Viajo sin rumbo fijo en mis botas viejas cabos sueltos enlazan a mi cabeza Si pensabas ir al lugar donde los paganos van pongalo junto invitacion extrano
Brother are you really here? The package I received is gone Are you a phantom detective Can you read my soul backwards? I will glide with you If you
Has it come and gone? Is it long before the spirit shaves his legs? Is it wrapped in trash, sent back to a sanitation tank? Is it disinfected, disconnected
Must have been the devil Believe that woman has gone mad Must a been the devil Believe that woman has gone mad Nothing' but the devil Change my baby'
I dropped my anchor in the dead of night I packed my suitcase and threw it away I fell asleep in the funeral fire I gave my clothes to the policeman
Something's wrong 'cause my mind is fading And everywhere I look There's a dead end waiting Temperature's dropping at the rotten oasis Stealing kisses
I been drifting along In the same stale shoes Loose ends tying a noose In the back of my mind If you thought that you were making your way To where the
Gotta get it! Gotta get it! Yeah-OH! Yeah-OH! (Plastic classic) Can't forget my bestial Close electric telephone [phones] Balling like hordes! About
plastic like a man from the Catskills! High 5! More dead than alive! Rocking the plastic like a man from a casket! [spoken:] Yeah, put that machine in random mode Talking about popping chocolate Beck
You only got one finger left And it's pointing at the door And you're taking for granted What the Lord's laid on the floor So I'm picking up the pieces
The last survivor of a boiled crown Another casualty with the casual frown The janitor vandals they bark in your face Juveniles with the piles and paste
It takes a backwash man To sing a backwash song Like a frying pan when the fire's gone Driving my pig while the band's taking pictures in the grass In
You've been so long Your blind eyes are gone Your old bones are on their own So take off your coat Put a song in your throat Let the dead-beats pound
An open road where I can breathe Where the lowest low is calling to me I can pull myself back up back down Stuck together like a readymade And nobody
I don't need no wheels I don't need no gasoline 'Cause the wind that is blowing Is blowing like a smoke machine If I said to you That I was looking
She's got cigarette on each arm She's got the lily-white cavity crazes She's got a carburetor tied to the moon Pink eyes looking to the food of the ages
Keep on trucking' like a novacane hurricane Blowing static on the paranoid short-wave Short fuse, got to dismantle Code red: what's your handle? Mission
There's a destination a little up the road From the habitations and the towns we know A place we saw the lights turn low The jig-saw jazz and the get
