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King Missile - Ed Lyrics

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  • Ed was at the end of his rope, an expression he detested. "There is no
  • rope!" he would scream at the laughing walls. "There is only the end.
  • No hope, no rope. Ending is better than mending. Doors of perception,
  • windows of opportunity -- these are illusions, like the killing floor."
  • Ed spoke in a squeaky whiny voice with perhaps a slight tinge of glee,
  • but this was only because he couldn't be bothered to try to develop a
  • manner of speaking that truly reflected his mood. "This is a vaccuum.
  • There is no air in this room. Despair is no fun anymore. Nihilism
  • knocked three times on the ceiling, but the rosy fingers of dawn always
  • inserted themselves in the nose of unfulfilled promises. Angels sang
  • Heysanna Hosanna, paralyzed prima-donnas danced in the streets all day,
  • but when darkness came, everybody went home. I was ready - everyone
  • else was asleep. And while it may have been a relief to see that I was
  • right all along, here I am still: alone and trapped, awaiting the
  • endless end. And I can turn it all around, and laugh at it and laugh at
  • myself; I can laugh louder than the walls, the halls the waterfalls,
  • louder than Charles de Gaul or Fulton Mall, but I don't know what I'm
  • laughing at, I don't know just what I think is so goddamn funny. I
  • don't know why I don't just shut up and give up and lay down and die.
  • What do I have to complain about anyway," Ed asked his Picasso, "I'm a
  • millionaire!" This wasn't exactly true. Ed's Picasso was an obvious
  • forgery, his three Rothkos had just been singled out in an article in
  • ARTFORUM entitled "The three most insignificant paintings of Mark
  • Rothko," and his Barbara Kruegers had been irreparably damaged by Rein
  • Sanction and a few other bands from Gainesville that refused to
  • acknowledge the value of art.
  • "Come to think of it," Ed mused to the laminated roadkill coffee table
  • that he had purchased when times had seemed slightly less bleak, "Come
  • to think of it, not onl does art have no intrinsic value, but my
  • collection has no extrinsic value either. I know I'm not a millionaire,
  • but that's no reason to complain. There is no reason to complain.
  • There is no reason to do anything. I don't believe in reason, objective
  • reality, or collective farming. I don't believe in public speaking,
  • which is another reason why I'm here alone. I don't believe in life or
  • death, I would kill myself, but I don't believe in suicide." Ed put on
  • a red shirt and took a quick walk around the block while whistling
  • softly to himself. He reentered his apartment screaming, "There is no
  • life on this planet! Jehovah-One replaced all life with machinery five
  • centuries ago. the so-called industrial revolution was just another
  • hoax and we all fell for it, 'cause we were all programmed to. Even I
  • fell for it, I believe in the steam engine, even though I don't believe
  • in anything. Logical inconsistency is the Mr. bubble I bathe in each
  • and every evening, except for yesterday evening, when I rollerbladed
  • over to the Masonic temple to play pinochle with Pope John Paul the
  • First. I really had no choice in the matter." "Ed certainly could go
  • on and on, and he did, and he would, and he will, until you or I or
  • somebody does something about it." Senator Sterno of Arkansas announced
  • over closed circuit television. "And as long as he continues to
  • pontificate pointlessly, I will do nothing." Ed walked away from the
  • program feeling fortified and stapled. His brain was buzzing, the was
  • it always did just after Jeopardy. He loaded up the microbus with
  • Atlases and poseidons and headed for Pope county.
  • "I've had it." He sang, "I've had it with puns, alliteration, russian
  • literature, Italian neorealism, meaningless cross references and laundry
  • lists of nonsense. I shall dive without a license, without clothing,
  • without direction and if I make it to Louisiana, fine, and if I'm
  • running late, if I'm running a numbers game, it doesn't matter, I shall
  • keep on running. Yes, this is the answer. This is the ending, I shall
  • keep on running, because a body in motion tends to stay emotional, and
  • it's better to feel. Pain is better than emptiness, emptiness is better
  • than nothing, and nothing is better than this

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