theres a bright white light
to shine shine on all the dim bulbs in the crowd tonight
and theres a thin yellow line to separate the fast lane
and theres a man i know,
he will take apart your engine if you ask him right;
let´s empty all the minibars & leave this town in flames.
he has starving for attention,
she has swallowing her pride.
bitter gall for bleeding ulcers,
attitudes you can not abide.
a sentence fragment city,
a poor excuse for a life of crime.
this isn´t a road picture,
we´re not amused (or surprised).
you do not need a passport to know what state you are in.
she wore barrettes of many colors in her many-colored hair.
that isn´t the point--they only notice what you wear.
she said, "the moon is a toenail, the stars are a guardrail, my heart´s a sandpail...
and you are toluca lake."
stop the traffic!
bend the time!
we are heading into territory too ugly to explore (but they´ve both been there before).
he quotes nathanael west.
she tries her best,
but can´t find a mouth to grin with
cause a tragedy requires a little greatness to begin with...
you´re ill wind, you blow no good;
a pissant under glass, an airport neighborhood.
earthquake survivor, feral youngsters smoking tea.
spit in your hands & see you splinter every tree.
culver city! beachwood drive! vesper avenue!
hey hey! the needle on the radiator rising as the road inclines.
the scene is going nowhere fast;
he has shooting highway signs.
she carves her sorry epitaph, a carjack fever scrawl:
"if you only live in movies maybe you do not really live at all."
you do not need a passport.
Harvey Danger Ringtones