for Caleb
caught a cab with mister salty
smoke was rolling off his hands
i could tell that he'd been weeping
i didn't ask him bout the plan
it's a drag
this shit keeps happening to me
it's a drag
i gotta get him off the street
whether it is the ballard playhouse or the hotel mustapha, the story is always the same. he complains about how much he misses riding shotgun with a real gun, how the Fonz of Kabul is like a father to him, even in death. Then, without warning, he pins my wrist to the table and gives me a look so pained and angry that I want to slap him. Instead, I glare at him, unblinking for what seems like an eternity and his face softens. he lets go. he asks, you going to Santarchy?
hit the deck with mr salty
bullets whistle overhead
mister sunday to the rescue
mister sunday raise the dead
it's a drag
capn pepe is still around, pacing the arrival gates at the reno airport, i mean the Honolulu airport, wearing his robes and lime green bike helmet, passing out flyers for Thursday service at the local OTO temple. gringo thinks shooter's gonna show up after all, despite all the bad blood and attitude. he never knew what hit him.
poets priests and politicians
mindless thugs and other bands
it's the rhetoric of failure
the only thing he understands
its a drag
Titus calling me, punishment calling me, nobody calling me, he's gone crazy they all said. that's impossible, i said. i thought he'd stick another monolith up some poor slob's ass and call it a day but no, he got serious about it. no one knows exactly how many movies he made, but they're all out there, somewhere, he made damn sure of that.
smoke was rolling off his hands
i could tell that he'd been weeping
i didn't ask him bout the plan
it's a drag
this shit keeps happening to me
it's a drag
i gotta get him off the street
whether it is the ballard playhouse or the hotel mustapha, the story is always the same. he complains about how much he misses riding shotgun with a real gun, how the Fonz of Kabul is like a father to him, even in death. Then, without warning, he pins my wrist to the table and gives me a look so pained and angry that I want to slap him. Instead, I glare at him, unblinking for what seems like an eternity and his face softens. he lets go. he asks, you going to Santarchy?
hit the deck with mr salty
bullets whistle overhead
mister sunday to the rescue
mister sunday raise the dead
it's a drag
capn pepe is still around, pacing the arrival gates at the reno airport, i mean the Honolulu airport, wearing his robes and lime green bike helmet, passing out flyers for Thursday service at the local OTO temple. gringo thinks shooter's gonna show up after all, despite all the bad blood and attitude. he never knew what hit him.
poets priests and politicians
mindless thugs and other bands
it's the rhetoric of failure
the only thing he understands
its a drag
Titus calling me, punishment calling me, nobody calling me, he's gone crazy they all said. that's impossible, i said. i thought he'd stick another monolith up some poor slob's ass and call it a day but no, he got serious about it. no one knows exactly how many movies he made, but they're all out there, somewhere, he made damn sure of that.