Brian Wilson - D-Sisive

Wouldn’t it be nice if I were younger

Rewind a couple years and find hunger

Now I stick another candle in the cake

Another year without an album to my name

All I do is sleep with a blanket on my face

Wake up and add on to my weight

Fuck tryin' put a salad on my plate

You can’t make friends with salad anyways…

Twelve songs could have me on a road

And one hit could have me going gold

Trust me — they had me on a road

Dad yelling

«Los Angeles is on the phone!»

Whatever Happened to the Music was the song

They thought would get me on the Rolling Stone

A rant over looped Green Day guitars

And all they need were eleven more

But I was bored

The shit was too easy

I’m the motherfuckin' man is what I believed

Listening to you was beneath me

Big-headed like Christina Ricci

I slept and let a couple months past me

Whatever happened to the music is what they asked me

I told you — I’m writin', chill son

I’m finishing tomorrow, I’m tired

Time to go to bed — Brian Wilson

I started at the bottom and I stayed there

Felt like I laid there for eight years

Slept deeper than the end that I dove in

Desmond Howell in a bathrobe, soakin'

Confused, forgot what I wanted

Lost the spark that I had when I started

Burned out, exhausted

Went from potential to false promises to gone

I vanished into thin wind slow

A fat guy in a ripped little coat

Dad died and I slipped in a coma

I was awake but I listened to no one

I was distant, I was pissed off

I was the last living Christoff

And I was angry with the other side of my window

A side that I wasn’t built for

A side that I wasn’t fit for

Convinced I was better off indoors

Until my pills ran out and my killed buzz

Makes me sick till I refill my script-up

My only reason to sit up

And I’m supposed to pen songs to some kickdrums?

Give me the night and I’ll finish up

I’m tired, time to go to bed

Brian Wilson

Friday’s child

Born a little ugly

Friday’s child

Good looks passed her by

Friday’s child

Makes something look like nothing