Out of the cold...
...into the flame. It's barely 2003, and my karmic wheel done got into the ditch, O reader. It's amazing what you can find in the ditch, lemme tell ya. Oh, sure, there's the usual beer bottles, fast food cups, and used gum. But I'm finding new things, like a better spine and a willingness not to let the bastards get me in the bollocks.
What's this, you say? Bastards?
O, yes indeed, bastards. Whether their momma done married their poppa before they was popped out onto terra firma or not remains to be seen, but by mod connotations, bastards they be. Verily, for I have seen their bastardly deeds, and found them wanting.
So I grabbed me a broken Lone Star bottle down in the ditch, fixed my karmic flat tire, rolled up my sleeves, spat out some blood, and got the fuck back on the road. Now I'm lookin' to pick up a wicked hitchhiker, grab some joe at a truckstop, and run the bastards right over. Let my karmic tireprints tattoo their face, the dust of my passing fill their lungs, the starlit ether play out before their eyes before sliding into darkness.
Think I see a silhouette on the horizon, a thumb extended. Pardon me while I pull over, and remember...
When kicked, kick back. Aim for the teeth. They make great jewelry once spat out.
...into the flame. It's barely 2003, and my karmic wheel done got into the ditch, O reader. It's amazing what you can find in the ditch, lemme tell ya. Oh, sure, there's the usual beer bottles, fast food cups, and used gum. But I'm finding new things, like a better spine and a willingness not to let the bastards get me in the bollocks.
What's this, you say? Bastards?
O, yes indeed, bastards. Whether their momma done married their poppa before they was popped out onto terra firma or not remains to be seen, but by mod connotations, bastards they be. Verily, for I have seen their bastardly deeds, and found them wanting.
So I grabbed me a broken Lone Star bottle down in the ditch, fixed my karmic flat tire, rolled up my sleeves, spat out some blood, and got the fuck back on the road. Now I'm lookin' to pick up a wicked hitchhiker, grab some joe at a truckstop, and run the bastards right over. Let my karmic tireprints tattoo their face, the dust of my passing fill their lungs, the starlit ether play out before their eyes before sliding into darkness.
Think I see a silhouette on the horizon, a thumb extended. Pardon me while I pull over, and remember...
When kicked, kick back. Aim for the teeth. They make great jewelry once spat out.
Frampton Comes Alive is a really great live record.