you ain’t nothin new, kid
you ain’t nothin new:

you wanna drink
you wanna smoke
you wanna shoot guns at people

you wanna talk
you wanna write
you wanna blow yer brains out

how fucking cliché
(it wouldn’t even make a bang)

well, ya know:
fuck basquiat, and fuck bukowski
those dirty drug-ridden dogs
they know nothing of the howls i’ve heard
of the pain the torture
of the weeping weaved in the wind
—woven
and oh so coolhardwarm

the harder it is, the softer it makes me
and why does it seem all i do is work
yet i have no goddamned money??

i don’t know and i don’t care
because i’m not done yet;
i’m not dead

the alcohol washes over my brain
it scrubs and it scrubs
works over the tainted stains—triple time
irons out the wrinkles and imperfections—
makes me, me

sad happy
miserable jubilant
fucked up lucked out
confused focused
me

alley walkin
bullshit talkin
shitty car
at the bar
no cash no food
no head no hope
lots and lots of booze
me

and that’s just how i like me, baby—
and that’s just how you like me, too

go figure.