anonamouse
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Nov 6, 2004
- Posts
- 243
wonderin' if you can give me suggestions on this
dedicated to those that don’t leave names
Standing with my hands in my pocket
outside of Hooper's luncheonette
fumbling for the matches
for my remaining cigarette
Ole man Hooper's got bone cancer
I feel sorry for him
his brother owes the funeral home
Well at least he knows he'll get
nice burial, nice tombstone
and where the fuck's the Penguin been
haven't seen him around
he owes me money, man
hope, I don't have to hunt him down
Oh, yeah
and it starts rainin', a sputtering sort of rain
don't know why it even bothers round here
nothin ever washes away
air never becomes clear
Well,
here comes the Penguin now, water rolls off of him
a smile with tales of sorrow
great, at least I will get, half of what he owes me
and promises, tomorrow
Shit,
I’ll see his greasy ass
curled up in the gutter someday
the rain won’t wash him away
Oh, happy day!
the sun comes out with angled shadows
of nothing at all, and silence
and echoes of emptiness
And
I feel like the last man alive
staring off into the sunset
with a handful of memories
all of which, I'd rather forget
I can take criticism
dedicated to those that don’t leave names
Standing with my hands in my pocket
outside of Hooper's luncheonette
fumbling for the matches
for my remaining cigarette
Ole man Hooper's got bone cancer
I feel sorry for him
his brother owes the funeral home
Well at least he knows he'll get
nice burial, nice tombstone
and where the fuck's the Penguin been
haven't seen him around
he owes me money, man
hope, I don't have to hunt him down
Oh, yeah
and it starts rainin', a sputtering sort of rain
don't know why it even bothers round here
nothin ever washes away
air never becomes clear
Well,
here comes the Penguin now, water rolls off of him
a smile with tales of sorrow
great, at least I will get, half of what he owes me
and promises, tomorrow
Shit,
I’ll see his greasy ass
curled up in the gutter someday
the rain won’t wash him away
Oh, happy day!
the sun comes out with angled shadows
of nothing at all, and silence
and echoes of emptiness
And
I feel like the last man alive
staring off into the sunset
with a handful of memories
all of which, I'd rather forget
I can take criticism