作曲 : Spoken Word
My face looked like it has been jammed into the spokes of speeding Harley,
and the only thing keeping me awake was the spastic pain of a broken rib.
It had been a bad trip
-- fastened while in some moments, slow and dirty in others.
But on balance,
it looked like a bummer.
On my way back to San Francisco,
I tried to compose a fitting appetite.
I wanted something original,
but there was no escaping the echo of Mrs. Kurt's final words from the heart of darkness.
The horror, the horror... exterminate all the brutes.