| And always in the punch-drunk morning
|
| Coffee old, toast turned cold
|
| Orange marmalade and old shoe leather
|
| A line of vitamins
|
| To purify the several sins
|
| That help to hold my shadowed soul together
|
| I trembled with the million things
|
| The taxi driver starts to sing
|
| One of my songs, one that I like the least
|
| He says, «That was the only one I liked»
|
| My face cracks, my misery
|
| Increased. |
| Oh my misery
|
| «Oh my misery»
|
| I know your name is every day
|
| To keep my sanity at bay
|
| A million manias to make me suffer
|
| The phone rings constantly
|
| I feel the need to throw a fit
|
| Or throw the phone, it hits the wall
|
| I? |
| in my head and?
|
| Up to several inches small
|
| And there’s a voice in my right ear
|
| A voice in my left ear
|
| It’s getting hard to hear and
|
| Claustrophobia smothers me with fear
|
| I need a gun to blow my brains
|
| Or blow the brains of any
|
| Sucker standing in my way, today
|
| Look out!
|
| (Bang bang, shoot shoot)
|
| (Bang bang, shoot shoot)
|
| (Look out, look out, look out!)
|
| (Bang bang, shoot shoot)
|
| (Bang bang, shoot shoot)
|
| (Look out, look out, look out!)
|
| A million manias every day
|
| To keep my sanity at bay
|
| A million manias to make me suffer
|
| A million manias weigh me down
|
| Neurosis forcing me to drown
|
| This couldn’t happen to any other
|
| Dog or its mother, brother
|
| And pulled each way by wild dogs
|
| And I sway just like a corpse
|
| Upon a rope turning green with nausea
|
| And a sailor white with anger
|
| A touch of purple right 'round the throat
|
| And you wallow in my sea of doom
|
| And stretch out in a private room
|
| A? |
| grave to come and get me soon
|
| A rhapsody of suffering
|
| As a thousand wailing souls
|
| Hold out their hands for bits of me
|
| To pin up as morbid momentos
|
| In their rooms
|
| And then he bangs on the table
|
| And? |
| hammers the door
|
| I? |
| back in their sockets
|
| And my friends ask me to stop it
|
| And I?
|
| And I keep them? |
| out on the floor
|
| And I pick up all the pieces
|
| And I glue them back together
|
| And an angry? |