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As I went up to 20th street to find myself a fix, once again a lonely broken twig, floating on the styx, and I laugh at all the demons, and how like them I've become, to each vandal his own temple, in the land behind the sun, membranes burn inside my skull, an ocean raging is my blood, my lungs are sheets of cellophane, held up to flame, gates yield to the flood, my heart my heart, my fucking heart, is racing to the start or to the end, quick as I was doused in flames, I was crushed beneath the snow, I try to sleep I cannot sleep, I cannot sleep away the memory, of what I've done unto my temple, on the counsel of the devil, my clumsy crumbling, broken hands throw open every door, my own will, the gavel falls, guilty guilty guilty guilty, this thing you called life we've given, you'd better be sure that you hate it, you scorn it, before you go wishing it away, you'll be a ragdoll in the fray, your clicking tongue will crack, oh brother, never again to taste, and and your fading eyes will see, but you'll not recognize the place, and the pace at which you fall, may it be swift, that if you come away from this, you'll find hell is not a dream but it goes with you as you go

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from The Fucking Buckaroos, released July 4, 2007

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The Fucking Buckaroos San Francisco, California

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