What You Gonna Do
[Spoken Word Poetry] Another morning, and there's nothing we can do. The old folks next door fight over Superman 2. Normal discourse— they never speak of divorce. Is theirs a view of contention’s true source? Broken record bores: “It’s mine.” “It’s yours.” Blood in ears roars. Resentment stores, spreads like fungal spores, infecting us down to our cores. You’re an echo in my head, no longer warm in my bed. I still wear your crown. Options down, have to drown this frown. Let’s go— we’re gonna paint this town. [Prog Rock Vocals — Chorus] What you gonna do for pain when you feel a little heartache? Don’t you have a claim to stake? Step back and see how life’s got you down, boy. It’s gonna drive you insane, so you better make a clean break. Doesn’t help to self-medicate. Step up— don’t let life get you down, boy. [Spoken Word Poetry] I try to hide my brain away, but I know it’s too late. Seems an angry demon surgeon stopped by to operate— inserting spiny strands of hangover across my cranial shell. Every movement tears a fresh rent through which creeps more hell. It’s a lie to think that I’m gonna fly when this ladder snaps. Not viable to rely on booze to drag me out of the cracks. In dusty vaults, between grey walls, deep beneath cognition scars, repeats a mumbled mantra: “There must be more than these bars...” [Prog Rock Vocals — Chorus] What you gonna do for pain when you feel a little heartache? Don’t you have a claim to stake? Step back and see how life’s got you down, boy. It’s gonna drive you insane, so you better make a clean break. Doesn’t help to just meditate. Step up— don’t let life get you down, boy. [Spoken Word Poetry] Slow down. It’s nearly three A.M. on sandy shores. Your head spins like a matador. And in this town, you’re just a sponge of insecurities that come to the top when the city screams. Watching daylight soak the makeup on crumbling facades— looks like mascara marks in these streetlights’ stare. Concrete teeth, pockmarked with cavities. A dark symphony, deafening in my city. [Spoken Word Poetry] Dawn cracks and breaks, louder than the voice of God. The old lady next door screams: “Kneel before Zod!” Not well does this bode for today’s episode. Two minutes in, and I’m close to overload. Life defined by time, designed by time, wasting my time. It’s a crime to toe the line— just waiting, hoping, drowning for a sign. No time better. There’s sunny mental weather. I move feet of stone. Too long my roots have grown. Alone, I’m heading for parts unknown. [Prog Rock Vocals — Chorus] What you gonna do for pain when you feel a little heartache? Don’t you have a claim to stake? Step back and see how life’s got you down, boy. It’s gonna drive you insane, so you better make a clean break. Doesn’t help to self-medicate. Step up— don’t let life get you down, boy. [Prog Rock Vocals — Refrain / Outro] What you gonna do? What you gonna do? What you gonna do, yeah? See how life’s got you down, boy. What you gonna do? What you gonna do? What you gonna do, yeah? Don’t let life get you down, boy. [Prog Rock Vocals — Final Chorus Line] What you gonna do for pain when you feel a little heartache?
