King Missile Lyrics
"Ed"
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Ed was at the end of his rope,
an expression he detested.
"There is no rope!" he would scream at the laughing
walls. "There is only the end.
No hope, No rope. Ending is better than mending.
Doors of perception, winodws of opportunity- these
are illusinos, like the killing floor.
" Ed spoke in a squeaky whiny voice with perhaps a
slight tinge of glee, but this was only because he
couldnt be bothered to develop a manner of speaking
that truly reflected his mood.
"This is a vacuum. There is no air in this room.
Despair is no fun anymore.
Nihilism knocked three times on the ceiling,
but the rosy fingers of dawn always insterted themselves
in the nose of unfulfilled promises.
Angels sang Heysanna Hosanna.
Paralyzed prima-donnas danced in the streets all day,
but when the darkness came,
everybody went home. I was ready- everyone else was
asleep. And while it may have been a relief to see
that I was right all along,
here I am still: alone and trapped, awaiting the endless end.
"And I can turn it all around,
and laugh at it and laugh at myself; I can laugh louder
than the walls, the halls,
the waterfalls, louder than Charles de Gaul or Fulton
Mall, but I don't know what I'm laughing at.
I don't know just what I think is so goddman funny.
I don't know why I don't just shut up and give up and
lay down and die. What do I have to complain about
anyway," Ed asked his Picasso,
"I'm a millionaire!"! This wasn't actually true.
Ed's picasso was an obvious forgery,
his three Rothkos had just been singled out in an article
in ARTFORUM entitled "The three most insignificant
paintings of Mark Rothko," and his Barbara Kruegers
had been irreparably damaged by Rein Sanction and a
few other bands from Gainsville that refused to acknowledge
the value of art.
"Come to think of it," Ed mused to the laminated roadkill
coffee table that he had purchased when times had seem
slightly less bleak, "Come to think of it,
not only does art have no intrinsic value,
but my collection has no extrinsic value either.
I know I'm not a millionaire,
but that's no reason to complain.
There is no reason to complain.
There is no reason to do anything.
I don't believe in reason,
objective reality, or collective farming.
I don't believe in public speaking,
which is another reason why I'm here alone.
I don't believe in life or death.
I would kill myself, but I don't believe in suicide."
Ed put on a red shirt and took a quick walk around
the block while whistling softly to himself.
He reentered his apartment screaming.
"There is no life on this planet!
Jehovah-One replaced all life with machinery five centuries
ago. The so-called industrial revolution was just another
hoax and we all fell for it,
'cause we were all programmed to.
Even I fell for it, I believe in the steam engine,
even though I don't believe in anything.
Logical inconsistancy is the Mr.
Bubble I bathe in each and every evening,
except yesterday evening, when I rollerbladed over
to the masonic temple to play pinochle with Pope John
Paul the First. I really had no choice in the matter."
"Ed certainly could go on and on,
and he did, and he would, and he will,
until you or I or somebody does something aobut it.
" Senator Sterno of Louisiana announced over closed
circuit television. "And as long as he continues to
pontificate pointlessly, I will do nothing.
" Ed walked away from the program feeling fortified
and stapled. His brain was buzzing,
the way it always did after watching Jeapordy.
He loaded up the microbus with Atlases and Poseidons
and headed for Pope County.
"I've had it!" he sang. "I've had it with puns,
aliteration, russian literature,
italian neo-realism, meaningless cross references and
laundry lists of nonsense.
I shall drive without a license,
without clothing, without direction and if I make it
to Arkansas fine, and if I'm running late,
If I'm running a numbers game,
it doesn't matter. I shall keep on running,
yes This is the answer. This is the ending.
I shall keep running, because a body in motion tends
to stay emotional, and its better to feel.
Pain is better than emptiness,
emptiness is better than nothing, and nothing is better than this."
an expression he detested.
"There is no rope!" he would scream at the laughing
walls. "There is only the end.
No hope, No rope. Ending is better than mending.
Doors of perception, winodws of opportunity- these
are illusinos, like the killing floor.
" Ed spoke in a squeaky whiny voice with perhaps a
slight tinge of glee, but this was only because he
couldnt be bothered to develop a manner of speaking
that truly reflected his mood.
"This is a vacuum. There is no air in this room.
Despair is no fun anymore.
Nihilism knocked three times on the ceiling,
but the rosy fingers of dawn always insterted themselves
in the nose of unfulfilled promises.
Angels sang Heysanna Hosanna.
Paralyzed prima-donnas danced in the streets all day,
but when the darkness came,
everybody went home. I was ready- everyone else was
asleep. And while it may have been a relief to see
that I was right all along,
here I am still: alone and trapped, awaiting the endless end.
"And I can turn it all around,
and laugh at it and laugh at myself; I can laugh louder
than the walls, the halls,
the waterfalls, louder than Charles de Gaul or Fulton
Mall, but I don't know what I'm laughing at.
I don't know just what I think is so goddman funny.
I don't know why I don't just shut up and give up and
lay down and die. What do I have to complain about
anyway," Ed asked his Picasso,
"I'm a millionaire!"! This wasn't actually true.
Ed's picasso was an obvious forgery,
his three Rothkos had just been singled out in an article
in ARTFORUM entitled "The three most insignificant
paintings of Mark Rothko," and his Barbara Kruegers
had been irreparably damaged by Rein Sanction and a
few other bands from Gainsville that refused to acknowledge
the value of art.
"Come to think of it," Ed mused to the laminated roadkill
coffee table that he had purchased when times had seem
slightly less bleak, "Come to think of it,
not only does art have no intrinsic value,
but my collection has no extrinsic value either.
I know I'm not a millionaire,
but that's no reason to complain.
There is no reason to complain.
There is no reason to do anything.
I don't believe in reason,
objective reality, or collective farming.
I don't believe in public speaking,
which is another reason why I'm here alone.
I don't believe in life or death.
I would kill myself, but I don't believe in suicide."
Ed put on a red shirt and took a quick walk around
the block while whistling softly to himself.
He reentered his apartment screaming.
"There is no life on this planet!
Jehovah-One replaced all life with machinery five centuries
ago. The so-called industrial revolution was just another
hoax and we all fell for it,
'cause we were all programmed to.
Even I fell for it, I believe in the steam engine,
even though I don't believe in anything.
Logical inconsistancy is the Mr.
Bubble I bathe in each and every evening,
except yesterday evening, when I rollerbladed over
to the masonic temple to play pinochle with Pope John
Paul the First. I really had no choice in the matter."
"Ed certainly could go on and on,
and he did, and he would, and he will,
until you or I or somebody does something aobut it.
" Senator Sterno of Louisiana announced over closed
circuit television. "And as long as he continues to
pontificate pointlessly, I will do nothing.
" Ed walked away from the program feeling fortified
and stapled. His brain was buzzing,
the way it always did after watching Jeapordy.
He loaded up the microbus with Atlases and Poseidons
and headed for Pope County.
"I've had it!" he sang. "I've had it with puns,
aliteration, russian literature,
italian neo-realism, meaningless cross references and
laundry lists of nonsense.
I shall drive without a license,
without clothing, without direction and if I make it
to Arkansas fine, and if I'm running late,
If I'm running a numbers game,
it doesn't matter. I shall keep on running,
yes This is the answer. This is the ending.
I shall keep running, because a body in motion tends
to stay emotional, and its better to feel.
Pain is better than emptiness,
emptiness is better than nothing, and nothing is better than this."
This song is from the album "Happy Hour".