Thinking of the blues
I'm mad in my house
Yeah you know, you know I'm mad
In my own house
In my bone house
I'm mad,,
That we get old, waiting to be put down by God
At the sharp whiteness of fluorescent lights
At your compulsory
At day-time and prime-time T.V
At your brand
At your second face silhouette
That you giveth, then you taketh away
That my friends don't read books
That we don't protest like we used to
That we give up
That Burma can't get it up without a gun
That we don't think and love before we speak and act
At the vulnerable whoring themselves
At Hitler
At my Father
That I wanted pizza
That I can't smoke in the house
At being unemployed
That no one can seem to share silence with me when I have nothing to say
That the rain has stopped so now my grass is dying
That I'm awkward when I never used to be
At being celibate for no reason
At science for answering everything
At surplus grain being dumped into the ocean
That there's no law to make every citizen of a country donate $1 yearly to send the subsequent amount to a poor country
At the assassination of Gandhi and John Lennon
At unoriginality
At excessive logging in the tropics and the Amazon
At my friends that think DJing is a musical talent
That I hate flying
At the Inquisition
At fanaticism
That you wanted my money
At being pushed
That I've never seen Iggy Pop
That the Police never rang me back
At IBS
That you never turn up
That not alot of people write letters anymore
That the trunk of my car leaks
Eye-a-em-em-a-d
