Late Night Show - Vincent Minor, Headache

I sow and I reap

I’m my worst enemy

I’m losing memory

All I need is a little hit of E. C. T.

I knock myself out

I always do that

My luck is never learned

And it pulls the wisdom out of my teeth

He’s indoctrinated with a pregnant point of view

He’s constipated on a treadmill

On the late night, late night show

On the late night, late night show

I’ll use my camera

So I can’t distort

Or warp what’s really there

'Cause I’ll see witches in cupboards

Catching killers

I’ll drink some Chianti

And read some Freudy

Double-dutch with Morrissey

And tap a secret in morse code…

… To Brian in the desert who’s doing L. S. D.

Sugar glider on your shoulder drew maps on me On my body body, on my body body

Marching bands dance migraine heads to sleep

And a gentle touch of a masculine man

R.I.P.

R.I.P.

R.I.P.

Rest In Peace

So get your masts out

Sail to the jungle of your 9 to 5

I got 5 to 9 stuck on the 405

His thoughts run in circles on conveyer belts

He’s balanced on a thin string when he sees a mouse

When my mouth opens… Comes out

On the late night, late night show…