(Put Down The Eyeliner) Before It Gets Dangerous

(Put Down The Eyeliner) Before It Gets Dangerous
by Jimmy Crowley
Yeah she keeps staring at her godly tv
Like she’s some sort of angel
If only god could make her feel
She really needs to let you know
It’s a picture of her idle
she loves on the wall
she shoots herself
to kill her lovers
shoots herself
kills her lovers
(would you shoot yourself)
She never wanted any of this
The more she lives she wants to die
And we all keep on crying
And she’ll keep on dying
she shoots herself
to kill her lovers
shoots herself
kills her lovers
(I’m gonna shoot myself)
She gives him tears and blood
She cries tears and blood
Tears and blood from her scars
she shoots herself
to kill her lovers
shoots herself
kills her lovers

Love is a Dying Flower

Love is a Dying Flower
By Jimmy Crowley
I pluck the pedals
She loves me She loves me not
It seems like love she pedals
Because I feel our love forgot
Love is an empty word
It was a friend that I received
But it was love I would have preferred
Yet again, by love I was deceived
My love is like a dying flower
Growing to be something new
My love is decaying by the hour
Maybe someday love will be true
But for now love is not gainful
Because it is too painful

I Can Die Really Slow

I Can Die Really Slow
by Jimmy Crowley
We bleed
Just like tears in cocaine
We snort it
Just the same
I feel like dying yesterday
But that won’t happen either
We sold our souls
For a heart in a bowl
I can die really slow
just by killing you
there’s a shotgun to my right
a heart to my left
I choose the shotgun
Just like my idle
We sold our souls
For a heart in a bowl
I can die really slow
just by killing you
I’m bleeding
I’m dying
I’m finally living
I’m cutting
I’m crying
I’m happy I’m dying
We sold our souls
For a heart in a bowl
I can die really slow
just by killing you

A Perfect State of Nirvana

A Perfect State of Nirvana
by Jimmy Crowley
Her heart is broke
My life is gone
My blood to soak
Everyone knows
that this is wrong
written in blood
written in blood
written in blood
she’s just a stupid
little cunt
but she is fun
I cannot sleep
But I’m counting sheep
While the coke gets to me
I cannot see
Written in blood
Written in blood
Written in blood

Necrophilia

Necrophilia
By Jimmy Crowley
She’s lying on the floor
And she’s as dead as dead
Even though she’s dead I’m still attracted to her
Cause I see the beauty in her dying corpse

And I’m as dead as her
I just wanna die
Her life is empty
You’re my necrophilia

Reanimated in my eyes
I don’t cry
Because I can’t cry
Cause she’s still alive in my eyes

And I’m as dead as her
I just wanna die
Her life is empty
You’re my necrophilia

Dead in my mind
Dead in my head
Dead in my eyes

And I’m as dead as her
I just wanna die
Her life is empty
You’re my necrophilia

The Door and the Lizard King *dedicated to the memory of Jim Morrison*

The Door and the Lizard King dedicated to the memory of Jim Morrison
By Jimmy Crowley
As we run away,
We become closer to each other
You read my twisted signs
And hear “Mr. Mojo Risin’ “
Listen to the shaman.
He sings for 27 years
And he drinks oh so many beers.
He preaches to the slaves
Getting higher
Sets the world on fire.
Film his every move.
He is the king
Teaching the snakes
You can hear the devil in his crys.
Can you hear it?
HE taught a prayer to America
As the blue man took him from the stage
Riot to the stage.
His heart was attacked in the tub.
The Graffiti of Paris is his final resting place

"I Don't Have A Gun" *dedicated to the memory of Kurt Cobain*

“I Don’t have a gun” dedicated to the memory of Kurt Cobain
By Jimmy Crowley
He was an underground sellout.
Revolutionizing Music.
He Smelled like teen spirit,
And told me to come as I was.
He hated everyone,
but was loved.
He was an angel with a guitar.
At 27, he went too far.
“Bang!”
The gun said,
And Kurt was dead
We only have his memoria.

Hallucinogenic

Hallucinogenic
by Jimmy Crowley
As I begin to die,
Lights flicker off,
My guitar starts to cry,
As I try and grasp one last cough.
My room begins to melt.
I hear several beer cans clang
Just like the joy that I felt,
It sounds like the hymns we sang.
As my funeral, I can’t help but sigh
Staring at pornographic magazines stacked in the corner
And I watch these pathetic souls cry.
It leads me to my infinite horror.

Playing With A Razor

Playing with a razor
By Jimmy Crowley
Playing with a razor
Feels like I’ve been shot with a laser.
What is this pain I feel?
Will it ever heal?
Why do I see blood?
The sink is starting to flood.
The bathroom is locked like a cave.
I guess I’m not ready to shave.
“Help Mommy Help,”
That’s all I could yell.
“I stole daddy’s razor and the bleeding won’t stop!”
Onto the floor my body drops.
I guess I won’t be shaving anymore.

Poem

Poem
By Jimmy Crowley
I spend my days locked in my room.
It’s the only place where I can escape my doom.
Yeah, I know Morrison. I know Jesus too.
In my room, I don’t feel like a fool
Like I do at school.
I think I’m standing in the twilight zone
Because I feel so alone.
My love is falling apart at the seams,
Just like my dreams.
Now that I think of it,
Speaking to you is like being thrown in the lion’s pit.
It hate it when you say “I love you”
Because you want an “I love you too”
I’m sorry, but that’s too bad,
Because for love I’m too sad.

Corrupt Men

Corrupt Men
By Jimmy Crowley
Watch the average man play God
Yeah see what you find
What you find may be odd
I really think you’ll mind
I guarantee there will be corruption
There will be no light
Only death and destruction
So why fight?
There is no meadow with a rose
No Heaven nor Hell
Not a happy river flows
Not a sound from the church Bell
Just blackness
And madness

Hallucinogen Hell *for Jim Carroll*

Hallucinogen Hell for Jim Carroll
By Jimmy Crowley
Sitting in this hell hole my father calls a home,
My mother yells at my room for being a mess.
An eye pokes through my closet,
“Hello. Are you in there?”
I can’t see a reason why I answered.
Carroll OD’d in the corner.
Shakespeare is still alive in the walls.
His needle pierces us in my vein.
I walk to my basement.
It looks like St. Patrick’s Cathedral,
In New York City,
But it smells like a Hollister
Stained with feces.
It is so Beautiful.

TIME

Time
By Jimmy Crowley
Minutes are like hours
Yet hours are like minutes.
The clock strikes three
And it’s midnight.
Clocks spin like crosses.
A cable comes unplugged,
And I’m stuck,
Just like a palm tree in a hurricane.
This clock won’t stop turning.
Yet, I find its hands very sexy.
Time, the question is: Why?
Why is the clock so unappealing?