| He apologized to the folks in the back row who got splattered in blood at the
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| last show
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| He apologized for the spit and sweat that dripped off of his skin and his chest,
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| but none the less
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| He should have apologized for things that he never did when he should,
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| and things that he did when he shouldn’t
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| Of all those sins that gathered up to form a fifty foot dragon sleeping in a
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| labyrinth inside of his brain cavity stagnant
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| GG Allin threatened to blow out his brains on the stage, but when death day
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| came it was quiet and tame
|
| And there’s the one about the girl in Berlin who jumped out a window when her
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| people convinced her suicide was performance
|
| Bad jokes about bad people in bad bars make the bad worse and make the good
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| crash cars
|
| So have you heard the one about the one man band?
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| I heard he sang like an angel before he hanged
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| So have you heard the one about the one man band, yes the one man band?
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| Yeah, I heard it…
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| But it’s too soon to laugh about his follies in the past
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| About the way that he got fat and couldn’t keep it in his pants
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| And I remember lies about five figure record deals
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| Headlining bills and lines when he tried to convince me everything was real
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| But it was a crying shame seeing him lye in pain after realizing the way he
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| wasted time and again
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| They dangled the prize in front of his tired eyes like arcade toy cranes with
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| no claws to play
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| He used to sing, «god damn another one of God’s bad jokes»
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| When he stabs and pokes at her last hopes
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| We were young once, we wrote songs about not giving a fuck, acting like we had
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| some guts
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| Laughing on a bar stool dumb, drunk, his one hand fiddled with some nuts while
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| the other held the mug
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| And every crease in his face was a fault line that looked like it had been
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| drawn there at the beginning of time
|
| But he was only 45 when he died with no family left behind, just instruments
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| and a mic
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| And the story goes that he cried like a baby as he tied the noose waiting for
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| someone to come and save him |