And after three days of drinking with Mr. Grundeswald I just get an inkling to go on home. So I’m walking down
past the river bridge by the Bethlemhem zoo, head hung low; three or four in the
morning; the sun’s coming up and the birds are out singing.
I letad myself, hitchhiking to catch a lancaster meninite. I retire myself to my hotel room
and stretch myself out nice on that raggety old spring mattress
Casey Anthony already smiling0 on the news channel and I push
that remote button to sublimity. And I listen to the sweet,
apriorism of Joe Scarborough. And Glenn Beck
and Bill Orielly's bourgeois analysis of everythang and the sound
makes its way out of the window, mingling with the busy traffic
noises outside, you know, and all of a sudden I’m overcome by
a feeling of brief dialectic materialism.


‘Cause I’m getting on in the world. Coming up on forty-one
years. Forty-one stony, grey steps towards the grave, you-
know, the box, awaits its grisly load and I’m gonna be food for
worms . And just like I.V. wrote that beautiful
Marxist banter ‘Beat-But not yet dead". I say “so long Stolypin,
so long Trotsky and Stalin, so long Jim Jones
Mao tse Tung and Mister MacGuiness, so long and daddies
Freidrich Engles and Karl Marx in the pocket, so long Robert Owen, so long Saint-Simon and
so long Fourier.

But then I get to thinking, I got my property, im going this way and that
Wage earning up that ever so insumountable hill with a rock
and straight back down again never making a single dollar to my name
and I turn off the old tv box get out, get to goin
downtown into the old bar past Ben & Jerrys
past the bourquoeis businessmen who have the damn benefit of a free tuesday afternoon
past the apologists who beg and plead for change and i just
keep to myself, knowin in all that words cant change nobodies mind
aint never gonna do no good, no how, to tell them that banal truth
that they gotta get up off their knees like some enterprizing strumpet
some self-loathing fool, ground warming shameful, dead to the world
and his own conscious, apologetic, class worshiping Judas escariot,

with ambitions against the rest of us working folk, or unemployed folk,
or sick men, or women or whatever, to raise that ladder high up into the sky
with that big old magnifying surplus labour glass melting us all down from
his vantage point with not a care in this world for any such proletarian
low life, classless, clod such as me or mister Albrecht or well Kovio
and he stands there hands held high to the pedastul that holds all them
higher than high-er ups and stands with them: C.G.B. Spender with that
Cointelpro right on his back, not a shame in the world, them Bilderburg
Reagan wanna-bes drinkin their white and red coka cola cans
making lenin ashamed to wear the colours being Mister Prince Philippe,
Juan Carlos the first and hopefully the last, Prince Charles, Prince of Wales
Queen Beatrix of the Netherlands, Roger Altman, George W. Ball, Wade Fulp,
Sandy Berger, Timothy Geithner, Lee H. Hamilton and Richard Perle
Paul Volcker, neo-capitalist Lawrence Summers, Paddy Ashdown,
Ed Balls and he got big ones to fuck us like that, John Monks
George Osborne, Malcolm Rifkind and Tony Blair,
Siv Jensen from Norway, Garret FitzGerald; Northern Ireland,
Helmut Schmidt Germany. Well standing there all a bunch of bilderburgs
got that chip in your neck and that viscious ethyl mercury running you
up in your vaccines, no autism folks, just catalouging
and you star further down that gun barrel towards 2011 and you
see that list go on, and on, on into Chris R. Hughes, Facebook
Phony, Google.com's Eric Schmidt, George A David, Chairman
of dat Coca Cola Company we were talking about remember?
Henry A. Kissinger, little J.R. at the bilderburger kids table
and little Cheng-Li , and Robert Rubin, Martin S Feldstein PhD.
and that Keith B Alexander- US Cyber Com and all and all
you wish that gun will blow up in there face staining it
black with the smoke and that saltpeter, wishing they stopped
bugging your phone, your water heater, that singing bass you
got for X-mas, and tracking you in onstar. All that
LSDm they put through you in the movie theater
spraying it through the vents with a nice purple mist
got you thinking twice now and you can barely bring
yourself to go down that street corner past the bar
and buy that 10 tons of agricultural animal safe
fertilizer to pack tighly with your large keg
barrels full of diesel fuel and nails and glass shards
and what ever little scribllits or jibblits you could find


But i mean what's the damn point Im like
41 years old now, halfway over that hill
and i already cant see the lovely light
that is supposed to be up there mr Ben Chifley
I can't see that mansion up there either
i mean there is some trees in the way but
it fucking aint up there. So where does that leave me now
Singing country acid house for the rest of my life
Leading me on through that apostolic musical
hegelian phenomena past all of the pop singers,
punk rockers, them heavy earsplitting metal junkies
past the pop country culture that's be incapacitated
since Hank Williams Jr. walked into town
and now I've got to lead the way with
Lil ol Larry, the Mountain, the Spirit, Sir Eddie Real
Rock Freebase, Sweet old Devlin with a new
baby on the way, and Dave Maxwell, LB Dope
Stevie Nicked, Frank Zapatista and well me
the Reverend, the very Reverened doctor
D. W. A. Y. N. E. Love

and as we all are moving around practicing
and consuming all sorts of pharmasudicals
best saved for after the show I hit out
I start waving around in my brain just
stone cold stoned and going this way
and that I dont know if Im going up
or down left or right which way im headed
but its time for Ronald

You woke up this morning
Got yourself a gun,
Mama always said you'd be
The Chosen One.

She said: You're one in a million
You've got to burn to shine,
But you were born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes.

You woke up this morning
All that love had gone,
Your Papa never told you
About right and wrong.

But you're looking good, baby,
I believe you're feeling fine,(shame about it),
Born under a bad sign
With a blue moon in your eyes.

Chorus
You woke up this morning
Got a blue moon in your eyes
You woke up this morning
Got a blue moon in your eyes

You woke up this morning
The world turned upside down,
Thing's ain't been the same
Since FISA Wiretap walked into town.
But you're one in a million
You've got that shotgun shine. (shame about it)
Born under a bad sign,
With a blue moon in your eyes.
You woke up this morning
Got a blue moon in your eyes
You woke up this morning
Got a blue moon in your eye

When I woke up this morning my hardrive was gone
my wikileaks burned
the sirens going ding dong
DARPA dragged me out of bed
said come on d wayne
goin to smolensk
gonna crash a little plane
well i know Lech Kaczynski
aint hurting nobody
but the chip in my neck
said its for homeland security
then you'll party for a year
party for five or six
out there and wreck that bitch
take out the engine with the swing hammer
Hillary gonna take out Obama
Clinton body count Mr. D Wayne love
Lech Kaczynski coming down from above

Well assassination is quite alright with me
if its for Conglomerate security
It's like every single social leader ever said
Change must come from a bullet in the head
watching paint dry while long waiting
While sitting around and contemplating
the facts, i know what the fuck they are
Konrad Castros my guiding star
pick up the gun
learn how to fight
all through the day and
all through the night
till come the day when
the last fights won
til the days we go home
no more fun
Lech Kaczynski coming down from above

World governments nice, im not debating
black helicopters and DARPA nations
I've been inclined to turn in all the others
Wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, sisters and brothers
Don't you wish you didn't function,
Don't you wish you didn't think
Beyond the next coup de ta and the next little drink'
Well you do so its up to you what i know
six apparations of Lenin on the grand piano.

Chorus

Blues falling down like rain.
Blues falling down like rain.
Blues falling down like rain.
Blues falling down like rain
On Mister Grundeswald.


For any of you out there on
medicare or medicaid or
social security or welfare
A moment of silence,
Soviet workers unite
Put that fist up in the air.

Praise to the father
All glory laud and honor,
We wait until the day
That that trumpet does sound
we won't leave mothers,
children and or brothers
untouched when we burn
their fucking house to the ground.

We'll sing a song of Lenin,
on the top of the mountain,
United Proletariat; ten thousand and strong.
We'll triumph the wicked,
and punish the deceivers,
Hark! The Manifesto in its heavenly throng.