O.D.B. Songtext

The ignorant things that we do and the genius they're spun into.
The earth below conceived as mud---paint it into the sky above.
Legitimate, illiterate, what we forgot is what we get.
Fuck your technique, your palette---fuck your tiresome ?development.?
This is a storied story of a storied story written to fit. No special circumstance but one that requires a story written to fit. A man---a ?meta meta meta? man---and he fits. This is the storied portrait of a man who's armed with ignorant art. This is the storied portrait you pissing on the glass ceiling of art. No arms but ashy arms. No black arms but these arms and that's ?art.? This is the storied vinyl of the CD single transferred to tape. An analog of a dialogue of a sambionic monologue on tape. That's a ?1? or ? 0? escaping through the field to the house, and that's tape. This is the storied video of tits and ass and horse that's jazz. The juke joint, the liquor store---what ?walking the bar? is for---and that's jazz. The stories lost in stories---boring stories about stories---about jazz. The human condition---a brutal condition, a savage condition.