Look at me now. Impotent. Can’t strike a kill unless the charts
are right. Stuck in my image. Stuck in a mansion. Waiting. Waiting for a kid
who’s probably just like me. Just like I was then. A young blood. And I gotta
off him. I gotta roll him or he’ll roll me. We’re fightin’ ourselves. Just like
turnin’ the blade on ourselves. Suicide, man. Maybe Little Willard was right.
Blow your fuckin’ brains out. The whole thing’s a joke. Stick a gun in your
fuckin’ mouth and pull the trigger. That’s what it’s all about. That’s what
we’re doin’. He’s my brother and I gotta kill him. He’s gotta kill me. Jimmy
Dean was right. Drive the fuckin’ Spider till it stings ya’ to death. Crack up
your soul! Jackson Pollock! Duane Allman! Break it open! Pull the trigger! Trigger
me! Trigger you! Drive it off a cliff! It’s an open highway. Long and clean and
deadly beautiful. Deadly and lonesome as a jukebox… Alone. That’s me. Alone.
That’s us. All fucking alone. All of us. So don’t go off in your private rooms
with pity in mind. Your day is comin’. The mark’ll come down to you one way or
the other.
from "The Tooth of Crime", first performed in 1972
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