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Durchschnittliche Bewertung:

(Brett Gurewitz)
A febrile shocking violent smack and
the children are hoping for a heart attack
tonight the windows are watching,
the streets all conspire
and the lampost can't stop crying
If I could fly high above the world
Would I see a bunch of living dots spell the word stupidity?
Or would I just see hungry lover homicides,
loving brother suicides
and olly olly oxenfrees, who pickaside and hide
The world is scratching at my door
My morning papers got the scores,
the human interest stories, and the obituary
Cockroach nape and rattling traps,
How many devils can you fit upon a match head?
Caringosity killed the Kerouac cat,
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction
In my alley around the corner
there's a wino with feathered shoulders
and a spirit giving head for crack and he'll
never want it back
There's a little kid and his family eating
crackers like Thanksgiving
and a pack of wild desperadoes scornful of living
The world is scratching at my door
My morning papers got the scores,
the human interest stories, and the obituary
Cradle for a cat, Wolfe looks back,
How many angels can you fit upon a match?
I want to know why Hemmingway cracked
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction
Life is the crummiest I ever read,
there isn't a hook, just a lot of cheap shots
Pictures to shock and characters an
amateur would never dream up
Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction