KRISTEENYOUNG

Kill The Father

London Cry

Mixed Kids

(But It's All Just) Imagined

You Ruined Everything

Under a Landlocked Moon

9

Life's Not Short, It's SOOOO Long

This Is The Dawn Of My D-Day

Dead Wrong

Before

Kill The Father

Push Prince off his heels and feel…free
Deflate, to their death, Led Zep….free
Forget Gang of Four. It’s not hard…free
Silence Kurt Cobain’s life pain…free

Look at our stage now.
Full of Fathers now.
Get off our stage. We’ll take it from here now.
KILL THE FATHER.

Blondie’s disco ball could fall…free
Strangle Bowie with his neckerchief…free
Jimi, like his guitar, we’ll set-a-fire…free
Destroy, pistol whip, Johhny Lip…free

Look at our stage now.
Full of yester now.
This is my stage. I’ll take it from here now.
KILL THE FATHER.

Look at our stage now.
What do we say now?
Get a backbone. There’s work to be done now.
KILL THE FATHER.
SHOOT THE MOTHER.
CUT THE APRON…strings.

Plant Lou Underground, way down…free
It’s all over. There’s no Cure…free
Punch holes in The Beatles’ yellow boat…free
Karma clearly does not exist.

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London Cry

When we were mad and magic,
we’d fly with no wings added.
They said, “You can’t.” Then, we believed it.
Burning up. Then, down again.
We hit the ground like mortals.
We seemed to lose the portal.
And now, it’s all just scabs and schedules.
Burning up. Then, down again.
Burning up. Then, down again.
Burning up. Then, down…

Like Josephine and Jimi,
we’ll step while we can still dream,
and pilgrim to the mystic city.
Burning up. Then, down again.
Burning up. Then, down again.
Burning up. Then, down…

Oooh, pillar of time, oooh,
Oooh, dear Gods, hear my London cry.
The London Eye sees outside. Cry.

You know, it’s sad and tragic,
that in our homeland crap rich,
the more they have the more they’re depressive.
Burning up. Then, down again.
Burning up. Then, down again.

They talk about their freedom,
but, if you’ve ever seen ‘em,
it’s been inside their hand held prison.
Burning up. Then, down again.
Burning up. Then, down again.
Burning up. Then, down…

Oooh, pillar of time, oooh,
Oooh, dear Gods, hear my London cry.
The London Eye sees outside. Cry.
Oooh, pillar of time, oooh,
Oooh, dear Gods, hear my London cry.
The London Eye sees outside. Cry. Cry. Cry.

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Mixed Kids

strange combination, strange combination
strange combination can pop the lock
all my life. i'd be walking down the street
and people would stare until they'd finally spit it out
"what are you?!"
i'm liberation, sexually, the sharp shot
the revolution's fertility you forgot
and then there were times
when i'd play a song i wrote
people would look confused
until they'd finally spit it out
"what are you?!"
i'm liberation, sexually, the sharp shot
the revolution's fertility you forgot
you try to name it, but we're all mixed up
you can't conceive it, there's a new mix up
we're so down, we mix it up
mixed kids get it
mixed kids pop the lock
strange combination, strange combination
strange combination can pop the lock
now, there are those who look
at the people at my shows, and ask
"who are they?" "what are they?"
'til they finally spit 'em out
"what are you?!"
we're liberation, sexually, the sharp shot
the revolution's fertility you forgot
you try to name it, but we're all mixed up
you can't conceive it, there's a new mix up
we're so down, we mix it up
mixed kids get it
mixed kids pop the lock
now
you try to name it, but we're all mixed up
you can't conceive it, there's a new mix up
we're so down, we mix it up
mixed kids get it
mixed kids pop the lock
you try to name it, but we're all mixed up
you can't conceive it, there's a new mix up
we're so down, we mix it up
mixed kids get it. mixed kids pop the...
mixed kids know it... mixed kids can't be...
mixed kids see it... mixed kids are magical...
and so are we all... and so are we all... and so are we all... and so are we all... mixed kids
and so are we all... and so are we all... and so are we all... and so are we all... mixed kids
and so are we all... and so are we all...
.

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(But It's All Just) Imagined

He was tight pants, juicy fruit, worlds in my room.
He was H.R. Puff-n-Stuff, and magic flutes.
His time made minds amplified, and Starburst Fruit Chews.
His time made love to stranger kinds, and wet dreams came true…

He told me…
it’s all possible.
Take it from me.
And that was music to me.

My time burns its songs and makes copies for you.
I look out this frozen screen I can’t fit through.

He grieves for me.
I can’t get off the ground
he broke for me.
That’s been music to me.

…And I’ve imagined the love.
…And I’ve imagined the freedom.
…And I’ve imagined everything working out.
…But it’s all just imagined.

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You Ruined Everything

Everything is great, babe.
Yeah, god is good.
I’m a solid weeknight draw
in my neighbourhood.
After only 10 years there’s 553
on my worldwide e-mail list.
It’s all happening for me.

Then, like Adam’s Eve, I ate from your tree,
and tasted how sweet life could be.
And it ruined everything.

I’ve met everyone who is loved.
They say I’m a star.
They work with me in their spare time
‘cause it could do no harm.
and every label who’s heard me
says I’m interesting.
Now, I’m sure that’s a good thing.
It’s gonna happen for me.

But, you’re Dorian Gray, and I’m Sybil Vane.
Now you fulfill me in all ways.
You ruined everything.
You ruined everything.

Your almond eyes just kill me.
Ah, ah. Ah, ah. Ah, ah.

You ruined everything.
You ruined everything.
You ruined everything.
You ruined everything.

Everything is great, babe.
Everything’s just great babe.
Everything is great.
Yeah, god is good.

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Under a Landlocked Moon

                    Middle America can’t handle this, right?
(you say)      Middle America’s conservative, right?
(you say)      Kansas City’s where the problem is, right?
                   But, you don’t even know what state it’s in.

                   I’ve seen what weapons clothes can be.
                   And I know only devil music sets you free.
                   And I had the kind of sex that says, “fuck you,”
                   under a landlocked moon.

                   Middle America won’t understand, right?
(you know) Middle America’s so straight and bland, right?
(you know)   Omaha’s waved-off with your hand, right?
                   But you don’t know the lay of the land.

                   Many have the Indian in us.
                   And many were the covens that I came across.
                   Plenty is the sex just for something to do,
                   under a landlocked moon.

Middle America’s a big fat waist, right?
(you think) Middle America ain’t got no taste, right?
(you think) St. Louis is in your database, right?
But you don’t know exactly where it’s placed.

                   Middle America, America
                   Under a landlocked moon, a landlocked moon
                   Middle America, America
                   Under a landlocked moon, a landlocked moon

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9

It’s sweet like salt, like sugar, like powder white I move
soft. Hit silk, hit giggles, hit mother’s milk. I soothe.

But, I am tape
I’ve erased.
Re-record, play
for what I say.
I’ve watched close.
I took notes.
Learned by rote
what to show.

You don’t know what you’re dealing with.
You don’t know who I am, I am, I am. No, no, no.
You don’t know what you’re dealing with.
You don’t know who I am, I am, I am. No, no, no.

I’m cool as glass, as clean lines. Sweet butter’s safe in my mouth.
It smiles. It comforts. It echoes you as you talk.

But, I am tape,
glue and paste,
papier-mache
overlaid.
Windy days
can tear away
my display
I can’t constrain.

You don’t know what you’re dealing with.
You don’t know who I am, I am, I am. No, no, no.
You don’t know what you’re dealing with.
You don’t know who I am, I am, I am. No, no, no.

Please.

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Life's Not Short, It's SOOOO Long

Waiting to turn 18…life’s not short; it’s so long.
Waiting to be cut free…life’s not short; it’s so long.

Please, change this course.
Life’s not short; it’s so long.

Waiting for 5:15…life’s not short; it’s so long.
Where is my childhood dream? Life’s not short; it’s so long.

Please, change my course.
Life’s not short; it’s so long.
Please, change my stars.
Life’s not short; it’s so long.
Life’s not short; it’s so long.
Life’s not short; it’s…

Sorcery, intervene!
Hurry! I’m like glass.
Toad and Owl, Save me now!
Hurry! I’m just flesh.
Hurry! Flesh don’t last.
Hurry! Life’s not fast.

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This Is The Dawn Of My D-Day

On this ship of spawn and bomb,
this is the dawn of my d-day.
Dismissed, wrong all along.
I’ve had enough. It’s not enough. Get me off.

I saw your sweet scars,
and I’m like, “Doo doo doo.”
If we’re defects, let’s
runaway, runaway, runaway, runaway.

On this chick you belong upon.
You make me feel like Saturday.
You gift, wish from a wand beyond,
I got your fit. I’m your fit, my misfit.

Let’s take your hot rod,
And be like, “Doo doo doo.”
We’ll peel out and
runaway, runaway, runaway, runaway,
runaway, runaway, runaway, runaway.

Rome, Lyon, Omsk,
Let’s go.
Oz, Mars, all fours,
Let’s go.

I know you’re hurting,
and you’re like, “Doo doo doo.”
Just take my hand, we’ll
runaway, runaway, runaway, runaway.

I’ll be your statesman.
Your guru, “Doo doo doo,”
your mobile home. Let’s
runaway, runaway, runaway, runaway,
runaway, runaway, runaway, runaway,
runaway, runaway, runaway, runaway,
runaway, runaway, runaway,
runaway.

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Dead Wrong

Import, export, traded-off;
They didn’t expect me when they got off.

Sale. Clearance.

I changed hands, changed plans, was on the ball,
but they never seemed pleased with their purchase at all.

Sale. Knocked-down. Hammered-out…and singing…

I researched expert demography.
Then, customized and cut until there was no me.

Sale. Close-out.

Write-off, no loss, nullified;
But I know I could enhance your quality of life.

Sale. Unload. Bottom-out…and singing…

“Get it right now…now or never.
Always dead wrong. Dead wrong.
Get it right now…now or never.
Always dead wrong. Dead wrong.”

Last chance, revamp; I got it now!
I know you’re going to like me. I figured it out.

Dead wrong.

Import, export, sorted-out;
But don’t forget to call me when things turn around.

Dead wrong…and gone

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Before

Before the drummer can say, “It’s gay,”
it’s my baby.
Before the producer can take parts away,
I’ll play all day. Hey!

This is my song I love
it just how it is,
right now.
You should call yourself “Lucky Duck”
to hear it
at all.

Before the e-mails express it’s not my best,
I feel blessed.
Before the labels molest with silence,
it’s all success. Yes.

This is my song dead on.
Not one note is wrong.
No none.
You should please hold your tongue.
Your thoughts are so dumb
and wrong (ho hum).

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