dear paul,
i know what i know and i know you're no good for me anymore. you used to inspire, mr. simon, and now what? there's something about you that really reminds me of money.
remember when I saw you at the orpheum when I was ten and they threw that hippie kid out for dancing in the aisle and so i got everyone around me to holler at the security guards and dance in the aisle as well and they didn't throw him out after all? remember how i used to make my mother put on graceland every single day so i could dance around the house to it and then how every time there'd be some show and tell at school i'd bring in the graceland record and then how i even tried to do some book report on it but they wouldn't let me? and how about the snowy christmas eve night in ass fuck ohio and no gas, heading somewhere that didn't exist because your crazy ass told me to and still, freezing my ass off, a car that won't move, won't give me any heat, the goddamn cocksucking radio still worked somehow.
how about that time the cops rolled up behind me sitting with my lights off listening to peace like a river in some projects i've never been before waiting for red to fucking show up and i handed over the little bit of dope i had hoping it would appease them and they let me go and the pig says, listen to that man, pointing to the radio face, and i was dope sick for the rest of the fucking night but how many nights did i think that i could do what i been doing? who was i fooling?
where is your inspiration now that my hands are healed and i'm not on the shit side of the partition? i've got wardrobe and water, appliances and employment and what type of area rug best compliments my living room set?
goddamnit, paul simon. would you please explain? the boy in the bubble, the only living boy, what's wrong with me now, sweet boy, that everything is right?
you don't feel you could love me but i feel you could.
ohhh, wait a second. i got it.
if i tilt my head just so and the wires are twisted in the right direction, when the lights go down and the cops show up and ruin everybody's fun, when the fuel runs out and i'm human again i can hear you sing ta na na na na, ta na na na na, whatever happened to those walking blues? how full are my pockets and
who put these fucking diamonds on my soles?
i know what i know and i know you're no good for me anymore. you used to inspire, mr. simon, and now what? there's something about you that really reminds me of money.
remember when I saw you at the orpheum when I was ten and they threw that hippie kid out for dancing in the aisle and so i got everyone around me to holler at the security guards and dance in the aisle as well and they didn't throw him out after all? remember how i used to make my mother put on graceland every single day so i could dance around the house to it and then how every time there'd be some show and tell at school i'd bring in the graceland record and then how i even tried to do some book report on it but they wouldn't let me? and how about the snowy christmas eve night in ass fuck ohio and no gas, heading somewhere that didn't exist because your crazy ass told me to and still, freezing my ass off, a car that won't move, won't give me any heat, the goddamn cocksucking radio still worked somehow.
how about that time the cops rolled up behind me sitting with my lights off listening to peace like a river in some projects i've never been before waiting for red to fucking show up and i handed over the little bit of dope i had hoping it would appease them and they let me go and the pig says, listen to that man, pointing to the radio face, and i was dope sick for the rest of the fucking night but how many nights did i think that i could do what i been doing? who was i fooling?
where is your inspiration now that my hands are healed and i'm not on the shit side of the partition? i've got wardrobe and water, appliances and employment and what type of area rug best compliments my living room set?
goddamnit, paul simon. would you please explain? the boy in the bubble, the only living boy, what's wrong with me now, sweet boy, that everything is right?
you don't feel you could love me but i feel you could.
ohhh, wait a second. i got it.
if i tilt my head just so and the wires are twisted in the right direction, when the lights go down and the cops show up and ruin everybody's fun, when the fuel runs out and i'm human again i can hear you sing ta na na na na, ta na na na na, whatever happened to those walking blues? how full are my pockets and
who put these fucking diamonds on my soles?