Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

Tag: new york dolls

You’re Just A Bastard, Kid

It doesn’t pay to try
All the smart boys know why
It doesn’t mean I didn’t try
I just never know why
Feel so cold and all alone
‘Cause, baby, you’re not at home
And when I’m home
Big deal, I’m still alone

Feel so restless; I am
Beat my head against a pole
Try to knock some sense
Down in my bones
And even though they don’t show
The scars aren’t so old
And when they go
They let you know

You can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
Don’t try
Don’t try

You’re just a bastard kid
And you got no name
‘Cause you’re living with me
We’re one and the same

And even though they don’t show
They scars aren’t so old
And when they go
They let you know

You can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
You can’t put your arms around a memory
Don’t try
Don’t try

As I Was Lyin’ In A Hospital Bed

They couldn’t play
their instruments
all that well.

But the songs
sounded pretty good, y’know?

It was something to do.

Try not to look at Arthur Kane.

Palate Cleanser

Others will say that the Dead are self-indulgent, droopy-looking stoners noodling away aimlessly, and that rock and roll songs should be played for three minutes at a time by junkies in the tightest trousers allowed by nature.

They’re right, y’know. Everyone’s right about everything.

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