So I Cut Off My Hair And

Sing Your Praise Of Progress And The Doom Machine, The Naked Truth Is Still Taboo Whenever It Can Be Seen.

I've Been Out In Front Of A Dozen Dead Oceans.

Really The Truth Is Just A Plain Picture. A Plain Picture Of, Let's Say, A Tramp Vomiting In The Sewere. You Know, And Next Door To The Picture Mr. Rockefeller Or Mr. C. W. Jones On The Subway Going To Work. You Know, Any Kind Of Picture. Just Make A Collage Of Pictures.

She's A Hypnotist Collector; You Are A Walking Antique.

On The Stone That Remains Carved Next To His Name, His Epitaph Plain, Only A Pawn In Their Game.