Soundtrack Of A Romance - Oliver Hart

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 off 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 along 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 it 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 fell

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

It’s a demented 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

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, quit 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

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