Manheim; rainy Saturday with no money nor friend,only Tequila can end the boredom.
Try to reach London for a pocket of hope;we're children, we grope in the dark.
Hugh spends his last Mark on coffee and cheese...I feel just like a refugee...
Rathaus-keepers and traffic police,middle-aged maids with rotting teethindustrial magazines and old Sunday Times;reading material/bleeding lines.
What are we doing here?
Memorial manace, eager for revenge,has begun to bend our minds.
Shower-curtain imperative in the presence of acid;now, feeling placid is death.I try to hold my breath as the P.A. comes down...here we all are in Ktown!
The Big Wheel never fails to grind around;it drags me up/drags me down
Seven sentenses wonder '
Can this be real,or am I become a performing seal?'
Why are we dying here?I walk the streets alone, try to find a sign of love,I've crushed the plaster-bone in the freaky clubs,I have bit the fruitbut all I live for is to playand I'm tired of the nights and the daysof airports, taxis and motorway showers,grooping for a key in the afterhours.
David takes to travelling in the van,
He knows that we all can understand;we're at the mercy of the Kosmos Tour,making a pilgrimage to the German Lourdes...but we're still crippled here.
Cathedrals spiral skywards, I think I'm getting vertigo,I think I don't know what is real.
On a more sudden spotlight, one more madness is over...I must not show a sign of fear.
Words echo round my ears, I think I'm going to laugh...think I'll just go and take a bath, Guess I'll wash my clothes,don't you know I'll grow to go and make my name,maybe a servant in the Fame game;stake my sane and rest my life on the line...
Now lay me asunder and rend my mind;at the fall of the curtain let this be my ghost...
|