Wetbrain, you're all dried up. 
You burned out the muse 
with your holy confusion bunk. 
It's all bad, 
you're no Rag Man. 
You slipped from prodigy to prodigal, 
From pissed off to just plain sad. 
You gave up the old bong, 
ripped off a new song, 
made your little basement tapes. 
You stayed home. 
You stayed drunk. 
Then you whipped out a new song, 
wiped out the slush fund. 
Drank your little mind away. 
It's all gone. 
You're all done. 

Barbie's up in flames, 
and loyal Ken is Catching. 
The dream house is asbestos free, 
and freshly cleaned with gasoline. 
And School Bus laughs and laughs and laughs, 
while perfection burns, 
And the good life starts to look like hers. 
The goddamn town is up in flames, 
because School Bus finally found a way to say it, 
"Thin is out." 
She dumped the devil dogs 
and their slick corvette, 
In the hatchback of her black chevette. 
And as she idled down the street, 
you might've heard her whisper soft and low, 
While the firelight danced on her driver's side window 
she said, "That Barbie sure can burn them calories." 

I'm half whacked on Benadryll, 
shitty brown weed, 
and a box of cheap white zinfandel, 
And you choose now 
to come down on me. 
To tell you the god's honest truth, 
I never know what to do, 
Because I'm never sure what I've done. 
And I'm losing another one of your games, 
I'll never win because I don't know how to play. 
You make the calls, 
you call the plays. 
I didn't drop the ball, 
it just got away. 
Little help? 
Here comes your trademark sigh, 
the one that says it all. 
It says it's all my fault, 
it says it all the time. 
I guess I'm just an easy target. 
I'm feeling like the fat retarded kid in dodge ball. 
You're keeping my back to the wall. 

Switch on the anarchist, 
the first true love song. 
You're the first to make a fist 
and have it all figured out. 
There's no doubt the decadence is packed with its appeal 
Shut down, dear boy. 
Shut down little boy. 
Give up the trust fund and bury your radio. 
Fill yourself with holes 
and cartoon tattoos. 
Because you don't believe you're alone. 
You're alone. 
Hey kid you don't know shit, 
welcome to the realm of the tragically hip. 
We're all high school cliques 
and dropped out derelicts, 
Ivy league pricks, 
and beatnik chicks, 
And we don't believe we're alone. 
You're alone. 

Dear god my head's an empty place, 
as heartless as I am. 
As lonely as I choose to be, 
As broken as I stand. 
All I am is time and swearing, 
sit, talk, sin. 
Jesus Christ I'm tired of wearing this tattered second skin. 
Time is not my friend dear lord, 
as holy as I feel. 
As day by day, these shakes grow stronger, 
I beg my soul to steel. 
All my days are waste and waiting, 
sit, talk, sin. 
Jesus Christ please help me shed this rancid second skin. 
And god, 
the things I've seen, 
all the shit you put me through, 
Made a monster out of me, 
now I'm a whole lot more like you. 

Grafted to her barstool, 
the hard-luck machine spills a steady stream of fifty cent tips. 
And condemnations, 
prized and aimless, 
pool and flow from the quiver in her lower lip. 
Her hard, cold day 
deserves a long, dark night. 
She's entitled. 
And god may damn, 
and god may bless, 
but the devil buys the next round around here. 
It's not sacrilegious, 
It's just that we're sick of ourselves, 
And we know,
We're not going anywhere, 
And we're not going anywhere else. 
We were the same kids, 
from the same town, 
at the same school 
on the same playground, 
And we might have beat you up, 
and you might have put us down, 
You might have beat us up, 
and we might have put you down, 
But we never thought you'd go so far, 
and you never thought we'd end up here. 
You never thought you'd go so far, 
and we never thought we'd end up here. 

All the rags she wore,
she wore
for me.

I was waiting on the storm, 
a little too loose 
a little too sure, 
Of my divine exemption. 
Was doomed but bound for resurrection. 
My hair stayed long 
until I fell from god, 
or he fell from me, 
Or we nodded off. 
But I found myself assumed. 
I woke up old 
and slightly chewed. 
And where I used to be wired for sound and torn, 
Now I find I'm just numb around the sores. 
And everything I used to have to say, 
just stained the bar and got wiped away. 
The novel got lost in the notebooks. 
The poetry has soured to song. 
The songs have all gone tuneless, 
and the drinks don't last as long 
anymore. 
You can have your grand gold standard. 
You can have your dire responsibilities. 
But I swear these goods are damaged, 
and I'm taking back my dreams 
today.