Live Dangerously
Go on and drop out,
Don't wear your fuckin'
helmet,
Drink yourself into the gutter,
Drive like a maniac and
Act line a damn crazy person.
I don't give a shit any more.
But don't expect people to
take you seriously.
Don't be surprised when you
don't get no respect.
And don't come bitchen to me.
I don't wanna hear it.
Chosen Ones
"I'm the one that killed the kids,"
he
said. Buford Furrow walked into
a community center and shot
three children. Laughed about it
when he was arrested. Stupid shit.
Where do these idiots come from?
What do the Furrows and McVeighs
of the world think they can accomplish
shooting, blasting, killing? Are
they inevitable offshoots of society,
products
of a defective childhood,
a hateful subculture,
genetic mutations?
Is it worth the time it takes us
to think about them? The dregs of society
laughs in our faces, cries behind
out backs, tells us to go to hell,
and makes us ask questions
whether we like it or not.
Music Man
He starts off with words
and then adds the music. Is
this the way to play the world?
Too many think that that's it.
I look at the street and say this must
be a way to persuade people.
Well okay, but washing your
feet in the gutter is not a trivial
pursuit. Easy to see it as a new life form.
Music no longer sooths savage
beasts. A million melodies lay
by our side every day.
That's the way with me and I was not
there then. We look at them
and we listen to notes but we do not
hear what we see. The distance is
beyond us. Music men hear the way
the world looks; flies right
by everybody else. Who can say
bye to the boundaries of it all,
bridge the earth-sun-Calcutta-
man space. The great music
needs us, needs all of us, loves
all of us. I hear it and see it want
to change the way the world works,
the way it reacts to itself but I am
no one to them. Bring us to ourselves
so we can rise up. We
want
to rise up don't we? We want
to see those little round dots fly.
