As you look around this room tonight
Settle in your seat and dim the lights
Do you want my blood
Do you want my tears
What do you want?
What do you want from me?
Should I sing until I can't sing any more
Play these strings until my fingers are raw
You're so hard to please
What do you want from me?
Do you think I know something you don't know?
If I don't promise you the answers would you go?
Should I stand out in the rain?
Do you want me to make a daisy chain for you?
I'm not the one you need
What do you want from me?
Disclaimer The
Neurotic One shall use this narcissistic recluse to blow his own trumpet, to
question the parentage of Communists and to blast the world for what it is.
Readers who do not concur, are requested to bend over and kiss his buttocks.
Readers are also strongly advised against side effects of reading Neurotica,
such as strong nausea, splitting headaches, insomnia, visions of Baba Sehgal
chasing you in a thong, suicidal depression, delirium, anti social behaviour,
transformtion into an ugly toad, nightmares about ugly and naked fat men, STDs,
Kafka dreams or brief flashes of intelligence.
If you do feel these side effects, oh well. Sue me.
