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2003-09-29 - 5:55 a.m.

come along can you feel this song?

can you relate wrong where you don't belong?

you should be hittin' it somewhere else

maybe your condition is the thing that smells

unless you're like the guy at the frat parties

whose buddies rubbed his lip with some limburger cheese

he awoke and sniffed the air and said "it stinks -- peee yu!"

then he walked into the hall and said "it stinks here too!"

then he walked into the living room and said "is it what me thinks?"

and steppin' out the front door he said, "the whole world stinks!"

eventually we find as we go on in time far

no matter where you go you turn around and there you are

and it starts to dawn on you that the blur outside your ride

has many things to show you if you'd settle your lame hide

but the revving of the motor and the vibratory hum

like the inner generator, oscillating jungle drum

that summons inner passions which arise and flow to shore

becomes the final island bashtions of the slide to make the score

and I understand that road trip -- it's the highway that I'm on

to another dusty station of the ride of on and on

from the dawning of sensation (it's a downer when it's gone)

so we live to syncopation of a beat patrolled by cons

there's a subtle palpitation in your drive shaft made of bronze

and it vibrates loose the fasteners of St. Planned Obsolescense

who goes free to bring about the blessed frustration incess-scents

which dispenses to the senses which send scents so reminiscent

of the sense that sends the stench to represent the coming distance

that approaches every turn in rapid rendezvous succession

it's a constant turn and burn in the ripoff of profession

I'm the one that you can ride on, call me Harley, hear me roar

But I warn you, don't freak out, because your engine's stroked and bored

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