I only read the sports and the obits
No shit, I've been playing all my life
Got twenty three knives, color me dead or alive
Read my rights to the pastor, he said I had it backwards
Zeitgeist mind, 2012 on the placard
With a chip in my wrist, tell my girl I love her
Join the street circus with interplanetary purpose
And the market profit pundits say I'm worthless
I was once worth something, everyone's worth something
Nothing is worth nothing, I'm employee of the month
Got a bunch of those titles, but not enough stuff
In my house, my house will never be enough
Woman and man all concerned with her bust
But what happens when you bust, is it worse than dying?
Is it worth trying? To get connected and present
My exaggerated diary of several half-events

I know you know
I know you know I know

See, in those days, I had plenty tour action
Got enough small deaths, not enough orgasms
And they stabbed me from behind, covered me in black chasms
Left the game with back spasms, sorry coach
They painted my mother's door with blood
You can imagine my sense of unease
Every clerk at work gets to talk like a thug
While I only speak in legalese
Can't think not to think cause that's still a thought
Bury Mr. Roland with the things that he bought
Covered with rocks or plugged to machines?
I was always for an organic scene
And in the end, the way we party when we're wed
Is the same way we'll party when we're dead
Funeral scene, yeah, you know what I mean
Dressed all black like Hamlet, the motherfuckin' death set