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Inglow

de Mike Keneally

You're not Jesus or Popeye the Sailor
You are Louie, an eminently capable purveyor of flava
Ostracized since the day you were tardy
Mesmerized by the tight, eternal freeze-frame of Herschel Bernardi

Rave on, son.
Louie!

Placed your faith in a bucket of danger
Graduated semi-Summa Cum Laude, mama, tried as a traitor.
Now your home and your culture have failed ya
Centerzone X: you were hard and qualified for light bacchanalia

Dream away...because?
'Cause any gasp could be the last.
Love is here. Did you notice? Now's the time.

I tell myself to say these things out loud but nothing's coming out.
I can't believe what's going on. How can people act this way?

(Our strength insults the world and everything beyond.
Karma careens, returns. Don't have to like the taste.
Excuse us, we'll go home. Stop poisoning the pond.
And learn what we've become before we show our face again.)

Hey, Don!

Train S. Train is a-comin' up slowly
Can your brain, your Louie brain, uh, take a ride?
(I think there's also a pony)
Louie finds it's getting harder to get off
He reminds himself to stop himself
Forget himself
He's screaming his head off

Louie!

Corporate dreams
International favors
Special bee-stings and enigmatic powermaidens eager to date ya

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