Roger likes the original master tapes better. Oh, Roger,
You and your book of shitty Jim Morrison poems,
Out scowling to dubstep, on the same old mix…
Aren’t alcoholics, like, drawn to the art of self-sampling,
New manifestos clipped-and-pasted around a document
Of antiquity? It’s not like we’re smoking flat cigarette butts.
And where in red-eyed hell are my other bandmates’ butts?
Surely not at Su Casa strangling magic 8-Balls with Roger.
I feel sort of fine here, studio-locked, listening to R.E.M.’s Document
And on-and-off writing my own shitty Jim Morrison poems.
They’re off sucking whatever the cheap marrow of sex has left for sampling,
I bet, maybe throwing wild rock star roleplay in the mix.
But it’s not like I’m myself a natural chemist of the mix,
Ridley the ‘Loupe nail-bitten to his rindy buts,
What with my thing for Cracker Barrel’s breakfast sampler.
It’s cost-effective, but Kim craves candlelight, scowls like Roger.
For every cent, a pocketed middle finger, and these poems,
My purlieus, they aren’t changing shit, cannot be my document.
We suburban-spoiled Aspirants deserve an MTV film crew to document
This total jest of a band, dead as David Wallace. The mythical Oreoboros, a mix
Of beasts sweet and cakewalk-circular and rare as Jim Morrison poems,
Silly fucker pawed our doormat, coiled up, hissed, and grinned. But
It’s become a pet to Roger.
He’s playing ping-pong with it now, I think, or something.
And, OK, it sucks to scrap an album for something different,
But Vacuum could be Sgt. Pepper shit – a fucking document.
Here I am: human product placement, bitching about Roger
On Saturday, eleven-eleven, in studio with my G&T mix,
Doggy paddling around valent Proteus like mad, but
Why? What redeems a shitty Jim Morrison poem?
Oh, Jim Morrison, you and your obvious book of crisis poems,
I “feel yuh,” as they say. God, the awful solace of timeless two a.m.
You amble the outskirts of smalltalk with the Midnight Rambler, but
How annotated can one make a single page?
Shout-outs to Nana and Granddad: this is the Ridley Lark remix,
Dedicated to you and you and you. Even you, Roger.
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