He’s a what? He’s a what? He’s a newspaper man
And he gets his best ideas from a newspaper stand
From his boots to his pants to his comments and his rants
He knows that any little article will do!
Though he expresses some confusion about his part in the plan
And he can’t understand that he’s not in command
The decisions underwritten by the cash in his hand
Bought a sweater for his weimaraner, too
Now I’m no mad man but that’s insanity
Feast before famine and more before family
Goes and shows up with more bowls and more cups
And the riot for the last hot meal erupts
Corrupts his hard drive through the leanest months
Shells out the hard cash for the sickest stunts
On aftershave, on gasoline
He flips the page and turns the scene
In my mind I’m drowning butterflies
Broken dreams and alibis
That’s fine
I’ve seen my palette blown to monochrome
Hollow heart clicks hollow tone
It’s time
Eye on authority
Thumbprint’s a forgery
Boy, is it crazy what the lights can do
For counterfeit community
Every opportunity
Wasted as the space
Between the flash tattoo
And the half-hearted hologram
Posed for the party
Now he gloss full bleed on a deaf dumb tree
Cod liver, dollar signs, credit card, autograph
Down for the record but not for freedom
Angry young mannequin
American, apparently
Still to the rhythm
Better get to the back of me
Can’t stand the vision
Better tongue the anatomy
Gold plated overhead
Blank transparency
In the days of old you were a nut
Now you need three bumps before you cut
Not that I should care about
Nothing I am not scared of
But I guess you had to be there
In my mind I’m breeding butterflies
Broken dreams, and alibis
That’s fine
I’ve seen my palette blown to monochrome
Hollow heart clicks hollow tone
In time
I see you figured in your action pose
Foam-injected Axl Rose
Life size
Should something shake you and you drop the news
Lord, just keep your dancing shoes
Off mine