Your Ethos
Your Pathos
Your Porthos
Your Aramis
Your Brut Cologne
You're writing home
You are hopeless
Your hopelessness
Is rising around you, rising around you
You like it
It gives you something to do
In the day time
Hey buddy, you need a hobby
You are tired of moving forward
You think of the future
And secretly you piddle your pants
The puddle of piddle
Which used to be little
Is rising around you, rising around you
You like it
It gives you something to do
In the night time
Well, you travel to bars
You also go to Winchell's Doughnuts
And hang out with the Highway Patrol
Sometimes you'll go to a pizza place
You go toSharkey's to get that
American kind of pizza
That has the ugly, waxey, fake yellow kind
Of yellow Cheese on the top...
Then you go to Straw Hat Pizza,
To get all of those artificial ingredients
That never belonged on a pizza in the first place
(But the white people really like it...)
Oh well, you'll go anyplace, you'll do anything
Oh you'll give me your underpants
I hope these aren't yours, buddy...
They're very nice, though
You'll go to Santa Monica Boulevard,
You'll go to the Blue Parrot
No problem, you'll go anyplace
You'll do anything
Just so you can hang out with the others
The others just like you
Afraid of the future
(Death Valley Days, straight ahead)
The future is scary
Yes, it sure is
Well, the puddle is rising
It smells like the ocean
A body of water to isolate England
And also Reseda
The oil, in patches
All over Atlantis, Atlantis
You remember Atlantis
Donovan, the guy with the brocade coat,
Used to sing to you about Atlantis
You loved it, you were so involved then
That was back in the days when you used to
Smoke a banana
You would scrape the stuff off the middle
You would smoke it
You even thought you was getting ripped from it
No problem
Ah Atlantis, they could really get down there
The plankton, the krill
The giant underwater pyramid, the squid decor
Excuse me. Todd
The big ol' giant underwater door
The dome, the bubbles, the blue light
Light, light, light, light
Blue light blue light
The seepage, the sewage, the rubbers, the napkins
Your ethos, your pathos
Your flag hole, your port-hole
Your language
You're frightened
Your future
You can't even speak your own fucking language
You can't read it anymore
You can't write it anymore
Your language
The future of your language
Your meat loaf
Don't let your meat loaf
Heh, Heh, Heh
Your Micro-Nanette
Your Brut
Cologne