We let ourselves become so damned comfortable,
Here in our crowded rocks-
And you let yourself become so damned vulnerable,
There on your battered island-
What I knew of life,
you selfless bastard,
I had begun to accept.
What you learned from life,
you helpless shepherd,
You had begun to disown.
Explain your answer in words I understand, Mister Cobain.
Suck the naked mystery out of this fucking lie of yours;
You felt the fire in your belly, until you could feel no more-
Now feel our fires, you tortured puppet.
I'm pissed off, Kurt, so I do the little word dance on your brave little head;
I'm confused, Kurt, so I do the the little morbid shuffle for the unwashed dead.
You're a little hippie hero to the sheep who want your songs.
DEAD HEROES SUCK.
No apologies.
