Off and on, in rhythm.
Shell, Hell, Shell, Hell.
Heaven, hell,
This is heaven, this is hell.
A hairbrush as a microphone.
A good parking spot.
A new pen.
A hug from love.
A wish on an eyelash.
Sometimes you find
on any old night
under the gas station light,
that Life can sometimes be so simple,
So bright.
A dead compatriot.
A lost job.
A lot of monsters.
A reminder of mortality.
A song that makes you feel something.
The low points of Heaven
and the high points of Hell
add down to equal an iniquitous unfair fight
against time and age,
and the stage is just pumping unleaded into a Chevy Blazer.