Song of these are my lyrics

You're born and you're red.
You're dead and you're blue.
You're green at 19
and gray at 22.

Let's go skating on the interstate
to a place far, far away
where we won't need crutches
and won't feel any weight.

* * *

The General's disposition was plainly apathetic,
a invisible disease pumping through his blood stream.
The caffeine, the yellow teeth that eat
aged and peppered meats from Argentina.

The general disposition of his opposition:
attentive with patient impatience that can't take
the cable TV, the lack of intellect, the lack of Internet,
and the lack alcohol to make them apathetic.

* * *

The beginning was the end of everything now.
The ape regards his tail; hes stuck on it,
repeats until he fails, half a goon and half a god.
A man's not made of steel.

A man is real, that's how he feels.
But who is a man in the 21st?
Does he have a blind thirst
for all that the censors conceal?
Or will he love his brother
as he loves his god
and not screw either of them
into another pyramid fraud?

* * *

Where there's smoke there's fire,
and we're sure to get higher.
But who cares? We might as well.
We're not even going to hell.

* * *

I'm not preaching one way or another.
I'm preaching to my sister's and brothers.
If we worry too much about our future prosperity,
we may not have much to give our posterity.

* * *

Maybe it's a little rude to apologize,
but our eyes are of unforgiving size,
bloodshot and irritated to hell,
but if we squint real hard we can see ourselves
through our mirrors and our fears as it sears
the chords to our cries,
"Let us live! Let us die!"
If we give up now, we can survive;
if we give in now we can all save our hides--

if we haven't already.