fred_kane's profile

Time, it’s all me, gotta Rolex arm. Got some time to kill, and you’re just another animal. Time is precious, how I use it means if I’m canonized or just another cannibal. You admire me, how I cut through the fast lane, but you're afraid I’m sure to get there first. You lay a trap, but I’m too quick with the wheels, and I’ll just get dirty if you do your worst. Loathe me? Love me. (Chorus:) I can’t divorce myself from myself. To hit and run is integrated with my soul. I can’t divorce myself fr...

She’s a cool Goth angel splattered on the floor, pictured dead in her long black dress. She’s made this statement before. Even when I’m on acid, she keeps that shade of red all around her bone white face, like roses growing out of her head. Damn! Who would be her man? Damned. Well, I guess I am. She’s faking death by aggression. That photo is a sign of the times kinda like my obsession. So don’t you say it’s a crime when I can get over and put her under me. You would pay to see the picture th...

Girl, you look so blown away, let’s leave this joint, take us a trip. You’re making me a man with a mission, and baby I know that you’re hip. Let me throw back this Jack, and get that warm glow in my guts. You’ll like me better when I’m tighter than the Tin Man’s rusted nuts. Let’s leave the losers to their cowardly lyin’. I know a witch who’s sweet. She would melt in the pouring rain, and she’s got the sugar we need. Dorothy you ain’t in Kansas, anymore Dorothy, you know ‘saint Kansas, anymo...

I sold my soul years ago, and discovered souls go cheap. In a back road religion of the fast lane god, was the shepherd of strung out sheep. We worshiped blindly, but our church was rock, lived our prayers while our profits bled - All was spent for an ascent on wings of decibels, and other ways to get out of our heads. Our choir, hard- voiced screaming guitars, sang our praises home. From the metal clergy, to the acid saints. May they reign forever over our bones. “I will not sell out.” was o...

Zombie tune stays in my head, and I don’t feel the cold. An absinthe warmth, silver bullets, and a lonesome road is all I need this full moon night, and it’s all I have. This,and two wheels of British steel. My smile becomes a laugh (a joke I heard last century, told by a cherished ghost.) Approaching dawn at my back, my headlight at the coast, feeling mythical California. Feeling mythical California. What is said of California: The World. The World, it ends there.