"Wah - a - ha -ha -ha!
I wanna go out, but I can't
gotta get up for work tomorrow!"
Meaning, the night's over, even not yet -
the sun doesn't shine and it will not shine
for a few more minutes, few more minutes,
I wish I would never leave this bed,
this comfort, this softness,
"Gotta get up fo work tomorrow!"
The alarm insists on telling me-
but it ain't tomorrow, not yet,
let me be here, nice and quiet,
I promise I won't make a noise,
I promise I'll just rest...
But it's useless to fight,
everyday routine, gotta get up
indeed, gotta get up and face
the earth, not before facing
the damn toilet, stress relief,
blessed are those who can piss,
and feel the tingle of such relief.
Gotta get up to the dusty interior,
torture machines await for me,
await for my daily routine
of forcing myself awake,
25 of that, 25 of those, 7 of this
can't take that much yet
Now for some wake up juice,
I pour coffee in the pot,
I put water in the boiler,
and the boiler plugged to the wall
in the meantime, let's have
a strength test, 8 kilos
on my back, stretch and mantain
for 50 seconds, I do, but the
bolier's boiling, the water is hot,
pour the water onto the coffee
and while I wait, 50 seconds more
of this plank nonsense, it's fucking
hard, but it feels good to drown
out the night of my eyes, my body,
doing such an intense liftoff,
I grunt and fell, can't do it no more,
coffee smells, coffee and cigarettes-
breakfast of champions!
I pour the sugar, can't get rid of it,
can't drink black coffeee, not yet,
I nod to Gideon, he comes and
twirls around my arm, lighting up
my coffin nail - I know it's fucking
wrong, i know, but I keep on smoking
anyways, nothing like coffee and cigarettes,
well, maybe my beloved Irish Coffe,
but that ain't for me, not anymore,
too much tyramine, would kill me
instantly, so I choose to die at a slower
pace, enjoying smoke and coffee,
Gideon blows smoke, to mingle with
mine, we are one, we are one.
try to lift off, 8 kilos again,
50 seconds again, it kills me,
leaves me breathless, but awakens me
nonetheless, I am wide awake now, and the
sun's not yet out, but I gotta go,
gotta leave my place, gotta say goodbye
to Gideon and all my beloved ladies,
I will return tonight! Wait for me,
be still, be silent, just like Gideon's
style, when anyone's other tham me
and myself alone - can see - the life
that goes around him, around my ladies,
no time for songs now, no time for
pedals, fuzz and whatnot - wait for me!
I1ll be back for you tonight, I'll be
back for you all tonight, Gideon and
the ladies, they are my concert parade,
my whole universe that actually makes
sense in this world of chaos, traffic, drugs and
twisted laws - laws that gotten my best
friend kicked out of college, because of
a fucking bullshit image, a fucking sense
of justice, deranged justice, fucking liars,
fucking paragons of false justice,
false idiots talking about something
they haven't a clue about - a joke,
a fucking joke, that this marvellous thing
called internet, and social media, twisted
into a monstrosity, unlawful behaviour,
and media sensation, overnight, "justice
ahs been done!" NO. Justice has NOT
been done. A joke, just a fucking joke,
tasteless as it may be, just a fucking joke,
turned his life into nothingness,
all those years wasted away,
because of a fucking joke.
I leave the house, thinking of this,
thinking about how fair the fucking
world indeed is - no fucking justice at all,
I walk alone, lights turn on as I pass,
lighting the way of the early pilgrim,
about to take the fucking bus, to his
fucking job, but not before, some hide
and seek chore, sometimes sunshine lights
out of faded grass, spent trash, cigarette butts
and wahtnot - there may lie some sunshine for
making my world a better place, yet more
tolerable, so I seek, and sought, found some
and some not, some good, some bad,
'tis the same to me - sunshine in the trash.
Wait for the bus, is getting here, while I
smoke away some legal smoke, something
I will never understand, how this is legal
and sunshine smoke ain't? But wait!
Here it is, here it stops, I hop up,
g'morning to you all, paid the fare, using
my electronics share, I seek my spot,
my lonely seat, always there, at this
time of day, it is always there, my
preferred spot, my lone seat, no one
gets near, no one will get near,
I sit and look, outside the window,
yet I see nothing - I am just thinking
about my life, my meds, my friends,
my fucked-up by the media friend,
which lead to a fucking witchhunt
with one victim only: he is. The culprit.
As if there weren't others doing
exactly the same thing, or maybe
worse, like the slave girl - what about
that fucking piece of shit guy?
suspension, no less, no more.
expel the one, who had a fake 'stache
that's evil! that's evil! way more than
the other two fuckers there. Or the
"slavedriver" asshole - suspension,
nothing more, nothing less.
But let us expel the 'stache one,
because he represents evil himself,
Hitler re-incarnated, indeed.
On. A. Fucking. Joke. Of. A. Photo.
It got me thinking, how people are
fucking gullible, they read a ton of
nonsense my friend has written
all around the fucking "speech-free" internet,
and got himself on this tackle.
Fucking people. Fucking so-called moralists.
They don't know my friend, not like I do,
I vouch for him anytime I must,
He's not a Monster, at least not like this one,
who's awake and already pissed
about what happened to a friend of his,
a soul that saved mine, numerous times,
when I was down, he was there, for me,
with all his extremism and right-wing
thoughts, it does'nt really matter. He is my friend.
You idiots don't know him like I do,
Fucking morons, everywhere I look,
everywhere there's something barely legal
involved, there they go, the so-proclaimed
"righteous" ones. Righteous fuckers!
Well, there's my stop, and there is another
bus to wait, until I get there, to the Empire,
not before I buy some bread,
not before I drink some coffee,
along with poisonous legal smoke I inhale.
And here I am, weel-kept, well-fed,
awaiting the endless seconds go by,
time moving backwards, it feels.
I sit and wait, until my next poisonous
break, where I'll do some planking too,
and try to survive, the office's life
the official langage of boredom,
for all these nine long hours it steals me,
before I can get back, to my dusty
but dreamy place, my safe spot, my eden
where I am whatever I feel like, I feel
whatever I'd like to feel, I make all the
noise I want to, off my ladies' bosom
where I can be the King - of this lonely
wasteland, strange to many,
an utter necessity of me.
There I'll be - when the clock stikes
five and let me go back to my place,
my place,
my place,
my paradise.
No where else will I find, dragons alive,
rocking guitars, liberty to be
whoever the fuck I wanna be.
