Jason Webley Music That Years Itself Apart
I want music that tears itself apart
And takes the lot of you with it.
I need a catchy tune like a bullet in the heart.
So come on old and young,
Sing while your teeth grind through your tongues,
We're making music that tears itself apart.
I want sobs that shake my spine like an earthquake.
I want to laugh like cities crashing down.
While a thousand slender dames
Keep chaniting out my name,
So loud the gods will never forget my sound.
I'll practice breathing fire in missle silos.
All the ambassadors admire me for my tact.
I've sailed all seven seas
And every port's made of ricotta cheese,
And it's time we start acknowledging the fact.
I'll roll the earth into a cigar and smoke it,
Just after I've made love with the sky.
I'll have a little chat with time before I choke it,
And teach all theeartworms how to fly.
I've got an army of lunatics armed with CB radios patrolling the subways,
And a warehouse full of underpaid workers transcribing everything they say.
So if you're lucky and I feel the itch, maybe I'll go through those manuscripts,
And publish the Great American Novel someday.
