Lydia Lunch
Hangover Hotel
Somebody broke in, but all that was missing were the polaroidsScene of the crime could be anywhere and anytimeAnd I'm always salivating about the maniac responcibleI know that to attack is merely the desire to free one's selfFrom infatuation that there's a thin line between a love tapAnd murder with a blant instrument that a sharp stick in theEye kills the devil in the soul everytimeAnd night after night those hollow screamsEcho out through the deserting parking lotsA paper oasis littered with lottery dreamsAnd I'm always lacerating myself with memoriesAnd the demented visions of some woe begottenMessenger of the Lord who's now living down at theHangover Hotel where everybody's living hand To mouth trying to get aheadBut sh*t, a quick jaunt down to the corner storeTo pick up a 40 of Colt and 45 a fifth of JackA bottle of aspirin half a dozen condomsAnd a carton of cigarettes will bring you down real hardBy about 50 bucks and then all you're left with is your dreamsAnd you'll be dreaming amongst drunksYeah... dreamingRemembering the way it used to beSh*t... the way still IS - dirt cheap dreams sloppily executedOn sheetless matressess, pretty crimes of passinonsBringing secrets to the surface with blood and alcoholScene of the crime could be anywhere and anytime
From Letras Mania