The World Goes On, You Go On

I Don't Care What Stage Or What Reason, As Long As We're Playing.

We Want Flesh, Flesh For Fantasy.

They Wouldn't Play My Records On American Radio Because I Had Spiky Hair. They Said, 'punk Rock Doesn't Sell Advertising, It Won't Make Any Money.'

Such A Human Waste, Your Eyes Without A Face.

If I Only Had The Chance, I'd Ask One To Dance, And I'd Be Dancing With Myself.