday’s warrior! After the pot was up to a boil After Alice shifted away The hunter had a bite of primate pork I chased her through the mall He developed instantaneous cannibal thoughts Alice was tired so she hid in a store front And he saw a girl in the back room And I saw a stranger approach the girl The Hunter took her off I saw the stranger prep her for torture And spread a feather all across her And was turned on by her lovely movement The Hunter’s mind was blank; he saw a light I shot the stranger with harpoon And the girl ran from her suitor, happy I chased her to the phone booth!

Part 1: “Call to Arms” I’ve been locked inside Can’t jury rig my way out of here My only friends the mop and Pine-Sol But all your promises still hold Too much unrequited love How will I get out of this place? I can sense something foul Brief flashes of futures to come Block my unintended qi of the door I need to get out quickly Warn my best friend who’ll most likely Consider it more Xbox hearsay All of those hours waiting to be free And I still play GoldenEye ‘til 5 am Of course I have to go to school Maybe I don’t – maybe I do All I know is that I need To tell my friend that she won’t be Living for too much longer Unless if she gets this “orb of wisdom” But the minutes pass and I’m afraid to speak Since the prophecy is too crazy to be believed What should I do? The world’s up to me! Just let it be preserved… Ever since I moved to Norway in another timeline I’ve been able to perceive the things No one else can see – metaphysical green And I’m forever haunted by the images of war and blood So I ask my friend about these daily occurrences And she validates my hopes by noting that some Archaeologist named Henry Jones Called her up to find this “orb of wisdom” Most of my fears were alleviated Though I still had the nightmares And they gave me headaches That Tylenol took the pain away Of course, I was stupid to get hooked Because I had to leave those pills at home And that fateful 4 am waking up And I walked away from middle-class America Standing at the bus stop per orders Waiting for a bus to come out of the fog I turned to my friend and she said That she didn’t know what was going on Or what she was fighting for Or why the visions came to me and not her Part 2: “Flight” And out the fog came the bus Like one of the ancient Frisco cars Emblazed with the number 1979-A On its rusting-intact side And we climbed aboard, suitcase and all And who should greet us but a dog-faced man He had the bus in control to another land Looked at us like we were mad But he was integral The ferryman from one world to the next Or rather to plane that would take us To the central hub of things I asked my friend if the attack began And she said no as the airport come into view Appeared in the middle of an empty field And the homes we lived in faded out of view But we both kept the surprise low Since we didn’t want to cause too much Suspicion And off we boarded Walked into the empty airport Down the corridor to terminal B A metallic prop plane on the runway “Faith-Tester” Up the air is where I feel so safe Up in the air is where ten thousand promises come true Up in the air, Kim can finally prove her worth Up in the air, where my worries melt away Up in the air, Studebaker’s phone booth flies Up in the air, the tear fades in from the sky Up in the air and off we go into the limbo Up in the air, there’s no air, so where do we go When they say major turbulence they mean it Falling down, down, down to my doom Go play Aoxomoxoa once before I die Turbulence turbulence turbu we’re done And we land Part 3: “Ride” The hub, the central hub, all the universes collide Me and Niko Bellic in the back of Latka’s taxi Or maybe it’s some Arabic guy – I don’t know. I don’t watch Taxi. But the orb – I gotta get the orb and I just realized That I’m in a taxi with these video games and I don’t know why this happening The excitement of my ecstasy And my eventual love Down the highway, down the road The rips all over the land Familiar faces all around Down the road, mansion on the distance Down the road…tell me what’s on your mind Down the road, relapse hitting me so bad Down the road, down the road. Drift into the nightmare which I can’t let go Grandma just passed on the pain Look at myself in the mirror Pills in my chapped hand Take the pain away medicine Let me feel alive again And I’m on cloud nine Feeling alive – Listerine breath But Kim doesn’t like it Never cared for me at all Only about that Josh kid in her eye And she goes Down the highway, off the road In front of Jones’ mansion His face reminds me of someone His face looks too iconic Part 4: “Here He Goes, Mr. Jones” There he goes, Mr. Jones Got into his fedora Kim asked why he needed our help He said the prophecy said so Once in ancient Colorado days Some mages made an orb That had the power to preserve But someone stole it Now it’s time to retrieve it Save the day forever But who should do such a thing Because prophecy is so obtuse and weird There he goes, Mr. Jones Down the beaten path To the place where the orb was placed And told us to think of a plan But we just winged it Just grabbed the orb But a boulder came down and Crushed poor Kim’s toe Now it’s time to save her As far as I know, I’m done But who would outline such an easy Escape and an easy solution There he goes, Mr. Jones Bandaging her foot And the mansion we stayed at And where she kissed me She and I went into embrace But the fireplace And there shoes Singing her passioned song Now it’s time to dream Dream of the relapse and its effects I’ve been locked inside this janitor’s closet For God knows how long Part 5: “Call to Arms (reprise)” I woke up the next morning Didn’t jury rig my way out of here No prophecy in my head Somebody get me out of this janitor’s closet!