Adam Green He's The Brat
He's the brat with the sterilized pitchfork, he's the singer of the Beachwood Sparks.
He's a dreamy, kind-of-cheesy companion piece who wants to show me where the healing starts.
Beauty is evil, immaculate evil, don't you think? But I'm lost in the flames of a grand explosion, stumbling in the neon groves.
Ladies flock to the overnight discos, slamming vodka tonics down their throats,
While your older brother's company's publicist is sliding off his mama's pantyhose.
Beauty is evil, immaculate evil, don't you think? But I'm mopping up stains from a blood transfusion, stumbling in the neon groves.
Oh, the pleasures of the morning are simple, but the treasures are the sweetest I've known.
Oh, I'm just so excited to look through my new eyes -- the needles are covered with snow.
So take me down to the winterland bombshell factory; you can hear the mermaids groan,
On the double-breasted coconut seashell, half-wrecked bus to Yankee Stadium.
Beauty is evil, I like to be evil, can't you see? But I'm lost in the flames of a grand explosion, stumbling in the neon groves.