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
