Take all your overgrown infants away somewhere
and build them a home a lttle place of their own
the fletcher memorial
home for incurable tyrants and kings
And they can appear tothemselves every day
on closed circuit t.v.
to make sure they're still real
It's the only connection they feel
"ladies and gentelmen, please welcome reagan and haig
mr. begin and friends mrs. thatcher and paisley
mr. brezhnev and party
the gost of mccarthy
the memories of nixon
and now adding colour a group of anonymous latin-
american meat packing glitterati"
did they expect us to treat them with any respect
they can polish their medals and sharpen their
smiles, and amuse themselves playing games for a while
boom boom, bang bang, lie down you're dead
safe in the permanent gaze of a gold glass eye
with their favourite toys
they'll be good girls and boys
in the fletcher memorial home for colonial
wasters of life and limb
is everyone in?
are you having a nice time?
now the final solution can be applied
Remember when you were young, you shone like the sun.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Now there's a look in your eyes, like black holes in the sky.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
You were caught on the crossfire of childhood and stardom,
blown on the steel breeze.
Come on you target for faraway laughter,
come on you stranger, you legend, you martyr, and shine!
You reached for the secret too soon, you cried for the moon.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Threatened by shadows at night, and exposed in the light.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Well you wore out your welcome with random precision,
rode on the steel breeze.
Come on you raver, you seer of visions,
come on you painter, you piper, you prisoner, and shine!
Nobody knows where you are, how near or how far.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
Pile on many more layers and I'll be joining you there.
Shine on you crazy diamond.
And we'll bask in the shadow of yesterday's triumph,
sail on the steel breeze.
Come on you boy child, you winner and loser,
come on you miner for truth and delusion, and shine
I Am Produced
Guided By Voices
I am pressed, printed, stomped
And strategically removed
I am everybody
Insane without innocence
I am trapped, tricked, packaged
And shipped out
I am produced
I am produced
Pressed, printed, stomped, tripped
Trapped, tricked, packaged, shipped...
(the prisoner leaves limping)
Game Of Pricks
Guided By Voices
I've waited too long to have you
Hide in the back of me
I've cheated so long I wonder
How you keep track of me
You could never be strong
You can only be free
And I never asked for the truth
But you owe that to me
I've entered the game of pricks
With knives in the back of me
Can't call you or on you no more
When they're attacking me
I'll climb up on the house
Weep to water the trees
And when you come calling me down
I'll put on my disease
You could never be strong
You can only be free
And I never asked for the truth
But you owe that to me
And I never asked for the truth
But you owe that to me
And I never asked for the truth
But you owe that to me
(i think this song could be applied to any number of sittuations, love, work, politics)
