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Karaoke Jigoku

I missed the plane,
oh, what a shame,
Before You Came,

The worst thing is that we are all perfectly sober. That's the problem.

I missed the plane,
I missed the plane,
Before You Came,

They put a glass of water when you arrive. A glass of water overnight, to accompany this dish snack saltier than the Dead Sea. Doors and windows closed. Light all stoves. You sit in lawn chairs, white wrought iron, and I planted the letter of songs. But all songs are the same. The damn "I missed the plane" of Heaven Sucks. One after another. Always.

Oh, what a shame,
I missed the plane,
I missed the plane,

No choice. We are condemned to sing and listen at all hours, nonstop. And do not tell us a little not deserve it. Especially me, after what I did. But I think it starts to come a broadening of the repertoire. Another issue is all we ask. End up going crazy demons. I've seen men lose their eardrums two meters, literally, for much less cruel tortures. I myself have been about to tear it in a fit of lucidity or despair, but they prevented it. Them again.

Oh, what a shame,
Before You Came,
Before You Came,

The song fucking Sucks Heaven, there is nothing. They could not punished us "My Way" for Sinatra, who also provided. Or any of the Platters, even if they were black. No. They had to be the Heaven Sucks. Fuck. The most stupid band of the eighties. Here we believe that we like because they are surfers from California, but no. In fact, much as they hate them. Even much more.

I missed the plane,
oh, what a shame,
Before You Came,

I had to sing it so many times in recent weeks to leave I would improvise higher tones, sometimes more serious, looking for new shades, unknown, unheard of at this point appears in the invisible textures of sound. Here you see me, I'm a daredevil explorer. A renewed awareness of the unpleasant music of 80's garage. At my age.

Before you came,
Before You Came,
Before You Came,

is the first thing we explain to arrive. This is the punishment for those who fucked with their own kind. And, each time emphasizing the word shit, the bastards I look with particular rancor. Damn, it has been more than sixty years after that. These fucking Japanese do not know the meaning of the word forgiveness.

Oh, what a shame,
oh, what a shame,
oh, what a shame,

Then they call you. They say: Paul Tibbets, sing. Or, directly, you push the sound stage while the first blows of battery-box, box, dish, box. Box dish, indicating that, once again, start the fucking nightmare. Colored lights: red, yellow, blue. Red, green, white. To the rhythm of each line. In that order.

I missed the plane,
I missed the plane,
I missed the plane,

say your name, yes. And then you know you're screwed. As you sing you spend a lot of pictures over your head. I think I left everything down there. In the first exhibition. In children running after candy clouds. In the glorious flag of the United States of America. These things help me, yeah. I try not to think in Hiroshima, but these bastards are responsible for reminding me every time I go to sing. They are the cursed video accompanying the song credits.

I missed the plane,
oh, what a shame,
oh, what a shame,

But I tell you one thing: Nagasaki and Hiroshima, a joke of children compared with this. That was to give a button. There is no button that can stop this torture. And if there is, of course, is not within our scope. I speak knowingly. We have tried on more than one occasion.

Before you came,
I missed the plane,
I missed the plane,

I have to go. My turn again. I just hope that the American hell, yellow bastards, tofu burgers, which swept through Pearl Harbor, the fry are to sing "Enola Gay".




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