Last Day On Earth

Overture - a) a tourist - b) a contact - c) a prisoner

Excuse me, excuse me! can you show me the way out of here?

Of course. this way. just pass the headless horsemen, the caf

The sky's full of dirty, aching air, that's burning a greasy yellow and zooming
Slowly in on everyone, [untie] these fighting sunsets that will not be fulfilled.
The noise on her eyes is still there, even when the retina yields in the strain of
The dull, sacreligious commandment of an eye for an eye or a tooth for a truth.

Even the ocean is ghettoized now, another dirty alleyway that leads nobody home.
When you're so young and full of expectations, you're looking for that perfect wave
And when you'd like to ride them all/on. so i ask you from the bottom of my heart,
Is that any way to treat your mother? red, red, red river, bloody ocean of
Sorrowful memories carry me to the deep blue sea. i hear you. call me.

Is it true that virtue fell by the wayside? not even a mark. and who will lift
The fog of bitterness, who [will sigh] the tide of regret? who'll avoid the
Undertow of sentimental drift? who can live long on poetry and rats? i don't have
The patience, but what does it cost on the open market? and who can afford that?

I wanna be buried in the bottom of the ocean, like shelly winters in "the
Night of the hunter". my hair abillowing, being kissed by the fishes, sushi
For shabu. if fishes were wishes i'd have you. i'd have you. ahh, i've never
[felt one tremor] that is greed, envy, lust, gluttony, anger, pride.

Sushi for shabu. you keep calling me. you keep calling me.

Angel of death. i have thought i heard you singing. angel of death. i have held
The flutter of your seductive wings. angel of death. i have seen you counting on
Shadows. angel of death. i have watched you patiently waiting. angel of death.

Angel of death. i have felt the heat and the power. angel of death. emerging
From your deadly silver tune. angel of death. reflections of disaster the morning
After. angel of death. the stories everyone sees through. angel of death.

Welcome to the goldrush, ladies and gentlemen, where california begins and maybe ends.

California is the last stop on the great hitchhike west and now it's getting a little full. too many thumbs. well, when you get too many people in one place, you get intolerance and contempt and
Dity and tension and sarcasm, distrust, anxiety, envy, hate, cynicism, discontent, self-pity, malice, suspicion, jealousy and snobbishness. and this leads right into poetry, painting, sculpture,
E, music and literature, photography. these are known as the arts. and art will break your heart. so what? so will a good meal. art is not the spiritual side of business-as-usual.

And art is not for everyone. never has been and it never will be. now me, i don't know much about art, but i do like what i know. you know in these days when everybody is mistaking celebrity for
Nt, ambition for genius, self-pity for humility, style for content and loathing for love, they spend a lot of time getting in touch with themself. and then they find self-justification, self-rig
Sness, self-obsession, self-pity, self-loathing, self-concern, self-centredness, self-reliance, and self-serving gratification.

What do you think is going on here the old man said from his chair? d'you think this is anything new? now look here son. this is just like it was back in the old days before the last war? then t
Litics changed, the scene rearranged and became how we know now is quo. oh yeah, there were times when everyone smiled and the greed of the good times would roll, but a heartbeat away was the cr
Hat did pay - the shot that was heard around the world. if you go to sleep, the old man explained, you're just going to miss on your turn. but if you stay awake the path that you take may in fac
Ome a bridge to be burned.

And the old man turned away (secrets) wiping his tears from his eyes.
It's already too late, he whispered, but that's certainly no reason to cry.
(dirty little secrets)
You see the last pioneer is waving his flag, framing the organ bone by bone, burning in sections, twisting his flag and walking on glass as he is clearing his tomb.

Yeah, nevertheless, there's no money, said the kid. "eh well, half-price hookers are watching the mast, the old man said, prepared to face the music and laugh. bring the shadows down on the
S of the soft ladies that lie on their mechanical beds. and nevertheless, there ain't no money, the kid said. well so call up a future and rewrite the past, said the old man. raise the hammer an
Fle the news, polish the armour and dust off the grass. there's more dead-end options here than we'll ever use.

But nevertheless, there's no money, said the kid. well, hell, there's glitter galore to tell you of gold.
(secrets)
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the kid.
(secrets)
With second hand hardware all over the world?
Dirty little secrets)
Nevertheless there ain't no money.
Well listen, times are hard but the crowd's flooding in.
Yeah, nevertheless there ain't no money.
Hey kid, second class will sell to the valley again don't worry.
But nevertheless there ain't no money, said the kid.

Well, what do you want me to do about it? said the old man. i've come up with every argument i can for the fact that the lawyers are leeching the marrow out of the bone of anyone who's got an or
L idea in this country.
Well what country are you talking about? said the kid.
I'm talking about the country where my nephew makes honey out of old orange peels and plastic out of old bandaids. i'm talking about a country where the sun never sets, i'm talking about a count
Ere fish are the bricks that build the edifices from which you can throw yourself in a veritable syndrome of court reverence. ahaha, greed and gun and invests.

Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the kid.
Marks and pounds and pieces of flesh? said the old man.
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the kid.
Hey, no protection is worth a damn, said the old man.
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the kid.
They're sending the waters off helega lamps.
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the kid.
They're carving the marble shape of the urn.
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the kid.
A goateed image in turkish stone?
Nevertheless there ain't no money. oh god, said the kid, what am i going to do with my life now?

The woman settled for anomalous clothes and socks some place in vermont.
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the old man.
The young man is evidently not worth suing.
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the old man.
State of vermont is in america? said the kid.

Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the old man.
They're doing it again and again and again.
Nevertheless there ain't no money, said the old man.

Who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge?

Is it the army? is it the money? are you responsible? i'm not responsible. you wanna die now? why not, it's a good day to die.

Who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge?

It's not the pope. it's not the president. it's not the rabbi. it's not the buddha. it's not the natureman. it's not the priest. it's not the artists. it's not the geniuses. it's not the audienc
's not the critics. cain and abel. not romulus and remus.

Who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge?

It's not the doctors. it's not the teachers. it's not the detectives. it's not the scientists. it's not the socialists. it's not the computer[ist]s. it's not the teamsters. it's not the comedian
's the outlaws. it's not the artists. it's the futurists. it's not the dadaists. it's the soloists. it's not the audience. it's a mountain. it's not mohammed.

Who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge? who's in charge?

God knows how long she was waiting on the mountain, staring at the river, watching all her dreams go by. every single morning she sang of crystal fountains, counting the days until she spread he
Gs and fly. she had her eye on a man, the hero of the valley. born in an alley wearing felony-shoes. when it came to the ladies, that man became a legend, famous for his freedom, freed to pick a
Oose. lay your money, lay your money down. lay your money, lay your money down.

It was a marriage made in heaven, meant for each other, natural born lovers want to sing each other's song. it was too good to be true, too good not to try, too soon to tell, it was too late to
There were shadows in [the kitchen], poison in the air. secrets to be hidden, they were too much to care. it was lipstick for breakfast, and fine wine in a glass, resentments in the mirror, ther
No way you can last. lay your money, lay your money down. lay your money, lay your money down.

There was static on the juke box and murder on their minds, money on the table, there were [walls left to climb]. lights across the water, and fireworks in the sky, paradise nevada on the fifth
Of july. twisting like a dancer she took everything he had. this side of whiskey nothing cut in half is bad. there are losses, there are debts, there are winners to be found, there are wagers,
Are bets, there are losers in the crowd. lay your money, lay your money down. lay your money, lay your money down.

Before the end of the beginning, before the finish credits role, there is a brief but brutal truth along the high and mighty road. faces tend to run together, names be lost and legends told, of
Ays to be forgiven on that high and mighty road.

There is a will to test the power, there is the struggle for control of the basic rights of passage along the high and mighty road.

It is a journey for the taking, it is a choice that can be made.
It is the soul that may be shaken, it is the spirit to be sane.



There is hypocrisy and wonder, when fortunes pale and empires home to an ancient way of magic along a high and mighty road.
Money changers seeking payments for the priviledged to be so bold, to say the train is not too crowded for a high and mighty road.
And the courage may be tested, by judgement harsh and cold, from the monitors of progress along that high and mighty road.

There are the words that have been spoken, there is the life that's been portayed, it is a promise to be broken, it is the joy that dies in vain.

Pale treasure, fragile beauty, or the messages set in coal, we delivered as nostalgic on that high and mighty road.



Sacrifice and deprivation are spiteful paradoxes sold as begrudging restitutions along that high and mighty road.

And yet the faces, oh god the faces, they seldom change from young to old, they only seem to grow more brazen along the high and mighty road.
It is the future we are trading, it is the prices that we pay, it is the mind that is mistaken, it is the heart we give away.