nedjelja, 21.05.2006.
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I. Jesus of Suburbia
Iīm the son of rage and love
the jesus of suburbia
from the bible of "none of the above"
on a steady diet of sodapop and ritalin
no one ever died for my sins in hell
as far as i can tell
at least the ones i got away with
but thereīs nothing wrong with me
this is how iīm supposed to be
in the land of make believe
that donīt believe in me
get my television fix sitting on my crucifix
the living room or my private womb
while the momīs & bradīs are away
to fall in love and fall in debt
to alcohol and cigarettes and mary jane
to keep me insane and doing someone elseīs cocaine
II. City of the damned
at the center of the earth
in the parking lot of the 7-11 where i was taught
the motto was just a lie
it says "home is where your heart is"
but what a shame
īcause everyoneīs heart doesnīt beat the same
weīre beating out of time
city of the dead
at the end of another lost highway
signs misleading to nowhere
city of the damned
lost children with dirty faces today
no one really seems to care
i read the graffiti in the bathroom stall
like the holly scriptures in a shopping mall
and so it seemed to confess
it didnīt say much
but it only confirm that
the center of the earth is the end of the world
and i could really careless
III. I Donīt Care
I donīt care if you donīt
i donīt care if you donīt
i donīt care if you donīt care
Everyone is so full of shit!
born and raised by hypocrates
hearts recycled but never saved
from the cradle to the grave
we are the kids of war and peace
from anaheim to the middle east
we are the stories and disciples of
the jesus of suburbia!
Land of make believe
and it donīt believe in me and
i donīt care !
IV. Dearly Beloved
Dearly beloved, are you listening?
i canīt remember the words you were saying
are we demented?
or am i disturbed?
the space thatīs inbetween insane and insecure
oh therapy, can you please fill the void?
am i retarded or am i just overjoyed?
nobodyīs perfect and i stand accused
for lack of a better word and thatīs my best excuse
V. Tales of another broken home
to live and not to breathe
is to die in tragedy
to run, to run away to find what to believe
and i leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies
i lost my faith to this, this town that donīt exist
so i run, i run away
to the light of masochists
and i leave behind this hurricane of fucking lies
and i walked this line a million and one fucking times
but not this time
i donīt feel any shame, i wonīt apologize
when there ainīt nowhere you can go
running away from pain when youīve been victimized
tales from another broken home