Cut your break lines, brake your headlights and waited for you at the stop sign.
Disconnected iron lungs, insurance fires, our smothered young.
Always the first one on the scene. A pyromantic midsummer nights dream.
Thank you lord:
1) for this oil slick.
2) for her car wreck.
3) for I'm lovesick.
Heaven sent us a hero, but Hell tried to his resolve. And when you thought we were done for.
I pulled through. While you rested your eyes in the driver seat, I sat and watched you.
Always the first one on the scene. A pyromantic midsummer nights dream.
Trust me.
We'll wait for it, pray for it, step on the brakes till we're over it, under it, screaming like bombs for it.
Oh dear me, I've done it again.
Thank you lord:
4) for the loaded gun.
5) for the bad aim.
6) for I'm lonesome.
God is smiling down on us, he shines his grace on everyone.
[p.s. - The greatest lovers were murderers first.]
Turns out I never had a thought at all.
I've been talking in my sleep, reciting teleprompted anthems - a marionette
strung tight to the executives upstairs.
I almost had myself convinced that I meant everything I said. What a shame.
Oh captain, my captain, you've been drinking. What happened?
I've been slurring my cadences and blacking out when I stand.
I know all about your son, who never did return from the war.
But there was poison in that bottle, I tell you.
I'm coming out with my hands in the air. This is not my voice. What you are
hearing is not me.
There's been a horrible mistake. I'm a proud God-fearing registered democrat.
This is all the same elaborate scheme and it will be cleared up when the
governor beckons for me.
He'll clear my name. It appears that the inmates have overrun the asylum.
There's a madman at the wheel. We are not even remotely capable of keeping our heads about us.
We've abandoned all semblance of presence. Dead bolted, buckled in. Keeping our word to the sinking ship.
Let the rats orchestrate the new mutiny. I'll meet you overboard.
What we're doing is so wrong, and what you're wearing is so right (it's so tight).
But I've never felt better so I'm going out to get her and I don't care what set of wheels I steal to get there.
Balance is a minor setback.
What she thinks is all right, and the way she looks is just fine.
She sure as hell ain't you, but lord knows she'll have to do.
She don't know I'm alive but neither do I so there's nothing left to lose.
If I could only make it make you want to want me. One more drink, I think, should do.
I wish that I could say I love to watch you walk away, but you probably
won't be back in time to hear it.
So it's just as well. No one out there gets back in alive.
So I'll love the way you stand so close to a guy who we both know can't get near it.
Strike when ready. Burn the highway down.
Let me hear her high heels moan. I'm ready, set, go.
There's cocaine in the key that took us from the bar to her car to the bedroom.
Only the lonesome love us. Only the careless can handle us. What's wrong
with us that we're so unamused?
This isn't at all unpleasant. I'm enchanted by the lavish ballet,
and I'll whistle the tune all the way to the gallows that I heard at the cabaret.
At the sheriff's signal, the orchestra moves the floor.
Don't it make you feel wonderful?
Body twisting strictly ballroom. Criminally elegant, ideal postured Viennese waltzer.
I'm dressed to kill. I'm weightless and well rehearsed. In my godless opera
my characater is canonized.
Uphand me. This is a musical and nothing goes wrong.
Can't keep the classics out of the head of the masochists. Strike up the band.
It's 245 beats for a measure or 5 beats per 6 steps on alternating feet.
The show must go on. Never mind the teeth and fingernails, the show must go on.
I don't feel at all like I thought I would, but I could probably go on like this forever.
Tonight, we dance, for tomorrow they release the dogs. 1,2,3. Keep it up.
1,2,3. Savor it.
(Where is my head? Where is my heart?) Everything vanishes.
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