Soundtrack of a Romance

[Intro] It’s amazing how many drugs you find out you actually do Once you stop doing drugs You know, you quit eating acid and downing booze But you still indulge in food, sex, and six billion other nouns That bury away your so called overall addiction Right now I’m sitting in a hospital waiting And I’m using my ability — or, or inability to write, as a drug It sort of isolates me from the reality of what’s about to happen I could vividly recall my mood the day that art was murdered The wind blew a thin layer of dust on my garden burger Everything you knew was sideways and phallic The highways traffic added to Friday's madness The warm wrinkled skin loosely hung of earnest cheekbones Below eyes designed to bury the wolf under a sheep's clothes Some peoples sang, a few begged for change A young girl skipped a long with her hand glued to a candy cane I, however, walked with my back to it as usual Wanted to turn this dark comedy into a musical I'm used to reflecting the sorrow the world reflects at me We're forever intertwined as the anxious and angry The gloom moves into oxygen, consumed to keep me lost within A mushroom cloud of toxins deposited to leave the prophets doomed There I sat on a lead infested picnic table Waiting to be born, carefully evading mating season's evil horns I keep performing for the poets and philosophers But they don't know I was insane before and became popular I lose something every time I leave my house Trying to gain something by running my mouth My conscience don't hold a grudge against my impulse Honesty should be the best policy but it's not that simple Have you ever had the sky inject a cloud into your lymph nodes So all you see is how she gazes through a frameless window? Everyday I have a new argument with myself Wonder how I got this far up the ladder But by now I should have failed Can't go to heaven, never learned how to pray Oh well, Rather be in a place with less people anyway Somewhere between a snare and the extra-tire hogwash I got caught in a motion of a sex-inspired god talk My long-lost lover left me to date a real artist Ain't it strange how the whole story can be told through a guitar rift I'm a pretentious vendor of invention A sentimented way of staying the center of attention Take my advice and never take my advice I haven't left my own head long enough to really know about life But I dug dirt out of the ground and found Plato's time capsule Inside was a note that said, "sorry I lied" Part of my pride was dead the second that you talked to me And I knew that no matter what lied ahead you wouldn't walk with me So alone I traveled Clown shoes through dirty speed infested tourist colonies Tricking revolutionaries into thinking my records A new age life-insurance policy Then I'm off And before they get the chance to give me a dirty look Their money's spent at Borders on a brand new Krishnamurti book A sturdy hook deserves a better catch phrase But I'm only still here because they can't detect Neurotic tendencies with x-rays It was a perfect day to sit and watch the wind Cause the recognition of my insanity Made me want to be hip-hop again [Eyedea speaking] My facial skin feels like potato chips And the way these lights reflect of everyone’s nervous expressions Reminds me of the fourth grade A whole month just because I couldn’t outrun the enemy (Football's for idiots) Anyway, so, how do you solve the drug problem? Just move to the desert, with everything? I think the trickiest way addiction manifests Is through the process of ‘giving it up' So make music I make music to ride to, to cry to, to die to Times two, and finally realize you're alive to I make music to vibe to, to close your eyes to Break your mind from each vault that sits inside you I make music for survival, to find you To hide from the landscape humanity went blind to I make music to rhyme to, to waste time to To die to, to realize I'm alive to [Outro] I only pray my lips never follow the ever so hollow descriptions of these pictures in my head that make me sick I'm the fight between a god-freak and an atheist That argue the same point no matter which way the conversation drifts Any human being that believes he's truly happy just found a fake way to escape from his craziness, you know? I'd trade my dick for a safe place to sit If I wasn't so afraid of grenades made by spaded patriots I crave a fix teeth grinded when our hand shakes So I'm just as approachable as any halfway intelligent sadist is Mary had a little lamb blood buried in her sacred wall Til one by one each belief you've ever had raped the bitch