Experts: go home, nothing to see, not here, not forever
The 90's thinking man, 2002 dead man in us all
In search of volunteers for the death of passion, and it
Put nipples in the sky, the womb is all around us
The alien racetrack is us; afraid to make eye contact is us
Walking blindly, counting credits we'll never see
Green balloons carry your cars away to plant in Egypt
To be a plant in the sidewalk of a wheelchair
Race car driver. Watery world, watery days;
The water in my brain makes it hard to spot dry land, but I will fly again
Fall again, but never on my pen
These eyes have seen one too many movies
And I fear my parents' counterprogramming outlived their own
There was no training for the hunt
But I put up a tent to daydream in (to daydream in)
The freedom fighter calls life a nuclear nightmare
And if you don't like the tone of my sinking ship
Pray for me while I cry for you
Whoever I can't kill, my daughter will
And at night, in complete silence, I convince myself I'm psychic
The universe leads me here as I walk through Berkeley and wish I had a cause
I know it's bullshit, but it's all I can believe in
The more time I spend staring at people who never dare to stare
I also know it isn't hopeless if I’m thinking this
And avoiding cliché is like lying in my living room
Staring at the ceiling, complaining about how ugly that it's getting

(Only two of my childhood friends escaped the experiment;
Some were killed, some became killers
Some mourn a lack of ambition through parents
Who passed on the nest 'til there were no worms left
The successful went on to go to college then do nothing;
If you're their fool, you're everyone's fool and no one's friend
It's a Native American thing, you'd never understand why
I’ve learned to eat pain like a Sunday snack
March to no tune, and got a collar and doggy biscuit)

Tim Holland on Shattuck on a roman holiday
Self-taught master of sleepless hallucination
Loveless thinking pill, make me eat my own vomit;
Learn it to dance for my sister's dog sake
My mother's mother, and my father's veins' sake
They all wanna spill my guts into the street and wrestle me in it
Like I can't digest what I can't swallow
For all the loveless pedestrians holding bloodless hands
(And when alone with death for the first time, but realize it was there all along.)
The amusement park lines aren't as good as the in-my-head-lines:
This is my newest installment in my latest last will and testament series
I see people who try too hard to be themselves
And wanna throw them lines like "no one is themselves"
(follow your guts to traffic.)
Cause your remote control dreams are worth more to you than to them
You have to believe me, I wrote this with a pink pen
And my face never goes red when they ask what it means
Misunderstand me in your perfect pose, while plastic seats scream, "your excellence,"
Your petted padded pretty putty ass
Well-trained men learned to worship the lovenessness, all aroundnessness;
Shallowness is quite becoming you-nessness
All the parts of life that are not mind-numbing experiences
Throw your hats off to those of us who can run off cheap batteries and wine
We'd love to run you off the road and write a book about it
If you stood between the day the little pig took the big pigs out to dinner
To eat them with barren hands
That done wrote ten million words and never got my point across
Like people afraid to be different wanna make a difference
Most nights I sleep alone and freezing and have no dreams
Tonight is different: awake and freezing, I have no skin
Left for my parachute. This advice isn't for you; it's for me, in my stomach, forever
Tomorrow they'll forget me cause I never learned to kill for oil but then again
I never learned to sit still and probably never will
Feel the need to hide these beautiful places better to mend[?], until my rich man's death bed
(We can't sleep); I can't write at all in my room, cause I had a girl there once
And the moral of the story is...
(and the moral of the story is...)
And the moral of the story is...
And the moral of the story is... (there is no story)