Somebody broke in, but all that was missing were the polaroids
Scene of the crime could be anywhere and anytime
And I'm always salivating about the maniac responcible
I know that to attack is merely the desire to free one's self
From infatuation that there's a thin line between a love tap
And murder with a blant instrument that a sharp stick in the
Eye kills the devil in the soul everytime
And night after night those hollow screams
Echo out through the deserting parking lots
A paper oasis littered with lottery dreams
And I'm always lacerating myself with memories
And the demented visions of some woe begotten
Messenger of the Lord who's now living down at the
Hangover Hotel where everybody's living hand
To mouth trying to get ahead
But sh*t, a quick jaunt down to the corner store
To pick up a 40 of Colt and 45 a fifth of Jack
A bottle of aspirin half a dozen condoms
And a carton of cigarettes will bring you down real hard
By about 50 bucks and then all you're left with is your dreams
And you'll be dreaming amongst drunks
Yeah... dreaming
Remembering the way it used to be
Sh*t... the way still IS - dirt cheap dreams sloppily executed
On sheetless matressess, pretty crimes of passinons
Bringing secrets to the surface with blood and alcohol
Scene of the crime could be anywhere and anytime