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 I'm cut outta rayon and cheap Japanese elastic I'm stained with the shame of a President's game I'm fuelled by pills and remorse And when they found me they all gathered around me And said I made a beautiful corpse.
I'm barbed and I'm bent I'm a little low rent, like Keef's trusty hat-pin I'm 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 I'm nobody's fool. I'm spilled and I'm smashed, heading for a crash Like Pearl's old Southern Spirit. I'm 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 I'm 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.
I'm 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.
I'm 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 Haunt!