Mumble about, ramble on,
Watch
children play only to grow up
We all die eventually
We all hit
bottom
I'm gonna go inside
And I'm gonna get a shovel
To dig
all the deeper into this virus of a world.
We're a generation of
men
Raised by women.
I'm wondering if another women
Is
really the answer we need,
I can't get married -
I'm a thirty
year old boy.
You see,
Nothing really matters but
ourselves.
But to reach the optimum state of 'self'
We must
correct the world.
You can swallow a pint of blood before you get
sick,
You can swallow a world of idiots before you commit
suicide.
So just keep working your way down in the world,
Fuck
the uppity.
I am Jack's sense of vague annoyance with
myself.
Every evening I died,
And every evening I was born
again,
Resurrected.
Deja vu - all over again.
We all die
eventually,
We all hit bottom.
What matters is how you get up
again.
You're insane.
No, you're insane.
I had it all.
I
had a stereo that was very decent,
A wardrobe that was getting
very respectable.
I was close to being complete.
But I wouldn't
reach enlightenment by being complete.
Hit bottom.
Just keep
talking about Jack's organs,
Jack's bile duct,
Jack's sense of
revulsion,
Jack's cliche,
It will make sense...
When you're enlightened.