This is a song we used to sing as kids on drives to Minnesota. It came to mind tonight during a discussion about my idea to feed rare-earth magnets to dogs in order to have tin cans chase them around.

I love this. I think I will make a metal version of it.


I'm looking over
My dead dog, Rover
That I overlooked before

One leg is missing, the other is gone -
The third leg is laying
On our. front. lawn....

No need explaining
The one remaining,
Is down by the cellar dooooooor

I'm looking over my dead dog, Rover
That I overlooked
That I overlooked
That I overlooked before!

I bought another guitar today. A Stratocaster.

American-made neck with Rosewood fingerboard; Nicaraguan mahogany body, vintage Fender pickups in mid and neck position, plus a hot noiseless pickup at the bridge. Vintage tremolo.

Why? Because I realized I'd been getting lazy. With the Omen tuned to drop-d and beefy strings, it was easy to do so. Now, I like playing that style: crunchy, heavy, oppressive. But I also want to be able to dance around. This requires that I practice a lot more in standard tuning, with lighter strings.

This led to a wonderful adventure yesterday where I spent all fucking day restringing the Omen. I first unstrung the beefy strings (11s) and replaced them with super slinkys (9s). I was getting hella fret buzz, though, so I tuned it tight, and that sounded awful. So, fuck it, let's go to regular (10s). I had one pack of regulars, so I unstrung the 9s and strung it with 10s, and predictably, broke a string.

I have no more. So I decide, okay, I'll go to this music store on Haight, which is closer and less hellish to me than Guitar Center. Only, I forgot about Bay to Breakers. Which meant that the Haight was filled with a bunch of drunk people in costumes and parking was hellish. So a 15 minute errand turned into an hour.

I bought five packs of strings.

Home, and I wound up the 'e' and then in the process of stretching and tuning broke my 'g'. Of course. But luckily, I had spares.

Then I thought to myself, "Self, this restringing shit is going to get old really fucking fast." So I just decided to say fuck it: I'm gonna keep the Omen with heavy strings and in drop D, and use the Strat for delicate work.

Previously and previously, I wrote that I had been dicking around (with others - Maynard and Jeremy) with a version of In the Pines, an old traditional folk song from where I grew up.

The lyrics to the song and the story it tells change a lot. In a 1970 dissertation, Judith McCulloh found 160 permutations of the song. Sometimes the girl is raped, sometimes, not. Sometimes the man is killed by a train. Sometimes not.

Anyways, certain bits kept sticking in my head, and I realized that, subconsciously or not, I had my own version of the story. So I wrote up some new lyrics for it that change its tone somewhat. The "narrator" is revealed unambiguously to be both the murderer and a ghost, forced now to eternally wander through the Pines (hell, maybe?), searching for his girl.

In the Pines

My girl, my girl, Don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines,
Where the sun never shines
I'll shiver all the night through

Her father was a hard-workin' man
Lived a mile and a half from here
Her head was found in a dried up well
But her body never was found

My girl, my girl, where did you go?
I hid away from my whirlwind sown
In the mines, In the mines,
Where the sun never shines
I shivered all the night through.

My breath was chill'd in the tunnel's air
A murder, girl sixteen years old
The sheriff came and he shot me there
Left me dead in the coal dust and cold

My girl, my girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night?
In the Pines, in the Pines,
Buried bones, bound with twine
I still wander, searching for you.

My girl, my girl, where did you go?
I'm goin' where the cold winds blow
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I'll shiver all night through

Earlier, I transcribed a version of In the Pines.

I had been playing it well enough on my own, and enjoyed it.

Tonight, Jeremy brought over a violin. That, combined with Maynard playing bass, made for an excellent test of my transcription.

We rocked the living fuck out of it. You might say to yourself, "Self, how can adding a violin be 'rocking the living fuck' out of something?"

The answer is that the song is not about "rocking". It's about experience. Lanegan's version is angry; Cobain's is almost psychotic. The way we were playing it was . . . sadder. I'm not pissed at my girl for sleeping out; I'm sad about it.

It was interesting how the violin worked. It was both "lead" and "not lead". I don't say it was "rhythm" because it can't be - not with its treble - but it could drop to the background and let another instrument come forward.

We experimented a lot with the song itself and discovered that it had a lot of room for exposition in all areas. Between the more "obvious" verses, we could drop into long, winding jam sessions. As long as one of us kept the basic four or five notes in sequence, the others could walk all over town.

I'm really digging on the bowed instrument additions.

We'll have to get some amplification on vocals for it. Though, to be honest, I'm actually not sure the way we played it requires vocals. Maybe only a single verse, spoken or sung cleanly in the right place.

I do know that my vocals sounded about four million times better when I sang from my heart rather than trying to mimic Leadbelly or Lanegan or Cobain. I am sadder than Lanegan or Cobain, with less baritone.

Totally happy about it.

In the Pines, a more metal version.

This is based on Mark Lanegan's version (called "Where Did You Sleep Did You Sleep Last Night") from The Winding Sheet (recorded in 1989, 2 years before Smells Like Teen Spirit would make Cobain famous and 4 years before he would perform it for MTV).

Interestingly (to me, at any rate) Kurt Cobain performed guitar and secondary vocals on Lanegan's version. When Nirvana performed it for Unplugged in New York, they were really covering Lanegan's version and not Lead Belly's version (which says "Black Girl, Black Girl, Don't Lie to Me").

Trivia Fun Fact: Cobain was a huge fan of the Screaming Trees and Mark Lanegan, which is why he performed on The Winding Sheet.

Another Trivia Fun Fact: Cobain says that the song was written by Lead Belly, but it wasn't; it's an old traditional song from my homeland (the Appalachians). The lyrics change depending on who sings it.

Tuning: Drop D (DADGBe).

The basics are just laid out; as the song gains more energy, start playing the power chord version (e.g., DAD, instead of D). It's the same for every verse.

* = let ring out

e--------------------------------------------------------------------------
B--------------------------------------------------------------------------
G--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D--3---0----0---7-----7-----5---0---3--------------------------------------
   My girl, my girl, don't lie  to  me, 

e--------------------------------------------------------------------------
B--------------------------------------------------------------------------
G--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D---3----3---7----7---7----5-----3---0-------------------------------------
   Tell  me where did you sleep last night

e--------------------------------------------------------------------------
B--------------------------------------------------------------------------
G--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D--3--3---0------0--0---7------7-----7---5---5--5--3-----------------------
   In the pines, in the pines, Where the sun never shines
e--------------------------------------------------------------------------
B--------------------------------------------------------------------------
G--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D--------------------------------------------------------------------------
A--------------------------------------------------------------------------
D---3---7---5---5-----3----2----0*----------------------------------------
   I'd  shiver  all  the  night through

My Girl, My Girl, Don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night?
In the pines, in the pines,
Where the sun never shines
I'd shiver all the night through

Her husband was a hard-workin' man
Til a mile and a half from here
His head was found in a dried up well
And his body never was found

My girl, my girl, don't lie to me
Tell me where did you sleep last night
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun never shines
I would shiver all night through

My girl, my girl, where will you go
I'm goin' where the cold winds blow
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun don't ever shine
I would shiver all night through

Last night, uke came over, bringing an amp and an electric cello and then he, Maynard and I sat about annoying the neighbors for a couple hours.

It was a hell of a good time. We weren't trying to play any particular songs, just hoping to get a nice sounding groove on. I've been listening a lot to Godspeed You Black Emperor!, whose music I might describe as "multiple layers of various stringed instruments repeating phrases through multiple crescendos" so the idea of having a more "classical" stringed instrument appealed to me.

(I don't remember mentioning to Jeremy that I was really into GYBE lately but I could have. Who knows? He has like, ever instrument imaginable.)

I have to say that the cello injected a radical change to both the sound of the music and how we were playing it. It has a very distinct sound that was a marked contrast to the deeper, crunchier sound of the guitars.

I found that in order for things to sound good, individual layers didn't have to be complex as complex as we'd (Maynard and I) been playing. I'd been used to zipping all over the place with more complex phrases but seriously, half the time we got away with some simple two or three note things, since there was an additional layer to fill the space.

The cello's tone also altered what kinds of phrases I normally played, which was both good and bad. With just a guitar and a bass, and the guitar in a distorted DADGBe, I tended to keep all my phrases on DAD, with an occasional G. This was giving me the sound I wanted in an almost artificial way: distorted chords standing in for an additional instrument layer. I didn't use the higher pitched strings because they stood out too much with only a bass line to back them, and ended up being reedy and demanding.

But with the cello, there was another higher pitched instrument, and it gave me "permission" to move to those strings. This was "good" because I got to flex some less used muscles (and it also made me wish I'd tuned to E instead of drop D). This was "bad" because I hadn't used that muscle training in a while, and I kept missing strings (fingers more used to stretching to the low strings than cramping to the high ones), or jumping to the wrong fret (because I've let my ear training atrophy with regards to the relationships of G, B and e).

I took a photo here.

I think what we need to do next is add some sort of percussion. I don't think a full kit; maybe even just someone with some bongos. Possibly another guitar or even something more exotic like a violin.

This is a short story about dreaming into the future.

Maynard's three children are having a sleep-over tonight. They come over about every other week or so lately to spend time with their father. I don't mind in the slightest, though I'm not exactly an expert when it comes to relating to kids between the age of 8 and 14.

This evening, however, Maynard tells me that Cailean (the eldest, who is 12 or 13, I always forget) wants to hear Iron Man. As I'm certain Maynard expected, this fills my soul with a tremendous glee and I feel my heart grow two sizes.

"Yeah, I told him you'd be more than happy to introduce him to Black Sabbath."

So I turn to the Monolith (the nickname for the big rotating CD rack), spin it a couple times, pull out a Black Sabbath album, slot it, and we listen with the volume up loud.

Cailean is what I call "Rock N' Roll Curious". I can tell that his tastes are protoplasmic: he doesn't know where to go, what he likes. Maybe he doesn't even like guitars? Is he a metalhead? Who knows.

So I decided the best way to do this was to prepare a "Rock N' Roll 101" course for him. I pulled a set of CDs for him to take and listen to - the really, really basic building blocks - so that I can get a gauge of where he is.

In the list: Back in Black, Led Zeppelin I, Led Zeppelin IV, Black Sabbath, a Sabbath compilation, Frampton Comes Alive, The Best of the Doors, Legend (not really Rock N' Roll but a good thermometer), Van Halen I, and Foreigner.

Building blocks.

This evening we sat down and we introduced him to Led Zeppelin IV. This was my introduction to the band back in, oh, 1984 (when I was twelve), and I think it worked out okay.

The other night I had a dream about something this.

I had forgotten about it until last night, when Charity made a reference to the movie Singles and I remembered that, in the dream, I was (for some reason) compiling a list of albums to for someone to listen to in order to get an overview of important rock and roll from 1970 to 2000, and (in the dream) I had gotten into an argument with someone about the proper chronological order of the Singles soundtrack and Sweet Oblivion by the Screaming Trees.

I wonder if I shouldn't make such a list for real. I probably wouldn't put Sweet Oblivion on such a list (but I would probably put the Singles soundtrack on there as an overview).

I wish my parents had listened to rock n' roll. As it is, the only thing I can blame my father for is introducing me to the Beatles and getting me to love them when I was 17.

Which isn't that small of a feat, when you think about the fact that I was listening to Slayer pretty exclusively then.

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they'd be happy for a while.

But February made me shiver
With every paper I'd deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn't take one more step.

I can't remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

It has been fifty years.

You are still remembered.

The Gutter Twins are playing at the Independent on February 11th. 20 bux. I want to go.

Who else?

Because today feels surreal:

It's a God awful small affair
To the girl with the mousey hair
But her mummy is yelling, "No!"
And her daddy has told her to go
But her friend is no where to be seen
Now she walks through her sunken dream
To the seats with the clearest view
And she's hooked to the silver screen
But the film is a saddening bore
For she's lived it ten times or more
She could spit in the eyes of fools
As they ask her to focus on

Sailors
Fighting in the dance hall
Oh man!
Look at those cavemen go
It's the freakiest show
Take a look at the lawman
Beating up the wrong guy
Oh man!
Wonder if he'll ever know
He's in the best selling show
Is there life on Mars?

It's on America's tortured brow
That Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow
Now the workers have struck for fame
'Cause Lennon's on sale again
See the mice in their million hordes
From Ibiza to the Norfolk Broads
Rule Britannia is out of bounds
To my mother, my dog, and clowns
But the film is a saddening bore
'Cause I wrote it ten times or more
It's about to be writ again
As I ask you to focus on

Sailors
Fighting in the dance hall
Oh man!
Look at those cavemen go
It's the freakiest show
Take a look at the lawman
Beating up the wrong guy
Oh man!
Wonder if he'll ever know
He's in the best selling show
Is there life on Mars?

After last week's concert, I ordered a Dimmu Borgir CD from the interwebs. It arrived today, so I decided to give it a listen while smoking a cigar on the porch.

While doing so, I looked up the album and the band so as to be better informed about them as I listened. And, as completely expected, I found myself trapped in the internet.

It started with me trying to determine the differences between Scandanavian Death Metal, Symphonic Black Metal, Black Metal, and Death Metal. Genre splintering always amuses me; I don't really have the time or energy to follow it.

At any rate, there is a strange (to me) zeitgeist involving Scandanavia, Satanism, and Heavy Metal. And it is one of the weirder (and true) rabbit holes about this that I found myself falling through.

Dimmu Borgir's drummer is a man by the name of Jan Axel Blomberg, better known as "Hellhammer." He was also the drummer for a band called Mayhem, who epitomize the zeitgeist.

Let's start with Mayhem's best known vocalist, Per Yngve Ohlin, better known as "Dead". He is the individual widely credited with the "corpse paint" movement in metal performances (white-faced makeup). He didn't do it to be like KISS or anything; no, he seriously wanted to look like a corpse.

He would bury his clothes for weeks on end so that he could be more corpse-like. He cut himself on stage constantly. He would inhale the carcass of a dead crow before he went on stage so that he could do so "with the scent of death in his nostrils".

Then one night he cut his wrists and blew his head off with a shotgun.

He was found the next day by the band's guitarist, Aarseth, better known as Euronymous. The first thing Euronymous did was run to the store and buy a disposable camera so that he could take pictures of it - one of which would later become the cover for a bootleg album called Dawn of the Black Hearts.

After this, Euronymous collected several shards of Ohlin's skull. He would later make necklaces out of them, and give them to people he felt were "hard core" enough.

Allegedly, he also scooped up some of Ohlin's brain matter and made a stew out of it, so that he could taste human flesh.

Whether or not this bit is true we will never really know because Euronymous was later murdered by Varg Vikernes, another member of the band - a dude who also liked to burn down churches.

Why did Vikernes kill Euronymous? It's totally, completely unclear. A contract dispute, maybe? A girl? Vikernes had been planning to blow up a leftist enclave in Oslo (and probably would have, were he not busted for murder); some say the murder happened because Euronymous was a communist and would have opposed blowing up leftists. Or something.

Vikernes, on his personal website, says that he killed him in pre-emptive self-defense:

"He had showed his intention to kill me, and even though he was no longer a direct threat to me, there and then, I did not feel any bad for killing him. His cowardice had made me angry and I saw no reason to let him live, not when he had showed his intent to kill me. Had I let him live I would only let him have another attempt at my life, later on."

(The story as he tells it is long but worth the read as it is utterly fascinating.)

Vikernes got 21 years, the maximum sentence possible in Norway. He was convicted of murder, but also convicted on several counts of arson. While he admits to killing Euronymous, he still maintains innocence with regards to the church fires, though he basically says they had it coming:

"They [the Christians] desecrated our graves, our burial mounds, so it's revenge."

You'd think it ends there, right? Oh no. It gets better.

While in prison, Vikernes released several albums under the band name of Burzem. How and why you're allowed to record albums while in prison in Norway, I do not know. They are apparently very lax about that.

In 2003, he was given a week's leave from prison. When he failed to return to prison, they went looking for him. He was found in a stolen car along with a wonderful supply of toys: an AG3 automatic rifle, a handgun, numerous large knives, a gas mask, camouflage clothing, a laptop, a compass, a GPS, various maps, and a fake passport.

So they gave him another 13 months.

He was recently denied parole but is still allowed to go home and visit his family from time to time. As my friend Fuz says, "I don't think I've ever labeled anyone "soft on crime" before, but I think whoever's in charge of punishing this guy for murder now gets that tag."

You can't make this stuff up.

Anyone interested in going to this?

Tonight, I took subtly_modded to see Danzig on the Blackest of the Black tour for her birthday (which is tomorrow, or, you know, today, or whatever, November 11, fuck off). We met up with diabolika, who was very much into one of the opening bands, a Norwegian black metal band called Dimmu Borgir - who I had never heard of before.

Here is a photo diabolika took:


I kick myself for not having heard Dimmu Borgir before because they put on one of the best shows I've seen in a long, long time. It was an awesome theatrical spectacle. A+++ WOULD WATCH AGAIN.

Even better, I would have called them a band that was parodying Dethklok if it were not that Dimmu Borgir has been around since 1996 or so. They had the face makeup, and the spiked boots, and the lead singer was decked out in satanic armor replete with pentacles and a kind of chainmail skirt. Long hair, swirling around in circles. Smoke, lasers, tempos: at one point, KBK leaned over to me and said, "I fully expect to see an army of Mordhaus goons come to the stage."

I swear to fucking $DEITY, the lead singer said, literally, "Good Evenings, Sans Fransciscos! We ares the Blackest of the the Blacks!" Only it was the Nathan Explosion voice speaking like Skwisgar. (And none of that makes any sense unless you know fuck all about Dethklok).

I could go on for a while about how awesome the Dimmu Borgir (which means "Dark Cities") gig was. They were a very, very tight band. They were tight musically, they were tight thematically, and their light show was just . . . well. I never really pay much attention to lights. And this time, I did.

(We skipped the first three bands. There were five: Danzig, Dimmu Borgir, Something, Something, Something. We missed Something[cubed], opting for burgers and beers instead.)

Then we were treated to a wonderful diatribe from a roadie about how if anyone took any photo of any kind with any kind of device, camera, phone, or otherwise, it would be confiscated and we would be kicked out and probably beaten.

And I said, "Because it's going to be 'pudgy' Glenn."

And Lo! I was not far off. More like "Old Glenn".

Lemme give the dude props: he's in his fifties. And, despite some pudge, he's still pretty stocky. His hair is thinning, but it still swings when he headbangs.

Honestly, the Danzig set was . . . not very tight. I'm being kind there. It was "sloppy". When he sang lines, maybe only half the words made it into the microphone. But this show wasn't about that: it was about nostalgia - especially for KBK, who is a huge Misfits fan and I know that Danzig was one of the first shows she'd ever been to.

And, in that regard, he pulled it off. He was one of the most enthusiastic performers I'd seen in a long time. He was very much engaged in the crowd - not only them, but also his crew (musicians and roadies). This may be because it was the last show of the tour (and the roadies were doing all sorts of weird shit, like bringing pizzas around the stage while the band was playing). Doesn't matter. They were having a lot of fun, and it infected the crowd.

It was a thoroughly enjoyable evening, and I hope KBK is pleased with her birthday present.

Edit: Extra bonus stuff sent to me a friend via Facebook:

ITEM!
I've watched The Dark Knight now about ten times and the "pencil trick" just keeps on being awesome. I ended up getting trapped in the Wiki Rabbit Hole last night about Batman. Partly this is because Lego Batman has eaten my soul the past couple of days.

I am nearing 100%/1000gc on it.

ITEM!
Metallica is playing in Oakland on December 20th. Tickets are a bit expensive (60+), but I could easily be convinced to go if there is anyone else who wants to rock out. Opening: The Sword and Lamb of God.

ITEM!
Today, my father scored his sixth hole in one while playing golf. The odds of an amateur hitting a hole in one are 12,500 to 1, which is pretty long. I remember that his handicap used to be around 5 or so, but I asked him today what it was and he texted me: "Well, it has risen from 8 to 16 over the past two years. I don't know what's going on with that because it *surely* can't be old age."

ITEM!
Thursday night several people gathered in my place to watch the Vice Presidential candidate debate. Also to eat lots of pizza and consume lots of alcohol. It took us over three hours to watch a 90 minute sequence, because we kept pausing it and talking about what was just said.

It was much fun, and I'll probably do something similar on Tuesday.

Metallica's ninth studio album, Death Magnetic, drops next Friday. I pre-ordered a copy forever ago, but through the magics of the internets and some eager pre-sales in France, I am able to listen to it today.

The album has been produced by Rick Rubin, one of Time Magazine's 100 most influential people and the greatest music producer of the past 30 years (and I'll fight any man who says otherwise). Rubin has a reputation for "stripping down" bands - reducing rather than producing. He has successfully revived the careers of many artists through the act of reminding them who they really are.

In the 1985, Metallica was one of the most important things in my life. I must have listened to Ride the Lightning two or three times every day for several months, and the release of Master of Puppets in 1986 solidified them in my canon of "desert island" artists. Then came ...And Justice for All, which might as well have been the soundtrack to my senior year of high school.

Then things started to get wonky for the band. They seemed to have lost the hunger and the edge. Partly this was due to sudden and phenomenal success: they were being played on MTV constantly (with the release of The Black Album), were winning tons of awards, growing up, getting married, having kids, buying expensive art.

The next two studio albums, Load and ReLoad were a massive departure from the angry, hard-drinking, head-banging crew we knew. They'd cut their hair (something I didn't care much about at the time, honestly), and had obtained a more polished sound (courtesy of Bob Rock). There were some good tracks on there but for the most part the music felt. . . watered down. Limp.

And then came St. Anger and that fucking documentary. The album was a total shite-fest - just bad from track one to track last. I've only listened to it once.

It was the documentary, however, that served as a nutpunch to me. It was all about the band members undergoing therapy and such. There was a scene where they fucking apologized to Dave Mustaine. He was crying, saying how bad they'd hurt him, etc. It was just fucking painful and I remember screaming at the television: "WHAT THE FUCK! YOU GUYS ARE FUCKING METALLICA! YOU DO NOT HUG MUSTAINE; YOU COCK PUNCH HIM AND CURB STOMP HIS ASS!"

This is the low point.

I am pleased to say that Death Magnetic heralds the return of the "Alcoholica" sound. It is raw. It is brutal. It is thrashy. It is angry. There are no power ballads. It sounds almost like it should be the follow up to Justice instead of the Black Album. It is shows the kind of musical sophistication that Justice had as well as the raw engine sound of that same album.

Rubin returned them to their roots.

I have to listen to it another twenty times, I think, before I decide what I like best. Cyanide, one of the released tracks, is actually one of the weakest ones on the disc. So don't judge it by that.

Unsurprisingly, the Wilson sisters are completely fucking appalled at the use of Barracuda during the RNC.

In what may come as an even further surprise, the RNC did not ask permission to use the song.

Film at eleven.

When there's nowhere else to run,
Is there room for one more son?
One more son?
If you can hold on -
If you can hold on -

Hold on.

I wanna stand up.
I wanna let go.
You know, you know?
No you don't, you don't.
I wanna shine on -
in the hearts of men,
I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand.

Another head aches.
Another heart breaks.
I am so much older than I can take.
And my affection,
Well it comes and goes.
I need direction to perfection.

No no no no -

Help me out.
Yeah, you know you got to help me out.
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner.
You know you got to help me out.

And when there's nowhere else to run,
Is there room for one more son?
These changes ain't changing me -
The cold-hearted boy I used to be.

Yeah - You know you got to help me out.
Yeah - Oh don't you put me on the backburner.
You know you gotta help me out.
Yeah - You're gonna bring yourself down.
Yeah - You're gonna bring yourself down.
Yeah - You're gonna bring yourself down.

I got soul but I'm not a soldier.
I got soul but I'm not a soldier.
I got soul but I'm not a soldier.
I got soul but I'm not a soldier.


Yeah - You know you got to help me out.
Yeah - Oh don't you put me on the backburner.
You know you gotta help me out.
You're gonna bring yourself down.
You're gonna bring yourself down.
Yeah, oh don't you put me on the backburner.
You're gonna bring yourself down.

Over and out.
Last call for sin.
While everyone's lost, the battle is won.
With all these things that I've done -

All these things that I've done.

If you can hold on.
If you can hold on.

I don't Understand.


It's just my job five days a week.

Isaac Hayes died.