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I heard a joke once: Man goes to doctor.
Says he's depressed.
Says life seems harsh and cruel.
Says he feels all alone in a threatening world.
Doctor says, "Treatment is simple.
The great clown Pagliacci is in town.
Go see him.
That should pick you up."
Man bursts into tears.
"But doctor... I am Pagliacci."

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

God damn the Sun,
God damn the light it shines
And the world it shows.

We're the middle children of history, with no purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war. Our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off.

A generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the acid culture: the desperate assumption that somebody, or at least some force is tending the light at the end of the tunnel.

And so they say-
"the incident dissolved"
the love boat smashed up
on the dreary routine.
I'm through with life
and we should absolve
from mutual hurts, afflictions and spleen.

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