Print

I miss the drunk, I miss the fiendI miss the simplicity of addiction and the sceneI miss wandering aimlessly in half dead sewersWith rats for eyes chewing on forgiveness and the will toapologizeI miss the return of no return as I burn in avalanches ofwhite snow and yellow cocaineI miss talking to brick walls while following the grainAnd human dolls as I plagiarize myself like a dummyStuffed with counterfeit money for Cairo and black honeyI miss illusions begging to be chasedEven as they disappear into me erasedUntil there is no one or nothing but the chaseAnd a powdery ghost with no face or faithAnd the woman of my dreams disappearing without graceRob from always on the run is so bad and copy paste is a sinI Miss The ZooI Miss The ZooI Miss The ZooI miss evolving into a cloud of blue marijuanaBlown from the lips of hookers and pimpsAs they shake each other down in alleys for the dammed butmightyWith no one but the weak around and the beautiful unsightlySongtexteI miss numb Neanderthals marching in rows of living deadFrom my wisdom teeth to Spain and back again in my headI miss salvation in syringes and angels of mercyIn blooms of smoke numbing rain which drinks when thirstyI miss glasses full of spirits who without tongues speak tome in Napoleon's wild nightsI miss staying up for days and becoming a psychic pretzelflying kitesChewed on by a Zulu heading with toads to MarsA mysterious prison and one without barsI Miss The ZooI Miss The ZooI Miss The ZooI miss waking in the arms of strangers like puppiesJust born in the pound to a dead mother with eyes sealedshutLooking for a tit to suck and other dangersWhen the night before laughter was the only pursuitEven as knives carved up our backs and demons sat likeBuddhas eating fruitMeditating on hate forever in our mindsI miss exposing even my bones and the need that rewindsEven my burning home, even my gutted inner childEven my dead grandfather beneath the ground that’s wildEven my criminal family, even my weedwacker thoughtsWhipping a thin plastic string to cut the ears of others asI singI miss van Gogh’s revenge, I miss his nightly bingeI miss spiders surrounding my bed and lifting me as if aneffigyOr a Dead King or a prophet of doomA Jesus for the apocalypse wearing dirt like perfumeOr a mother for Satan or a ghost for all the children ofabuseAnd taking me into the fire watching me burn like a gooseAs they sing in spider voicesThere goes creation, there goes the moonThere goes the butterfly wanting a cocoonI miss being a bloom and a goonWaking up too soon, in the afternoonA doctor of regretHanging onto guitar strings in tuneAnd hanging by a belt wrapped around some pipe to nowhereand feltMy lips too wrapped around what appears to be stained glassAs religious figures dress like rocks with classBurn into gas to the center of my brainThe euphoria of dying and being born all at onceWhile wearing the hat that reads 'dunce'I Miss The ZooI Miss The ZooI Miss The Zoo Aus Songtexte Mania