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Pere Ubu
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Woolie Bullie
There's a Diner out on Route Three Twenty Two.
Western Pennsylvania.
I spent my life there one afternoon.
I can't get that stretch of road
Out of my head.
I hear it when I
Take a shower
Reading the paper.
I'd look up and see it
Across the valley.
They tore down the Starlight
And down at the end of the road
Built a big Day's Inn.
Blocks the view.
But I know that road's still there
I can feel it wherever I go.
Whatever I'm doing
It knows that I'm still here.
And it's waitin'.
We are abandoned.
Lies own the word.
All the pictures and
All the museums
In the world
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Are just a sham
Peeking played
By the clever people
Who broke the rules.
Reality is defined by the needs of the
Media
History is rewritten
Faster than it can happen.
Culture's a weapon
That's used against us.
Culture's a swamp.
And a superstition;
Ignorance and abuse.
Geography is a language
That can't screw up.
Land,
And what we add to it
Cannot lie.
It's also like a mirror
In which we see ourselves,
Or choose to turn away.
Watch it now.
Watch it.
Watch it.
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