Because it's the past, present and future.

Only if its today tomorrow or yesterday.

It's only 6 seconds long
 

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fc1P-AEaEp8

f*cking gold

All at once

Not to forget tomorrow's yesterday

pffft bye.

I'm sorry you can't get with my a s t h e t i c bye.

Today is the shadow of tomorrow
Today is the present future of yesterday
Yesterday is the shadow of today
The darkness of the past is yesterday

Yesterday all my troubles seemed so far away.
Now it looks as though they're here to stay.
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Suddenly I'm not half the man I used to be.
There's a shadow hanging over me.
Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Too cliché? c'mon, it's a good song.

It's a great song, but getting drunk and posting lyrics on social media is a very cliche move.

I'm not drunk.

We can walk our road together if our goals are all the same,
We can run alone and free if we pursue a different aim,
Let the Truth of Love Be Lighted,
Let the Love of Truth Shine Clear,
Sensibility, armed with Sense and Liberty,
With the Heart and Mind United,
In a Single Perfect Sphere.

Whoever made that should be made to not make things for Rush anymore.

They brought it on themselves.

*cough* 2112 group photo *cough*

Is posting lyrics the thing in here right now?

And I will remember your name and face
On the day you are judged by "The Funhouse" cast
And I will rejoice in your fall from grace
With a cane to the sky like, "None shall pass."

I guess it is.

One: Emotion, the mental abacus of natural effect
Notice what happens when I place this tennis ball
Atop this little ramp i've got here

Two: The abacus and the hair
The abacus is dusty attic bound and leaning on the playroom wall
Beside it lies one hair; human's, kitten's, not the issue
Both were useful. *notice the emphasis on "were" there

Three: Dead man's knowhow, a fund's transfer
Chrysalis prime, diploma customer
The incubation period of circumstance gone
Emotion in a bottle, rephrase'o'matic

A seasoned witch could call you from the depths of your disgrace
And rearrange your liver to the solid mental grace
And achieve it all with music that came quickly from afar
And taste the fruit of man recorded losing all against the hour
And assessing points to nowhere, leading every single one
A dewdrop can exalt us like the music of the sun
And take away the plain in which we move
And choose the course you're running

Sittin on the pot on Tuesday mornin
Readin bout the war in Lebanon
A car bomb killed 3 yankees in Rome
But I got a bigger problem and its closer to home

[Chorus:]
Oh **** my **** stinks
Holy ****'n moly my **** stinks
Argh **** billy my **** stinks

Maybe there's something wrong with my diet
I had a case of beer and couple of tacos
You know I feel like Johnny Cash
Going down in that ring of burning fire

Well all my friends like heavy metal
But I've always been partial to polkas
While they're all playin their air guitars
I'm fartin along with the booming tubas

I don't understand the pain
I just don't feel quite the same

Whether you're here to walk away
Or if you're here so you can stay

Silver's just another gold
When you're bitter and you're old

You can tell me anything
But not what the future brings

The muffin man is seated at the table
In the laboratory of the utility muffin Research kitchen.
Reaching for an oversized chrome spoon,
He gathers an Intimate quantity of dried muffin
Remnants and brushing his scapular aside,
Procceds to dump these inside of his shirt...
He turns to us and speaks:
"Some people like cupcakes better.
I for one care less for them!"
Arrogantly twisting the sterile canvas
Snoot of a fully charged icing anointment utensil,
He 'poots' forth a quarter-ounce green rosette
Near the summit of a dense,
But radiant muffin of his own design.
Later he says:
"Some people... some people like cupcakes
Exclusively, while myself, I say,
There is naught nor ought there be nothing
So exalted on the face of god's grey
Earth as that prince of foods... the muffin!"

It was an April morning
When they told us we should go
And as I turn to you, you smiled at me
How could they say no

Whoa, the fun to have
To live the dreams we always had
Whoa, the songs to sing
When we at last return again

Swept New York a glancing kiss
To those who claim they know
To know the shrieks the seaman hears
The devil is in his home

Oh, to sail away
To sandy lands and other days
Oh, to touch the dream
That hides inside and is never seen, yeah

Into the sun, the south the north
Flys the birds of gold
The shackles of commitments fell
In pieces on the ground

Oh, to ride the wind
To tread the air above the din
Whoa, to laugh aloud
Dancing as we fought the crowd, yeah

To seek the man whose pointing hand
The giant step unfolds
With guidance from the curving path
That churns up into stone

If one bell should ring
In celebration for a king
So fast the heart should beat
As proud the head with heavy feet, yeah

Days went by when you and I
Made an eternal summers glow
As far away and distant
Our mutual time to grow

Oh, the sweet refrain
Soothes the soul and calms the pain
Oh, Albion remains
Sleeping now to rise again

Wandering upon the rings
What place to rest the search
With the mighty arms of Atlas
Hold the heavens from the earth

Yeah, the Misadventures of a **** talker
Pissed as Rick Ross's fifth sip off his sixth lager
Known to sit and wash the sins off at the pitch alter
Hat never backwards like the print off legit manga
Get it? Like a blue pill, make ya stick longer
Or a swift fist off your chin from his wrist launcher
Chick, chronic thrift shopper, thick like the Knicks roster
Stormed off and came straight back like pigs' posture
Pen? Naw, probably written with some used syringes
From out the rubbish bin at your local loony clinic
Watching movies in a room full of goons he rented
On the hunt for clues, more food, and some floozy women
Bruising gimmicks with the broom he usually use for Quidditch
Gooey writtens, scoot 'em to a ditch, chewed and booty scented
Too pretentious, do pretend like he could lose to spitting
Steaming tubes of poop and twisted doobies full of euphemisms
Stupid, thought it up, jot it quick
Thought out, toss it right back like a vodka fifth
Spot him on a rocket swapping dollars in for pocket lint
Then lob a wad of chicken at a copper on some Flocka ****

I woke up today with this feeling.
That better things are coming my way.
And if the sunshine has a meaning,
Telling me not to let things get in my way

I wish someone had taken the time to type out the lyrics at the end of Can's Peking O for me.

"Word just in to the KTTV News Service undeniably links THIS MOUNTAIN and HIS WIFE to drug abuse and pay-offs as part of a San Joaquin Valley SMUT RING! However, we can assure parents in the Southern California area that a recent NARCOTICS CRACK-DOWN, in Torrance, Hawthorne, Lomita, Westchester, Playa Del Rey, Santa Monica, Tujunga, Sunland, San Fernando, Pacoima, Sylmar, Newhall, Canoga Park, Palmdale, Glendale, Irwindale, Rolling Hills, Granada Hills, Shadow Hills,Cheviot Hills, will provide the SECRET EVIDENCE the Palmdale Grand Jury has needed to seek a CRIMINAL INDICTMENT, and pave the way for STIFFER LEGISLATION, increased FEDERAL AID, and AVERT A CRIPPLING STRIKE of Bartenders and Veterinarians throughout the INLAND EMPIRE . . . "

WITHIN THE WEEK, Jerry Lewis had hosted a Telethon ("Wah wah wah, nice lady!") to raise funds for the injured (injured . . . ) and homeless (homeless . . . ) in Glendale, as BILLY had just levelled it, and, a few miles right outside of town, BILLY caused a 'Oh Mein Papa' in the Earth's crust, right over the SECRET UNDERGROUND DUMPS (right near the 'Jack-In-The-Box' on Glenoaks) where they keep the POOLS OF OLD POISON GAS, and OBSOLETE GERM BOMBS, just as a FREAK TORNADO cruised through . . .

Yes, it was about three o'clock in the afternoon when little Howard Kaplan was sitting on his porch ( "Toto . . . !") just playing ( "Come on, Toto . . . !") and having a nice time with his little accordion ("Toto . . . !"), and this weird wind came up ("Toto . . . !"), direct from Glendale ("Toto . . . ! Toto . . . !"), blowing these terrible germs in his direction ("Come here, Toto . . . !"), and all of this caused ("Toto . . . !") by a huge mountain ("Aunty Em!")!

"Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly . . . "

. . . sucking up two thirds of it (SUCK! SUCK! SUCK!) for UNTIMELY DISPERSAL over VAST STRETCHES of WATTS!!!

Now, unless I misunderstood, it was right outside of Columbus, Ohio when BILLY received his NOTICE TO REPORT for his INDUCTION PHYSICAL. Now, lemme tell ya, ETHELL said, now ETHELL, ETHELL said she wasn't gonna let him go!

"I'm not gonna let you go, BILLY!"

"THAT'S RIGHT! We now have CONFIRMED REPORTS from an INFORMED ORANGE COUNTY MINISTER, that ETHELL is still an ACTIVE COMMUNIST, and it is This Reporter's Opinion that she also practices (COVEN!) WITCH-CRAFT!"

It was about this time that the telephone rang inside of the SECRET BRIEFCASE belonging to THE ONE MORTAL MAN who might be able to stop all of this senseless destruction and save 'AMERICA HERSELF'! (And I'm sorry to disappoint some of you, it was not Chief Reddin) This one MAN was STUDEBAKER HOCH, fantastic new SUPER HERO of the CURRENT ECONOMIC SLUMP.

(Oh) Now, some folks say he looked like (he was like, he was like) ZUBIN MEHTA (Zubin Mehta); still others say (others say he), bull****, honey (bull****, man) he's just another greasy guy who happened to be born next to the Frozen Beef Pies at BONEY'S MARKET. (Others say he was just a, just a) Still others say, John, piss on you, Jack! (crazy Italian) He's just a crazy Italian who drove a RED CAR. You see (nobody knows for sure 'cause he was so), nobody ever really knew for sure, because STUDEBAKER was so-o-o-o-o-o mysterious (mysterious) . .

^Just gave me an idea

The sound alone will make me move along,
This thing speaks, you’re often on,
The sound alone, yeah, yeah.
All the song now,
The hiding measure, you won’t get them
And when you’re down you’re down all bound,
The crazy town, all way down.

If you last long the warning hound,
The warning down, you’re all, yeah,
The fregging down, they soothe my neck,
The fregging town, it’s all down,
This walking all around,
This walking all through town.
Won’t you laugh?

It’s Monday while I write
And better ever laugh alright.
Do no lie just all life,
Better ever laugh alright that.
What time, just my life
Is ever hanging out of the day.
A better life, it’s all I like,
It’s better walking all around.

Ever back, it’s all, it’s all alive,
Ever back, it’s all, it’s all alive.

Forget one life, it’s all their life,
We make you people all laugh.
Forget one life and parts he correct,
Forget it and support all parts of life.
Supporting one life is just breaking time,
The magic’s better all alone,
Just falling alone, the threshold of life,
Living’s taking all of my morning life.

Back, it’s all, it’s all going in my pocket,
Back, it’s all the morning of my life.

All string,
It’s all and now
Laying down to the ground.
Is it a mind or is it a grawl?
For it’s all sense, it’s all
Or is it a game,
Or is it a game?

It’s just in, he’s just tall,
I wouldn’t laugh.

Alive alone how that they've gone dead but unburied
I've seen it unfold, terrible scenes of agony
Eyes in the darkness, echoing their madness

The sights that have passed before them
Watching as though it has never happened
Now I only listen to what is not spoken

Murder, hatred, anger, savage
Killings I have caused more than can be counted
Orgies of sadism and sexual perversion
Virgin tied to my mattress, legs spread wide

Ruptured bowel, yanked from her insides
Devirginized with my knife, internally bleeding
Vagina, secreting her blood-wet pussy

I am eating on her guts, I am feeding
Mutilated with a machete
I ****ed her dead body, the first and last

Your life's only romance
My knife's jammed in your ass
As you die you orgasm

Pass on to the dead
Nerve trembling convulsions
No longer looking human

I never see them but I know they're there
Locked in my subconscious
Obscene memories I thought I'd forgotten
Haunting unrealities tear at me

Hold her arms, her mouth taped shut
Screams unheard outpour her guts

Layers of flesh peeling away
Languish in your own decay
Descriptions of my killings, bone chilling

Terror, tear, her, virgin ****

Virgins are my victims
Their tight interiors I explore
Sharpened utensils of torture
Now inserted inside of her
Sex organs extracted for eating
On her liver, I am gnawing

Forbidden lust for guts
Ripped from her ****
Tears of blood cry down her thigh

I ram my fist inside her hole
From her crotch piss now flows
Rectum filled with ****
I ****ed her emptied body
Until she became stiff

Batty, you sentimental old fool! There's nothing like a good old love song is there? They don't write them like that any more! :laughing:

The piano has been drinking
My necktie is asleep
And the combo went back to New York
The jukebox has to take a leak
And the carpet needs a haircut
And the spotlight looks like a prison break
The telephone's outta cigarettes
The balcony is on the make.
And the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking

And the menus are all freezing
And the light man's blind in one eye
And he can't see out of the other
And the piano tuner got a hearing aid
And showed up with his mother
And the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking

And the bouncer is a Sumo wrestler
Creampuff Casper Milktoast
And the owner is a mental midget
With the IQ of a fencepost
Cos the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking

And you can't find the waitress
With a Geiger counter
And she hates you and your friends
And you just can't get served without her
And the box office is drooling
And the barstools are on fire
And the newspapers are fooling
And the ashtrays have retired
Cos the piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking
The piano has been drinking
Not me...

I'm tempted to force you into Love or Hating 69 Love Songs by the Magnetic Fields. Although there is no possible way anyone could hate it.

Your challenge is accepted. I've listened to Merzbow! Merz-bow!

Dude, how are you single?

You have to assume it's by choice. But think of all those disappointed ladies, all those broken hearts, all the crying over him, never gonna happen, cant compete with Manowar...

^
Love that one. Definitely my favourite Waits song.

"Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together. I've got some real estate here in my bag." So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies and walked off to look for America.

"Kathy," I said, as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh, "Michigan seems like a dream to me now. It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw, and I've come to look for America."

Laughing on the bus, playing games with the faces. She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy. I said, "Be careful, his bowtie is really a camera!"

"Toss me a cigarette; I think there's one in my raincoat."
"We smoked the last one an hour ago."
So I looked at the scenery. She read her magazine. And the moon rose over an open field.

"Kathy, I'm lost," I said, though I knew she was sleeping. "I'm empty and aching and I don't know why." Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike; they've all come to look for America....

Contrary to popular belief, I consider Trollheart a close friend. He's the reason I work so hard on my journals. #motivation #friends #hashtagssuck

#*******

If you're serious, this is good news, as I had definitely felt you had a problem with me in recent times, and it saddened me. I'd certainly like to think we could still be good buds, and hope there's no sarcasm implicit in the above. If there is, then I've just made a major fool of myself. Again. But I hope not.

And I'll say if before you do Batty; yes we're fags :yikes: (We're not really though...)
:shycouch:
http://i0.kym-cdn.com/photos/images/...jpg?1318992465

No sarcasm, man. Just felt what I said needed to be said especially since i've been acting like a douche-bag recently. Just thought i'd clear the air.

Then stop farting.

I'm taking over this thread.

BOLSHEVIK LOVE HAMMER SMASH!