What do you do when you're all done with screaming? All done with dreaming… All done with the hope that a riot doesn’t just break out in your front yard? Raijiv Pandey called in a bomb-threat because the power was out at his grandmother’s house. He wanted to get it back on. I called in a love threat, and threatened to strangle him with affection, crush the bomb-threat insurrection, put a scare into the eyes of those who’d bully us with their lies, deception, deceit and mistrust. Hate is the soul-killer. Only hate can bring you down. Only hate can bring you down. It will sink you so hard. CHORUS Run for your life, these bullets have got crazy speed, And they’re looking hard for somewhere to bleed. Call the police, shield your daughter, but it’s too late, when bullets speed, and they’re found somewhere to bleed. Welcome to the West Indian parade. It weren’t the West Indians…. It was just the hate. Eighties Madonna hates flowers. But The Madonna-Madonna is mother to Jesus our Savior. There are riots in the streets. There are saviors at our feet, but none can hear us.There are riots in the streets. There is smell of gun-smoke in the air, and people dying. So we must die, we must die, we must die. Stabbed in the back, stray bullet through Denise Gay, she’s dead at the scene. Leroy Webster was his name, shot Eusi Johnson just the same. And dead is dead, as dead can be, dead at the scene. Crown Heights is full of bullets today. Run for your life, these bullets have got crazy speed, And they’re looking hard for somewhere to bleed. Call the police, shield your daughter, but it’s too late, when bullets speed, and they’re found somewhere to bleed. Two cops, Dicken and Medina shot up too. Another one dead during J’Ouvert, four shot while making dessert, and more shooting as the parade got underway. Said William Long, they were knocking over barricades, for a dozen blocks of the parade, then one more shot in the leg. At 6pm a man was stabbed in the back- when across town one shot in the arm. A 15 year old boy shot at Kingsborough. A 17 year old in the leg up in the Bronx. A 33 year old man in Harlem. A woman in the back in Jamaica Queens A 44 year old man at Empire and McKeever. A man shot in Flatbush in critical condition Two men at the Marcy Houses in Bed Stuy- one dead, but one survived. One shot in the chest at 2nd Ave A man shot at Whitman Houses One in the head at Brownsville -- dead at the scene. Run for your life, these bullets have got crazy speed, And they’re looking hard for somewhere to bleed. Call the police, shield your daughter, but it’s too late, when bullets speed, and they’re found somewhere to bleed. I know I’m screaming in my head-- screaming “come make me dead.” Shadows in the dirt, a cold fast, rain surge through my veins, falls to the ground as my feet pound, to free my mind. And in my tracks as a run the path, the flashing lights shine in my eyes. I’m going blind this time, but I don’t know if you even know that you see me. I’m a ghost as you shine the lights. I’m not seen as I make my way through the night. I’m a ghost, and I fight for love- glad you see that you can’t see me. Because hate kills the mind, hate kills the soul. I give love, to try to fill the hole. Gun smoke in the air, and the sky is bleeding. Bleed on me a cold red rain, wash the hate right down the drain, so when Evil comes and he stands on trial he won’t be smiling. Run for your life, these bullets have got crazy speed, And they’re looking hard for somewhere to bleed. Call the police, shield your daughter, but it’s too late, when bullets speed, and they’re found somewhere to bleed.

I’ll be a caped crusader for you. I will climb the highest mountain and pick the most beautifullest flower in the world. When we go, we will wish Mrs. McDay the fondest wishes. I will wash all her dishes. And there is your mother in the driveway. America got older. Story. /// Mama’s here. She’s coming to dinner. We will put pasta and potatoes and barrels of fruit on the table if we are able. And the restaurant shooter has been identified. Clearly, he has sabotaged his retirement. It’s a domino effect /// A mess that can’t be cleaned// It was fate the train was running late. I was sitting in class getting read to a room full of first-graders-- or was it kindergarteners? Can’t remember-- It doesn’t matter…. No, it really doesn’t matter if you’re a beggar or a king-- On that day everything turned to rubble, and a sad choir of 3000 began to sing. Where is your baby bump? Who will be his father now? In the ruins of your former life, who will you be/// when you lost your wife? Crushed in the rubble neath the falling sky// life squeezed out from her. Crushed forever. ///The world turned to smoke and fire-- Diabolical laughter an ocean away-- in a cave or a crummy mansion in cadet city. Absolute truth gives way to absolute force. Total annihilation. Pulverization. Jump out of the plane so we can kick the dog. Step out of the car, so we can kick the dog. Step out of yourself, so we can kick the dog. Let’s kick the dog. Come on everybody, let’s kick the dog. Going to crush your bones. Going to pulverize. Mother’s waiting. Mother's waiting. Kindergarten’s been a real tough year. Wake up in the decade that America got a little bit lost along the way. No, it really doesn’t matter if you’re a beggar or a king-- On that day everything turned to rubble, and a sad choir of 3000 began to sing. It’s rainy and it’s falling bricks/// The screams and the metal will drive you sick. /// The death and destruction on the road to redemption/// The bankrupt nation bloats with waste/// The mighty eagle rests it’s wings… There’s no more nothing for us now. /// Wing commander, Texas fire.// She’s a mental patient with a hair-helmet.// It was a stroke he said. Gotta spend more time with the bees in the hive. There is honey to be made. /// Sleep when you’re dead. But Texas oil comes first. //// Then God, then family, and “I don’t have much to say about the rest /// Because the rest are communists, come to sell us hippy flowers and out-of-state checks, and a bunch of minds getting vexed, by their Godless heathen’s ways. // A state of confusion. But even heathens needed God on that day. /// And even communists were people on that day.” Well, even Bible-thumpers turned their heads to look away on that day… If only for a while. No, it really doesn’t matter if you’re a beggar or a king-- On that day everything turned to rubble, and a sad choir of 3000 began to sing. And hidden deep below the second in command’s double vaulted lair, the mole-men dug their way toward the sun. /// Beneath the sky on that day as they first breathed human air. ///// The sky turned to rubble and all was pulverized. In a blaze of fire, in a blaze of fire. /// rest your heads, children of men. And we will never forget that day. The writers and the poets will make sure to it that that is true. As we all go down and the thunder shakes the ground, I think back to a time that my father’s father knew. There was nothing we coulda done. There was nothing we coulda done. We were lucky to just get out alive. No, it really doesn’t matter if you’re a beggar or a king-- On that day everything turned to rubble, and a sad choir of 3000 began to sing.

I’m the mountain up on high. I’m the valley, down down low. I’m the fire burning brightly. I’m the ice so bitter cold. I’m the good of warm embrace. I’m so bad ain’t got no face. I’m the earth I‘ll swallow you I’m the sky so bright and blue High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go. High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go. I’m the stream of broken dreams I’m the guide down the river Styx I’m the fates, I call the wild I’m the doors to all there is I’m the wind, step on my back I am the light in the deepest black I am you, and you are me I am all that you’ll never see High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go. High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go. I’m the cloud that hovers over When I want I make it rain I’m the slime primordial I evolved to bring you pain I’m the ancient Aztec Gods I’m a caveman making fire I’m a speck of space rock dust I am what you never trust High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go. High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go. I am dead, I am immortal I'm the sword lunged through your chest You may claw, and you may struggle I am all and you've met your best Look my eyes call out my name I will cast you where you came I'll still stand when man is long dead I'm the mountain, say my name High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go. High. Low. She’s up so high, but down we go.

“War is over, if you want it,” that’s what John & Yoko said. But the question is, do you want it? That’s what someone else said. Who said it? I didn’t say it. George Orwell didn’t say it. He just warned against it/// that in the future, that’s all we’d ever do. Well, guess what? The future’s here, and George was right, that’s all we ever do. We fight. What’s the difference between a Muslim extremist and a Christian extremist? It’s whether or not we go to war. When it’s a Christian extremist, we say, “oh well, gosh-- that was awful-- I wish we could’ve done something about it-- but the killer and the victims all had blond hair and blue eyes. It must just be some Hitler youth in-fighting. You know, like gangs in LA in the eighties.” Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war? Colors- you know, bloods and crips. Ice T sung it, Sean Penn and Michael Corleone’s consigliere acted in it, and Easy Rider, he directed it. Except in this case, we’re talking Knights Templar vs the Brown Shirts. Red and Blue, but, this time round, more like Blond vs Brown. It’s all still fighting. Right? Or is it? Or is it just more people dead for no reason whatsoever. Glenn Beck should be ashamed-- not that he’s nearly as bad as the guy who did it. He just feeds into it. He’s like the slop for hogs feeding at the crazy-trough. He is fuel to the fire. He is justification. All the reasoning needed for the monster who’s not quite sure about being a monster. Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war? He’s the vulture not so quietly jumping up and down just on the edge of the scales of justice. He’s in search of fresh meat. Another shooting of a US Congresswoman or a mass murder in some blue-eyed country. Well, he’s right there to feed on the carnage… But I have gotten off topic. If we’re looking at who’s really to blame-- The game’s all the same. It’s big pharma. It’s 24-7 TV. It’s fast food. It’s high fructose corn syrup and thiamine mono-nitrate. No wonder we’re out of balance. All it takes is one who’s a little more out of balance than the rest, and we’ve got a shooting. Of course, since we’re all so out of balance, it has become what we want. We crave it. Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war? I mean, does anyone watch NASCAR or UFC or a cock-fight thrown by Michael Vick for any other reason than to see someone or something get hurt? No. It’s bloodlust. Put it on TV. Feed into the machine. Send out web-bots in search of more carnage to consume. Hell, while we’re at it, does anyone know of any new wars or catastrophes we can film? No? I suppose we could create one. A little more fracking and we’ll have an earthquake on our hands-- If the overall temperature of the earth gets too high, we can just send a massive faux-volcanic eruption into the sky, creating a cloud barrier to prevent any sunlight getting in/// thus bringing the temperature down. That should do it. Right? Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war? I know-- wait-- We’re feeding our bloodlust here. Right? Something horrible to put on TV. We could just start another war. That’s it. Why didn’t I think of this before? What’s France up to? Oh, wait. They helped us gain independence-- gave us the statue of liberty-- A country full of mostly Christian white people… Hmmm… Germany? No. After the first two world wars, they really cleaned up their image. And again, that whole Christian/ white people thing. I know… The Buddhists… They don’t fight? Really? I just would’ve thought since they started the whole swasticka thing… Or was that the Hindus? Who can keep it straight? No. You’re right. What about the muslims?// They’ve got some extremists. That’s what I’m talking about… What about the Muslims?// They’ve got some extremists. That’s what I’m talking about. Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war? You say they’ve got most of the world’s oil supply too? This is too good to be true. It’s a win-win situation. If we go to war against a Muslim oil-rich country, we could get just about everyone everywhere charged up about this for just about forever. I think we’ve found ourselves a winner. Now we’ve got something to go to war for. But, do we want it? I know I for one, do not. I for one believe everything I read on bumper stickers. That’s why I always say, “move, Asshole”, “A million sperm, and you were the fastest,” and “ban abortion, eat the young instead.” Well, I for one say that cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war? Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war? Haven’t we all seen enough carnage for one lifetime? Could it? Would it be possible, if we all turned off all of our TV sets, that there’d be no more need for carnage, no more need for war? No more nothing to feed into? No- we’d still have a taste for all that delicious oil. So why not go cold-turkey on that conundrum as well? Oh- yes-- industry. Lobbyists. Men behind closed doors shaking hands. Well they could be gotten rid of too. Just remember-- war is over, if you want it. The question is, do ya? Do ya punk? Oh, Hollywood, you’ve won me over with your one-liners. I want more Dirty Harry. I will get to work on casting the remake, stat. Does Clint Eastwood have a son? Yes? Mmmm- I like the sound of that. Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, Cancer cures smoking, why doesn’t carnage cure war?

I’m doped to the gills on time// I’m addicted to traveling back/// I’m too fat to beg for plutonium on Park Avenue. We’re building a better business model for humans. We’re going to live in pods in Kansas City. We’ll all go into deep freeze. Hibernate until it’s time to thaw out humanity. And in our velvety sleep chambers, we’ll stuff our heads with every thought that has ever been thought/// And play back the greatest hits of our species for the plasticine dads on Astroturf lawns and the Venusian Stepford wives for amusement., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., I can’t see you father, you’re frozen in my mind./// You’ve programmed me to conform to your vision of the future. You’re a seer, but I can’t see. I’m a be-er, but I ain’t me. I’m an apocalypse in a hurricane, a B&E in the sunshine. You are true to the cult, but I’m just helter-skelter/// jacked up on peanut-butter/// It gave me nightmares for months. Here in my sleep chamber, everything is better. Nothing is real, but nothing really needs to be. Nothing has to be. It’s warmer this way., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Deep in the valley, deep in the valley, I died today. I died for her today. I was happy to do so. It’s time to awake the sleepers. Fill their feeding tubes with a syringe of a loving infection./// For love doesn’t come in a pill or a tube or a shot in the arm/// It’s a jolt to the head. Deep in the recesses of your mind, I’m a soldier for all time-- fighting for our losses, and a more cost-effective way to make a better human. So when we start turning gray as we all will some day, will we all still really be human?, Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., And if we do this thing in shifts// the plates of the earth may not shift// for we’re fracking for the future of our children// And there isn’t oil in the plastic of the toys of our children made in China. And those dinosaurs didn’t die for our children/// and we didn’t go extinct for our children. And what a waste if we did. We’re the whole, not the heart, nor the head, nor the charms that we hang above our beds-- to fill our dreams with a better future-- and we needn’t stay too long in our sleep-chambers, and we’re all hit-men for our savior-- working overtime to please the master. Writing bad checks in case of real disaster. I’m the last one out since Chernobyl// and those mutant goats have been seen at Katrina., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Have you seen her, dancing in the wind? I knew her when we were children. I fell in love with a thought of what love was. What love is to a child. So I grew up for a while// and packed lots of old CDs for the mission. And it always ends this way// in a simmering pot of confusion. For we’re all going blind with the thought of what we can’t be// of what we would have liked to have been. But we can’t. There are just some things in life you gotta let slide. The past doesn’t care that we’re here still, so there’s nothing to hide. Nothing to lose, only to embrace your possible future. Give me one light, one hand, a universal hand of all hands joined together -- Then look into the sun until you’re blind with love. The kind that you can only give when you’ve gone blind from wanting to love-- or may be wanting to go blind., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., I gave my love to the humans, not the Venusians nor the Stepford wives nor the Medusas, nor the devil barricaded in his lair-- his seaside palatial suicide lair burning white hot with the burning embers of hate. We’ll shut him up in his cave// and burn his wicked façade on the wicker man we’ll build in the backyard made from the branches fallen from the trees from the hurricane. And when we all give our love then all will be alright-- and right now, everything is alright. Look into the sun until you’re blind with love., Look into the sun until you’re blind with love.,

If you’re going to hang an innocent man, know that I’m guilty of but the laws of man For what I’ve done I am not ashamed I’d do it again, I’m happy to take the blame I answer to a higher power And though I’d never // take a man’s life I answer to a higher power And I’d do anything for/// my child and wife Lead me to the steps// of the gallows I’m prepared to meet/// my maker now In my heart// In my soul I know// what I done was right when I was a child, grandmother smiled Now at the gallows, she beckons me home To sit by the lord, watch over my family I’m not afraid for we’ll be/ together one day

In a vision of red roses// Up to heaven, unspoken to lay in a bed of restless angels Through the clouds past the cherubs///a pocket of air carried me there to lay me in a bed of gilded angels lay down your head/ lay down your head in a bed with the angels in an eruption of wind and thunder they wheeled me in then put me under I see a bright light in a bed of gilded angels beyond the light// got second sight as the ferryman shuttled me through the night// to lay in a bed with the angels [G] lay down your [C] head/ [D] lay down your [G] head in a [D] bed with the [G] angels BRIDGE [E7] and when I get home, I’m going to drive my car as fast as it will [B7] go I’m going to drive it right off the track into the [B7] deepest ditch/// then find the tallest oak tree to go hang from A7, D7 [G] don’t fix me [B7]doctor, I don’t want to go [C] back to the [A7]world just slip up// my [G] family wont sue // I want to [D7] lay down with the [G] angels [G] lay down your [C] head/ [D] lay down your [G] head in a [D] bed with the [G] angels

One man stands among the rotting corpses of dead cows and the stench of death. Fair thee well my love// You’ve left me and my old dog. My dog and a hundred atom bombs, give or take sixty eight. I’ve been to town, I’ve been to the capitol, and I’ve been to family, but they’ve all turned me away. I’m the mark of death-go back to the wasteland they’d say. Get me a couple of yen to buy me a coffin, I’ll be down by the river, polluted by poison, got to fish me some fish. Dogs/ roam the streets and God left long ago A heavy rain is starting to fall, and God left long ago. A heavy rain is starting to fall, but you won’t make me leave, I’ve made a lie here with the vermin. The rats are filling the streets, to hop on the next freight train out. Found a finger in my rice-bowl// I can’t stay// but I can’t leave. Can’t find any peace// I don’t have any war, but keeping men in radiation suits away from my door. I have no love. I have no hate, cuz there’s nowhere to go. Don’t got any guns, for there’s no one to kill. I’m the only one here. I’ve found peace on the hill. Just waiting to die. I forgive the murderers-- their God’s left them too. Dogs/ roam the streets and God left long ago A heavy rain is starting to fall, and God left long ago. I forgive the peaceniks, because they’ll die one day too. I’m a fisher of lost dreams. All I have is my home. Though God’s left there too. Just me and my dog and a hundred atom bombs. This place is forsaken, even the devil’s nowhere to be found. I rest my heart by the pillow every night// leave my soul close in sight. But you best keep on movin/ in a place where the devil’s afraid to be Dogs/ roam the streets and God left long ago A heavy rain is starting to fall, and God left long ago. I get restless, my feet get drunk. I have no more dreams. Devil? God? Here there aren’t anymore teams. On the south side of town, there’s a rumor going round// from the voices of those dead asking for proper burial in our town. I’m the man from Fukushima, 21,000 dead or missing in the meltdown. 21,000 dead. My countrymen don’t care about me. They send no food or supplies. Don’t want me to stay// Don’t mind if I die. I’m a fisher for hope// a reminder to the living of the rotten. Making a stand so those in the shelters would not be forgotten. Forgotten in time- forgotten in place, where time don’t exist anymore. When it’s time to go, look into the eclipse. It’s neither black nor white-- Neither good nor evil// For this is a place where even the dead fear to tread. Where are you my love? I’m just a man, but I’ll be here when the people return. I love you too much to go/ I just wish I could have stayed. Please bury me close to my love. I love her so. Dogs/ roam the streets and God left long ago A heavy rain is starting to fall, and God left long ago.

Sell the banks back to themselves/// pawn off our houses// sell away our futures/// sell off the sky… Sell your dreams. /// They’re going to carve their names on the headstone-- A monument to the corporate pharaoh sitting there, 20 stories up in the sky. Bright lights/ cold night/// In the sky, burning their message of hopelessness into our eyes./// Hovering dreams of the babes// Babes who have no futures// the dismallest futures of all. They got nothing. We messed it all up. My love is sick in bed/// her children run wild-- I had a dream-- a bad dream/// That our world got caught up in the torrent of the surrounding stream turned into a tornado of nightmares smashed to bits on the stone where the pilgrims landed/// caged up by a jail-cell in the town of Plymouth. // Have you been there? It’s pathetic. CHORUS: Can’t buy no dreams/// for they sell no dreams When there are no dreams/// We have no dreams, When they’ve sold our dreams There ain’t no dreams/// forgotten how to dream/// as easy as it seems We owe our dreams to our corporate pharaohs To Bank of America// To Wall Street// Take back your dreams… Take back Wall Street… Take back, take back your dreams The organ grinder in a photograph gives me hope/// Hope for a time when the humans are gone// gone from the Earth.//// But that organ-man, where will he go? A drunken power plant blew up his world. Sometimes lighting strikes-- sometimes it feels like the whole world is going to be gone-- But no one’s going to miss us when we’re gone. That’s our dream-- our American dream slipped into the storm drain. Sailing ships // Set foot on the new world, stepped straight into the drain-- sailing ships straight down the storm drain. There aint nothing left in Assembly square. There ain’t nothing/// our dreams are broken-- our dreams are over. CHORUS: Can’t buy no dreams/// for they sell no dreams When there are no dreams/// We have no dreams, When they’ve sold our dreams There ain’t no dreams/// forgotten how to dream/// as easy as it seems We owe our dreams to our corporate pharaohs// To JP Morgan/ To Goldman Sachs/ Take back your dreams… Take back Wall Street… Take back, take back your dreams Fill the Brooklyn bridge full of lovin’, we come to occupy/// we come to confront. They say spray ‘em with mace. The people they have no face. Give up. Give in. You’re Davy, I’m Goliath and you can’t win. Expect a check expressing thanks to the banks. Circle the wagons-- circle your bikes. Foreclose on our dreams-- humming-- our train is coming/// Your death is bubbling/// gonna hang you. Yours is an evil way. A systematic greed. Dewey square in the heart of the dollar. Beats the pulse of 3000 young callers. Come to speak their minds. CHORUS: Can’t buy no dreams/// for they sell no dreams When there are no dreams/// We have no dreams, When they’ve sold our dreams There ain’t no dreams/// forgotten how to dream/// as easy as it seems We owe our dreams to our corporate pharaohs// To Barack Obama // To George W. Bush// Take back your dreams… Take back the electric car… Take back, take back your dreams Mr. Politician man-- this isn’t funny any more. I once thought you were a stand-up comedian man. Kill, kill killing it like a Jimmy Fallon, cash-machine with an motorized wig, combing itself back and forth. Now I can see you’re just corporate greed. Getting pushed around by your mad need. Bigger/// better/// More under the hood. Silicon lips. Pump it up-- supersize-- inflatable sneakers. What would Freud say? Robotic, mounted love-apparatus. It’s money. Hype. Smoke and mirrors. You tell em this-- but you give them that. Where’s your hearing aid? Sometimes greed is just greed. Sometimes it all is just greed. Sell them your dreams. CHORUS: Can’t buy no dreams/// for they sell no dreams When there are no dreams/// We have no dreams, When they’ve sold our dreams There ain’t no dreams/// forgotten how to dream/// as easy as it seems We owe our dreams to our corporate pharaohs// To our insurance carriers// To the evil empire// Take back your dreams… Take back your foreclosed upon yurts… Take back, take back your dreams I can’t endear myself to you. All I can do is enfear myself to you. Beat me down with your ugly face. The selfish ugly face of the new child which will grow into a snake of a monster. /// Shaking and quivering by the scene you’ve been making. /// Damn you to the storm-booth/// lock you in the water closet. I ain’t going to enfear you,, if I can help it.. But the snake in you, strikes me straight to the core./// It’s no coincidence. Beat me down with your ugly. They’ll junk-mail you into submission. Steal your dreams, like a snake just waiting to swallow your dreams. A picture of a monkey rescuing a dog gives me hope for the planet// for a time when the humans are gone// gone from the Earth.//// But that monkey, he’s alright. He don’t have no place to live no more. A drunken power plant blew up his world. Sometimes lighting strikes-- sometimes it feels like the whole world is going to be gone-- But no one’s going to miss us when we’re gone. That’s our dream-- our American dream slipped into the storm drain. Sailing ships to our new nation, but straight into the storm drain-- sailing ships down the storm drain. There aint nothing left in Assembly square. There ain’t nothing our dreams are broken-- our dreams are over.