Well son of a bitch, dog gone it, the flea has flown it’s bonnet, now the flies are gathering on it, come on baby light my fire Oh Reese's Pieces Jesus, please don’t ever leave us, cuz who’ll be left to lead us to our own Private Idaho? I am your cheap thrill, your oil spill, spilled all over the Verizon bill. I am a garden variety kosher dill do you believe in life after love? I’ve got your picture in my locket and a hole in my front pocket, don’t try it till you knock it, like my dreams red gold and green. But I’m tangled in your fairy lights, and I’m snared between awkward delights, I think things might get a little weird tonight but I swear I comply with National Standards And oh my God I feel fantastic; so fucking fantastic. Rashes, fascists. We all fall down Bus-fulls of lustful pustules, hair-trigger combustible, a grape jelly Uncrustable come tiptoe through the tulips with me. I’m Mr. Spock, the cock of the walk, cock of the athletic-sock, oh up and down the city block, take me home, country roads If we sacrifice the sister, the church won’t even miss her, cuz they’ve all already kissed her in an octopus’ garden with you. A Gary Coleman impersonator was swallowed by an alligator, a professional mini-masticator, like a virgin, touched for the very first time But I’m tangled in your fairy lights, and I’m snared between awkward delights, I think things might get a little weird tonight but detailed descriptions are available upon request And oh my God I feel fantastic; So fucking fantastic .Rashes, fascists. We all fall down The belts are all re-buckling from all of the cuckolding ducklings, as the lonely, late-night trucker sings: Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me. For me. For me. And oh my God I feel fantastic; So fucking fantastic. Rashes, fascists, forty lashes, helicopter crashes, perfect matches, greener grasses, Edelweiss, Edelweiss, Edelweiss Bless my homeland forever

The sun powers sunflowers, for silly drunken hours, the sum of our hours is years, Oh my dear , oh the fear, brings us the fear, or so I fear You call the Uhaul and I’ll dance you down the hall, if I recall it’s my turn to lead, what you need guaranteed to succeed, or secede John Stamos stayed most, most of the night last night, This house is full Oh Danny Let Me In, and Kimmy Gibler would ya teach me how to sin, they won’t bother us again I am a splinter, subzero winter, grand prize winner of a metric ton of shit Master of bastards, shitfaced disaster, dried up plaster stuck under your nails Indiscreet bites by the old streetlight, all under the sheets tonight, your favorite kite is caught up in the oaks, no jokin , did that soak-in,?, okie-doke, and holy smokes So cut out the bad parts, suture up the broken hearts, the heart of the burgundy dog is lost in the fluff and the fog, oh the hair of the dog This is the last time, the last line, our crime is so divine, the passion is a crime in itself. So dust off my old place on your bedroom shelf here’s to our health I am a hangnail, a right-wing white male, the ingrown hair infected on your ass Out of date yogurt, an itchy tee-shirt, I am Donald J. motherfuckin Trump It’s not a given you’ll be forgiven; it’s time to give in and give up. You are my moonshine my only moonshine intoxicating my whole life. You’ll never notice that your modus operandi was me. Those dorky porky yorkies, got ahold of your keys, just give me one more kees I’ll hit the road; to find the mean, median and the mode, can ya crack the code? Honeybees and sugar snap peas, sweet dreams are made of these, the sweetest dreams are in your company, Mon cheri, Cara mia, bon ami, confessedly Bussing right to the busking site, Buzz Lightyear’s wrong alright, infinity and beyond aint in the skies; this guys, disguise is wool over our eyes…eyes on the prize The very worst part, is that I’m a sweetheart, I wish that I was everything you wish I was….but I am an asshole, suburban sinkhole, I am roadkill rotting in a landfill I am a headache, I am heartache, I am a toothache too, too late.

I never thought that I’d be the one making this call to my family and now The frequency’s increased of overwhelming experiences of letting the existential panic take hold Like a stranglehold, like a stranglehold, and I’m starting to feel cold I’ve doublechecked, and yes I can add a check to my checklist of fuck ups and failures And it may come as a surprise, but I wish you wouldn’t sympathize, then again I already feel pathetic Please don’t read into this, please don’t read into this, cuz I’m sadly clinging to it And maybe one of these days, baby I’ll be okay, and I’ll get the nerve to say: My dearest Buttercup, you’ve really fucked me up, and now I’m, I'm never gonna get to be, your Westley, your Westley I’m not the type of guy to write a bitter breakup song, so just chock this up to sentimentality’s sake And I never believed in hell until your personal tour, now I walk through life with a pitchfork in my back It’s time to pick up the slack, time to pick up the slack Winston Churchill, I’ll meet you on the other side of the tracks But can we please go back to your place? Or just take me anywhere. Will you show me something special? Run your fingers through my hair? Would you follow me tomorrow? Would you follow me again? If I surfed on the waves of my sorrow, and the memories of what has been? Sorry everybody, an emotion slipped out, but don’t you worry now it’s back down deep where it belongs. Oh this photo’s out of focus and our faces distorted, have a kick@$$ summer, don’t forget to KIT I won’t BRB, I won't BRB, and now I’m LMFAO as I GTFO Finally And maybe one of these days, baby I’ll be okay, and I’ll get the nerve to say: My dearest Buttercup, you’ve really fucked me up, and now I’m never gonna be your Westley, your Westley So go ahead and listen or you’ll end up like the Sicilian Cuz I’m the Dread Pirate Roberts and I don’t have time for this kind of hurt So, Inigo Montoya, I tell ya what, he’s my boy, ya And him and my pal Fezzik Have a brand new place on the back of my white stallion

In the evening, the dust settles on the land I’m pickin’ out these tired chords with my rusty left hand And it’s the same old song, haunted tunes of joy, If I’m preaching to the choir, that’s just me being coy I wonder why I often feel so conflicted, isn’t that a lucky strife with which to be afflicted? Here and there I worry my family when I fall out of my boat into that great grey matter sea Sweaty sheets, dirty bare feet, and overwhelming heat from the sun Devil claim me, and rename me, devil claim me and bleach all this mess from my bones I wish I had, a cure-all remedy, for the constant wave of debilitating insecurities And I’m a seasoned pro at jumping to conclusions, adding fuel to the fire of my basket-case delusions The city bus says that I can feel fantastic, if I save the Earth by using less plastics But my creature comforts are incriminating me, as I stand on the ocean cliffs and throw my garbage in the sea Sweaty sheets, dirty bare feet, and overwhelming heat from the sun Devil claim me, and rename me, devil claim me and bleach all this mess from my bones Fireflies and summer storms, naps on the porch-swing when it’s unbearably warm. Gather broken pieces into an old sack, pull the drawstring tight, as it’s a long way back They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, if that’s the case I deserve an honorable mention If I could I would cut away all my rotten pieces, leaving you with something a little more decent I have no life, don’t let me stop you living yours I’m staring out of the window with an open front door, And I, I fuckin swear, one day I’ll grow a spine, forget everyone else’s backs and start focusing on mine I’m pretty sure I’ve got an anxiety disorder, but I’m pretty good at smiling, so I’m just sitting at the border Getting high on life seems to have associated fees, So I’ll just bring my bonnet if you’ll provide the bees. Sweaty sheets, dirty bare feet, and overwhelming heat from the sun Devil claim me, and rename me, devil claim me and bleach all this mess from my bones

It’s all good fun at the kissing booth, until you go ahead and chip your tooth, and end up looking like the Gypsy from Drag Me To Hell Cuz when you start to eat the shit of the ones producing it, you won’t have much taste for caviar While I’m not superstitious, I still make my wishes, even though wishing’s meant for the hopeful The fortune cookie on my plate, says “things will be great”, now I’m taking advice from a confectionery treat But what can I do, what can I do, for you? For you? What can I do, what can I do, for you? For you? There’s a scar on my brain, from every demon that I’ve slain, what are my options when the demon’s in you? So I wake myself in the night, to make sure I’m still alive, I take my pulse, it’s at a comfortable one thousand And I might be naïve, wear my heart out on my sleeve, but I’ve always been a stupid romantic I’ll stick my fingers in my ears, ignore the salty taste of my tears, I’ll close my eyes and imagine the sunnier side But what can I do, what can I do, for you? For you? What can I do, what can I do, for you? For you? The words in my journal are turning me nocturnal; the words are tattooed upon my eyelids. This place used to be a place of comfort and familiarity, but where’s the comfort when you’re balls-deep in quicksand? So I’ll pack up my car, disappear some place real far, but the soured milk of paradise follows The fortune cookie on my plate, says “things will be great”, Well at least I’ve got a cookie While it’s been real fun, it’s been a whole lot of fun, I’ve got to run While it’s been real fun, it’s been a whole lot of fun, I’ve got to go be the one in the sun

I wanted to write a song about an adventurous bunny, I wanted to make it short and sweet and just a little funny But before I even began to sing a tune or play, I put down my guitar and I called it a day I wanted to write you a nice happy song about wonderful things, and why not? But what did you really expect from a guy who calls himself HeartRot? Oh I am an artist of self-degradation, de-stimulation, and how! My life is my canvas, oh man how can this be the words that I’ve chosen to sing about? To sing about. Chosen to sing about. This is the pinnacle, Sorry if I’m being cynical, but I'm so goddamned whimsical now I think I've hit the summit, I fear I'm going to plummet, I’m not going to dumb it down If self-criticism was a school major then I would already have an advanced degree And if not giving a shit about war and politics could save the world well then call me ‘Gandhi’ If I had a nickel for my indiscretions I could afford a therapist But instead I’ll just keep singing my whiny little songs and hopefully I’ll hope for the best. Hope for the best, hopefully I’ll hope for the best My song about the bunny never came to fruition. I was gonna tell you how bunnies eat lettuce for nutrition Now I have another song detailing all my doubts. More than you probably would have cared to hear about Is this preparedness or just pre-paranoia? I’ll let you know when I surface for air. All the ins and the outs and the ups and the downs are sometimes more than I think I can bear. Cuz bears are a problem in North Carolina, maybe someday I’ll move way out there Cuz the bears with the hair wouldn’t dare give a care about fair or unfair way out there. Way out there. I think I’m going to like it out there. This is the pinnacle, Sorry if I’m being cynical, but I'm so goddamned whimsical now I think I've hit the summit, I fear I'm going to plummet, I’m not going to dumb it down

Motivation is a funny thing, a funny thing indeed It gathers up all my ambitions and sets them on fire in front of me And potential is a word that you can't spell without potent Which also describe shit when it's got such a healthy scent My potential isn't potent like a mighty lion's roar Which is why I've done nothing all day but lie naked on the floor If you find my motivation will you kindly let me know And shove it up my ass and superglue it closed? Go-on-get-a-move-on-do something productive today Don't wanna stay in my pajamas the entire fucking day I'll put down this guitar, and stick it on the shelf I'll do anything that I gotta do to validate myself My mental health And the hand that I've been dealt Sometimes I think my virtues, are superior to the rest I'll jump in front of a bullet, but only with a Kevlar vest My fearlessness and recklessness go often hand in hand But my fearlessness is bullshit, I'm afraid of what I am Feasible and reasonable are completely different things It's the difference between fulfillment and dying of fatigue I've been told my actions will speak much louder than my words So I've finished up my seconds now I'm heading back for thirds Go-on-get-a-move-on-do something productive today Don't wanna stay in my pajamas the entire fucking day I'll put down this guitar, and stick it on the shelf I'll do anything that I gotta do to validate myself My mental health And the hand that I've been dealt If I could fake this ennui do you really think I would? I've had the shit kicked out of me by all the woulda coulda shoulds La felicidad es temporal. Eso es lo que dicen los sabios. Pero lo quiero todo el tiempo, así que voy a decir adiós There is no instant gratitude, while this just a hunch, My proverbial rainy day became a realistic rainy month My days are like an apple, no make that an apple core My sweetest parts are chewed off then I'm thrown down to the floor Go-on-get-a-move-on-do something productive today Don't wanna stay in my pajamas the entire fucking day I'll put down this guitar, and stick it on the shelf I'll do anything that I gotta do to validate myself My mental health And the hand that I've been dealt

Say goodbye to the winter and say goodbye to the chill, it’s summertime now, so toss the pigeons your pills Take your tourniquet off and wash the dirt from your face now that the weather is warm in this unpleasant place The fireworks are just, just exploding in the air, starting countless brush-fires everywhere And the people are smiling and the people are glad Singing harmonious hymns about the latest fads And the people are smiling and the people are gay and they’re burning an effigy down at the bay And the people are smiling and those people are us, and the children are playing with something hit by the bus But the word on the street is that people are meat And the flies start to swarm in the sweltering heat And you’ll fight off the flies on the fourth of July You’ll be crowned the lord of the flies for a taste of that prize The grandmothers riot down at the bingo hall while grandfather practices his mating call The flocks tally and rally and sheer the wool from the shepherds, and the priests and the popes are making out with the lepers The junkies and fiends are holding scented silk roses, sniffing government subsidized tweak up their noses The spiders start spinning affixed to their digital webs and the baby chicks hatch from polypropylene eggs Greenpeace builds playgrounds from reclaimed bombed-out cars, for the less fortunate children down at the hotel bars The music is writ in standard four-four time, to keep the people smiling in the farewell line But the word on the street is that people are meat And the flies start to swarm in the sweltering heat And you’ll fight off the flies on the fourth of July You’ll be crowned the lord of the flies for a taste of that prize All your dreams can be crushed down at the nightmare store, where the red white and blue start a second Gulf War The robot Gandhi fights the zombie Winston Churchill to be the next star in the ranch dressing commercial Darwin’s just laughing deep down in his tomb, while the farm fresh select keep popping out of the womb Now say farewell to the chills and hills and automobiles, soon the people will be eating their fill Keep your enemies close, but keep your butcher closer, cuz she’s in cahoots with your local grocer So please take a number and take a seat if you will, we’ll process your order down at the old saw mill But the word on the street is that people are meat And the flies start to swarm in the sweltering heat And you’ll fight off the flies on the fourth of July You’ll be crowned the lord of the flies You’ll be crowned the lord of the flies You’ll be crowned the lord of the flies For a taste of that prize

If I got hit by a car Well I don’t think it'd be so bad Memories start to fade As I lay in the center lane If I got hit by a car, I don't thin it'd be so bad, I’d have relief from all I’ve done, and a brighter horizon If I got hit by a truck Well things could be worse I could be crying myself to sleep Or be herded like a sheep If I got hit by a truck, well things could be worse, I could be full of remorse, and let the pain run its course If I got hit by a bus Well I wouldn’t complain Incapacitated Walking straight is overrated If I got hit by a bus, well I wouldn’t complain, I’d be splayed out in the road, but I’d make a tidy load If I got hit by a train, Well do you know what I’d do next? With all the money I make I’d buy a nice house on a lake If I got hit by a train well do you know what I’d do next? I’d shout “Ha Ha fuckers I win” with my big shit-eating grin If I got hit by a...

Well Farmer Jake he made a mistake so long ago in Idaho, he was chasing squirrels, in a frenzied whirl, on the attack with a sharpened axe, when he raised that tool he was such a fool, cuz the blade was loose what a silly goose, the blade found a new home in Jake's frontal lobe Oh Extreme Chris well he loved to fish, so he took a holiday out on the lake, he caught some trout to brag about, he fished until he'd had his fill, but when he was through the boat's gas was too, oh woe be him that he couldn't swim, and all the little fishies had their holiday meal Oh no, don't you know? Oh no, darling don't you know? That the devil's in the details, devil's in the details, the devil's in the details There was a drifter John from across the pond, had a wooden leg so he had to beg, out on the streets in the rain and the sleet, feelin old, gettin mighty cold, so he started a fire with an old car tire, larger than he should cuz his leg of wood, caught a rogue spark and John was triple deep fried Wage-slave Paul loved his alcohol, whiskey gin and whine to stop his crying, he drank like a fish with a deadly wish, vodka beer to mask his fears, he was trouble bound with his littered ground, stumbling drunk, a drunken skunk, he tripped over his empties and broke his wage-slave neck Oh no, don't you know? Oh no, darling don't you know? That the devil's in the details, devil's in the details, the devil's in the details Oh Techie Steve, ya wouldn't believe the gadgets he had, what a lucky lad, computers and phones he all did own but he loved the best his GPS, he used it to drive while still alive, without a doubt he should've looked out, he crashed his car into the local Apple Store. Oh no, don't you know? Oh no, darling don't you know? That the devil's in the details, devil's in the details, the devil's in the details The devil's The devil's in the The devil's in the details Devil's in the details