“Whatever gets you through the night, it’s all right. It’s all right. It’s your money or your life. It’s all right, it’s all right. Don’t need a sword to cut through flowers,” John Lennon, Whatever Gets You Thru the Night
What in the hell was going down at John Lennon’s house in the middle of the night? My choices in the middle of the night are, “Do I watch Fresh Prince of Bel Air” on TV Land or “The Cosby Show” on Nick at Nite? John Lennon’s choices are his money or his life? What kind of choices are those? That’s not all right, John. That is actually pretty awful. And why is there a sword involved? You know who owns swords? People who are either way too into the Lord of the Rings or people who are way to into Martial Arts. What the hell is he doing cutting flowers in the night anyways? Here’s what will get you through the night: an Ambien.
Showing posts with label John Lennon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label John Lennon. Show all posts
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Disgusting Lyric of the Day 53: Life Is Real (Song for Lennon) by Queen
"Guilt stains on my pillow. Blood on my terraces. Torsos in my closet, shadows from my past. Life is real...Breast-feeding myself, what more can I say?" – Queen, Life is Real (Song for Lennon)
Surely when Freddie Mercury walked through the gates of heaven, John Lennon was standing there, waiting with his arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, a heavenly iPod next to him softly playing "Life Is Real." "You want to explain this?" he probably said. To which Freddie presumably struck a pose and belted out an impromptu call-and-response scat with the members of Marshall's 1970 Thundering Herd football team.
Apart from that, how would you explain why your tribute to a recently departed, beloved fellow musician was a confusing laundry list of unpleasantness, including "torsos in my closet," and "guilt stains on my pillow?" Had they shared an interest in callisthenic masturbation and dismembered murder-trophies?
I like to think that when the Central Park Strawberry Fields Memorial was being constructed in '85, Yoko Ono sat down with the designers and discussed whether to make "torsos in my closet" or "breastfeeding myself" the centerpiece engraving before deciding to compromise on simply "Imagine."
Surely when Freddie Mercury walked through the gates of heaven, John Lennon was standing there, waiting with his arms crossed, eyebrow cocked, a heavenly iPod next to him softly playing "Life Is Real." "You want to explain this?" he probably said. To which Freddie presumably struck a pose and belted out an impromptu call-and-response scat with the members of Marshall's 1970 Thundering Herd football team.
Apart from that, how would you explain why your tribute to a recently departed, beloved fellow musician was a confusing laundry list of unpleasantness, including "torsos in my closet," and "guilt stains on my pillow?" Had they shared an interest in callisthenic masturbation and dismembered murder-trophies?
I like to think that when the Central Park Strawberry Fields Memorial was being constructed in '85, Yoko Ono sat down with the designers and discussed whether to make "torsos in my closet" or "breastfeeding myself" the centerpiece engraving before deciding to compromise on simply "Imagine."
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