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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 � � |