Fuck Bob Dylan. And fuck MLK while you're at it. MLK, it rings like a brand. Put it in golden cursive on the wall. Fuck it. Fuck the popular truth. Fuck it all, and fuck any country in which an artist, a visionary, or a prophet can't die in respectable anonymity.
And fuck it all you jammers and rockers and wanna be philosophers. I invoke the power of fuck against you like an atomic bomb. You are derivatives reaping dividends by saying, "I was there and saw it all happen, unfolding like a dream before my very eyes." I will leave a turd next to your pillow.
You touched the naked truth and thought yourselves beautiful. You gazed upon the light of the fire of the gods and thoughts yourselves to be gods among men. Fuck it all, your words and mine, and for every Saul who becomes a Paul, let there be a mayor of Demascus.
We invented the fuck and the cool. The cool and the fuck. Pick your brain and unravel into spools of golden truth, and take the gold or the truth. But know you are made and not the maker, and the echo and not the voice. And we made the fuck. Fuck it all and fuck the echo.
Fuck your black and white photos and James Dean and his smoky cool. And fuck the ashes that fell from his cigarette and into the ground. It wasn't enough to be in the moment because you had to print it again and again and live it over all again. I fuck it, you, the echo, the cool, but never the cool and the gods and the prophets.
And fuck it all you jammers and rockers and wanna be philosophers. I invoke the power of fuck against you like an atomic bomb. You are derivatives reaping dividends by saying, "I was there and saw it all happen, unfolding like a dream before my very eyes." I will leave a turd next to your pillow.
You touched the naked truth and thought yourselves beautiful. You gazed upon the light of the fire of the gods and thoughts yourselves to be gods among men. Fuck it all, your words and mine, and for every Saul who becomes a Paul, let there be a mayor of Demascus.
We invented the fuck and the cool. The cool and the fuck. Pick your brain and unravel into spools of golden truth, and take the gold or the truth. But know you are made and not the maker, and the echo and not the voice. And we made the fuck. Fuck it all and fuck the echo.
Fuck your black and white photos and James Dean and his smoky cool. And fuck the ashes that fell from his cigarette and into the ground. It wasn't enough to be in the moment because you had to print it again and again and live it over all again. I fuck it, you, the echo, the cool, but never the cool and the gods and the prophets.