John Wayne’s left hook, through a telegraphed culture shook coordinates to take our place, to stage a scene with cigarettes. And this playground that you call a man, a rough and heartless specimen. I claim if all the stars can coincide, if particles can still collide here, in way he’ll never die. But he won’t be around anymore. But i’m hoping all of that will change, just let your fresh pressed freak flag fly
and then never look back again. I really mean it, never look back again.
Clark Gable’s charm, came complete with a trophy arm. Leading ladies flock to meet decrees, the expensive taste of eye candy. And this playground that you call a man, a timid awkward Bukowski. Defying all the latest savoir-faire going for a man like me, in a way I’ll never die, but I wont be back again. But i’m hoping all of that will change, I’m hoping of all this will change…. but it won’t.
Strong traditions make a body lose control again, to balance scales and sin.
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