In books lies the soul of the whole Past Time: the articulate audible voice of the Past, when the body and material substance of it has altogether vanished like a dream.
Thomas Carlyle
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Doin' the Cockroach
I was in heaven
I was in hell
Believe in neither
But fear them as well
This one's a doctor
This one's a lawyer
This one's a cash fiend
Taking your money
Back of the metro
Ride on the greyhound
Drunk on the Amtrak
Please shut up
Another rider
He was a talker
Talking about TV
Please shut up
This one's a crazer
Daydreaming disaster
The origin of junk food
Rutting through garbage
Tasty but worthless
Dogs eat their own ****
We're doing the cockroach yeah
Doin' the cockroach yeah
Doin' the cockroach yeah (alright, not bad)
Doin' the cockroach yeah (alright, not bad)
Doin' the cockroach yeah (alright, not bad)
One year
Twenty years
Forty years
Fifty years
Down the road in your life
You'll look in the mirror
And say, "My parents are still alive."
You move your mouth
You shake your tongue
You vibrate my eardrums
You're saying words
But you know I ain't listening
You're walking down the street
Your face
Your lips
Your hips
Your eyes
They meet
You're not hungry though
Well late last winter
Down below the equator
They had a summer that would make you blister
Oh my mind is all made up
So I'll have to sleep in it
So I'll have to sleep in it
So I'll have to sleep in it