Kill Your Icons

I’m bloodied and broken, left on the stairs as a token

Like Yoko Ono’s left shoe

No matter how far you run and how well you hide

The catcher will catch up with you

Put yourself on a pedestal and give ’em a weapon

Tell ’em they can cut a piece off you

You called it art, but they cut out your heart

Now what yer gonna do?

Im ragged and torn and caught on a thorn

Like Norma Jean’s favorite dress

No matter how blown and how iconoclastic

Im cut outta rayon and cheap Japanese elastic

Im stained with the shame of a President’s game

Im fuelled by pills and remorse

And when they found me they all gathered around me

And said I made a beautiful corpse.

Im barbed and Im bent

Im a little low rent, like Keef’s trusty hat-pin

Im stuck in the wrong place

Trying not to lose face

My legend is less than fantastic.

The real Robin Hood of that Band of Merry Men

Was left floating face down in his pool

And though I try my best to live up to his death

It’s clear Im nobody’s fool.

Im spilled and Im smashed, heading for a crash

Like Pearl’s old Southern Spirit.

Im tipped upside down

Tired of playing the clown

Wearing cheap beads and Nico’s discarded gown

All tomorrow’s parties were something to live for

But the Factory ran out of glue

So they stuck me together with smack and fake feathers

And I checked out early too.

Im alone in the dark

Drawn on and marked

Like Jim’s headstone in Paris

People visit me, but they don’t really see

Im just a bad trip, a bad habit.

You came and you stood and you poured out your booze

And you shed a few tears on my dirt

I know you could see, but you stared right through me

And that’s what really hurt.

Im shiny and scratched, intentionally crashed

Into a ditch by a lake.

The young Rimbaud saw his fans as his foes

And spun out on amphetamine and hate

You never intended to join the club

You were always a bit of a fake.

He secured his legend without ascending to Heaven

And now he’s singing Sinatra for cake.

Im endangered and lost

Strung out at any cost

Like the Animal and his favorite Reporter

They pretend to feud over speed and quaaludes

Each claiming the other’s not doing what they oughta.

The winner was declared to be the last man standing

The Reporter went out with a Bang!

Leaving the Animal standing on the corner

Waiting to meet with his Man.

Im burnt up fast, sacrificed in the dark

Like Jimi’s old faithful ‘Caster

Plaster or Strat, he met his match

And wished he’d gone a little faster.

Spaceman rules were the only reward:

Have fun and do no harm

It was such a waste for him to leave in such haste

But he wasn’t built to retire to the Farm.

Kill your Icons

Set ’em on fire!

Dance a jig around their funeral pyre.

Set ’em up so you can shoot ’em down

You can make ’em smile

You can make ’em frown….

The only trouble is when they are all pushing up daisies

I’ll have no one left to taunt.

That’s ok…by the light of the day

They will find someone else to



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