I Don't Do Anything With My Life

Our Heads Are Round So Thought Can Change Direction

Who Burned Cigarette Holes In Their Arms Protesting The Narcotic Tobacco Haze Of Capitalism

So I Had A Choice Between Going To A Jail Or Going To A Bughouse Like A Nice Young Middle-class Student. So I Chose To Go To A Very Polite Mental Hospital. When I Left Eight Months Later, They Said, 'you Were Never Psychotic. You Were Just An Average Neurotic.'

America, How Can I Write A Holy Litany In Your Silly Mood?

Well, While I'm Here I'll Do The Work — And What's The Work? To Ease The Pain Of Living. Everything Else, Drunken Dumbshow.