Idiots are infinite

And thinking men are numbered

Don′t kid yourselfThis isn't news

Let′s start with Tristan Bongo, alone in the race

Conscription calling his name

One more night of freedom

An heiress high up atop the stands

And the lines are open

That's Lucky Star, Eye Sore, Doctor Murphy, Sun Tzu

The Clap, Mr. Winner, Spot, Wallace, Mrs. Gonorrhoea

Perfect P, Deadman Walking, and The Company Favorite

A son hands dad's hard earned cash to the clerk

And she laughs at the gall of the small guido lips

"Put it all on Spot, the kid′s already won"

John Tylеr smeared with last nights beer

Reflеct vomiting Chris who dreams his dream is near

In the form of Mrs. Gonorrhea

Reporter reporting the state of affairs

Inwardly asks of his prime time hair

Why it can′t quite rival the manes on these mares

The smoothness can't compare

The gleaming appliances attract attention

The raffle prizes too many to mention

Displayed all over the stadium entrance

Hypodermic needles

Hidden under a coat sleeves

Of sweaty wise-guy money earning men

In search of the horse to apprehend

The race is about to begin

The race is about to begin

Blondie locked in 4 Eyes′ arms

Squirming like a dying fish

That's the last I can recall

The race was ran

Someone lost, someone won

I came and I stayed and the same ever since, outside

The freaks of the wilderness, open in spring

The time before time was the time to sing

Unidentified song surging through the brush

Transcription futile, let alone the rush

You miss when hunched and scribbling notes

Here no journalism is ever in vogue

Despite the attempts of doctors and saints

None have recorded its heavenly grace

But I stayed, and stayed, and stayed

That race was ran thirty years back

And each day since the same

Peel back the witness of a million catastrophes

To see the spotty remnants each has left

I forget in which cups I′ve pissed

From which I can still drink

Tonight it's so cold my feet are shrinking

Groping around for the sides of my boot

It′s no night for the blind

With all these sirens I envy the deaf mutes

Some killer on the loose again

Some idiot at large

Some Chinese moose again

An excuse for the sarge

No sirens all silent

The log cabin's silent

No killer either

No creeks in the floor

Log cabin, what cabin?

A shack's all I have

Yes, my cubbyhole′s stuffed with skeletons

But my neighbours are stuffed with anthrax

Where does that leave us?

I came thirty years back

From Salafessien, via South Schlagenheim

To Sunterum and Sunterime

The late Sun Sugar′s home town

Buried not far from here

My only friend

Neighbor, what neighbor?

My shack is all alone

This pen, changing lines

One line at a time

Blindness? What blindness? Sweet blindness

A little laughter, a little silence

A little magic, a little kindness

A little all over me, yes me

The first, the last, the everything

No trace of anything

No sin, no life, no fun, no time, no any-fucking-thing

No one, no yes, no house, no shack, no A, no B, no C, no et cetera

No one, no two, no et cetera

No school, no life, no work, no time, no book

No art, no point, no truth, no use, no friend

No know, no knot, no hole, no birth, no end, no real, no fake

No king of this useless nameless non-land

No end to this nothing nonsense non-song

No day set for my saviors arrival, to carry me far

Across green waters, above the sky or below the depths

Among the white cloud or red steppe

Or to fly forever in-between ends

Or in-between in-betweens

Or in-between no-between

Or no nothing, no saviour, no journey, no end

A thousand years of no nothing hiding from nothing

No reason to hide sins or reason not to sin

No reason to pretend

No reason to pretend there is not no reason

Oh, yes

Blondie ran on the track

4 Eyes got stuck in the rail

The reporter was caught getting sweaty in the stable

Blondie gone, 4 Eyes gone, Guidos gone, Clerk gone, Chris gone

Tristan Bongo the man who never left

Tristan Bongo never left

Still here

I stayed

The clown can be a martyr

The whore can be an angel

The hack becomes a master

The crass becomes divine

The infinite, infinitesimal

And all sins irrepressible

No use digging holes to hide

The rupture comes and leaves no stone unturned

So don't wish for anything

The clown can be a martyr

The whore can be an angel

The hack becomes a master

The crass becomes divine

The infinite, infinitesimal

All sins irrepressible