Kurtly Speaking 

                  Tell me, Father, for I must know, 
         Is there a fire down below? 
                  Is there a flame in which to burn? 
         Is there a Hell, for which to yearn? 
                  Is there a reason why we're born 
         To all this ridicule and scorn? 
                  Is there a meaning for all this pain? 
                         - Do you remember Kurt Cobain? 
         Is there a reason to go on? 
                  Tell me true, for I'm your son. 
         What is the point of being right, 
                  When the world is always wrong? 
         What's the point of singing... 
                  When you've forgotten the song? 
                            In my mind, a gentle weeping: 
                            The one I gave my soul for keeping. 

            The future is faded graffiti scrawled 
            In some old, forgotten rune: 
            What's the point of whistling 
            When they keep changing the tune? 
            How long must I twist and squirm 
            And scream my rage at you? 
            Trapped in your rhetoric, 
            Impaled on your point of view? 

                  There are no more answers to find, 
                         There is only blinding pain: 
                  For someone stole my memories 
                         - And I can never find them again! 

                            No Dragons to slay, no Maids to tame 
                            Oh, I'm tired of this silly game! 

            They say youth is the eternal now - 
            But tell me Father, tell me how... 
            How can I ever compromise 
            Drowning in your tired lies? 
                  Your memory's forgiven, 
                         Your mouth is out of synch... 
                  Your demise is a given... 
                         - But not the way you'd think! 

         They say I'm too young to drink or vote 
                  But I think I'll have another sip: 
         Locked inside my frozen brain 
                  I oil the gun and load the clip. 
         Thank you for the kind words, Father, 
                  Thank you for the pain, 
         Guess I'll visit my favourite school 
                         - And never bother you again! 

                              For what is Time, and what is Space 
                              When there's a pimple on my face? 


(C) Copyright 1999
All Rights Reserved

The Nexus Collection:




D-Day 2000

Dead Boys and Frozen Girls

Kurtly Speaking 
Lady Jezebel
Lizard Dreams

My Lady's Eyes 

The Call
Death of a City
The Kindred

Through a Crystal, Darkly