Rare, Good Mood

Well I've been sitting around lately
in between masturbation and mailing letters I've written to satan,
If I killed mark David chapman,
Would I become John Lennon
Or would I just become another patient?

I'm in a rare good mood.
I'm in a bare-bones world.
I'm in a chilled, dim room
With my face against the hardwood floor.

So now it's sitting around the place all day,
Just me and the dog and our thoughts on god,
And the dog's thoughts on who should be stopped 
And I wish he'd be a little patient.

I'm in a rare, good mood
And I'm in-and-out the door
Working up a real good brood
With my faith hanging from a salad fork.

Took a long, night walk down the empty street.
That's just me and me and me and me.
That is to say me and my shadows three.
Now that's a stiff crowd of company
And perhaps we all should be patients.

But we're in such a rare, good mood
And I'm insect-tall.
And like an angel from the sky, 
It's hard to catch the fall.

They wanna know what I think.
They wanna spy what I see.
These alien invaders aren't on the television screen.
That's why I watch the neighbors; because they're watching me
But they don't know I'm god
And oh, so patient...


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