big beige feather against white wall

Kill Your Idols: Or The Trouble With Writing About Rock and Roll

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 the light of the day
They will find someone else to 


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