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When the sun burns it's not out of revenge,
Merely an assertion of dominance,
Or maybe definition through omnipresence,
This city has it's own life in a literal sense,
The Industry, the Industry,
Talk to me please,
You've surely seen the movies of the people on their knees,
The imitation of life exacted on a screen,
It's no surprise as Hollywood controls all of the means
Cruising in the afternoon in your rented car,
We're taking it past Western on the Boulevard,
We're gonna sip our sodas with the posers on Vermont,
But I don't give a shit,
It's on another plane I'm on,
I don't give a shit,
It answers why I'm here,
Nothing as contrived as culture or career,
We're living in the limbo that's become the DMZ,
Where voices of the future call the voice of history
Cruising in the afternoon, indulging in the signs,
I'm burning every strip mall in places in my mind,
The crippling visions,
So easy comes the hate,
Rice and beans and sour cream are blurring on my plate,
Stagger down Pico,
Step on every crack,
Sweat and smog concoction glues my shirt to my back,
7-11s help to keep my mind clear,
I have to admit I don't really hate it here
- Álbum:
- Miscellaneous
- Quetzalcoatl
- She Has No Control
- Open Road: The Allied Years (1992–1997)
- Nostalgic for Nothing
- J Church / Storm the Tower - Split EP
- How to Be Punk, Volume 1
- Return of the Read Menace
- The Precession of Simulacra - The Map Preceeds the Territory
- Five Years on the Streets
- Yellow, Blue and Green
- Camels, Spilled Corona and the Sound of Mariachi Bands
- One Mississippi
- The Drama of Alienation
- Mailorder is FUN!
- Arbor Vitae
- The Year of the Rat
- Prophylaxis
- Analysis, Yes, Very Nice
- Society Is a Carnivorous Flower