S.H.A.D.O.W

Pete is a something rather than a someone, a pile of shit and not the douchebag who left it on normally clean streets.
He doesn't throw something stupid at you, he throws himself at you.

And, yeah Pete, you're not the brightest one in the universe, so you can't really complain about idiocy.
Don't worry if you don't get him, it's proof you're sane.

Pete, this right here is for you.

I pick up my Les Paul.

This is not a song, it's a protest.

Your fans are flies that gather to fresh shit,
ignorant to the bitterness of the junk they eat.
You may think of yourself as a Mesia,
But, dude, you spouting offensive nonsense will only make you a paria.
And awakening the masses the state wants easily lead?
That'll only get you a bullet in the head.
Your mom play-pretended she was batman?
Do your brain a favor and quick-scan.
She wanted to tell you through her death
That the heroes with the underpants obsession
Will only end up at the bottom of a depression.
I'm not your woman and you're certainly not my man
Jesus, you couldn't be, you don't even afford a decent van!
But why should I let you burn yourself out?
You're a damn singer, so sing your pain out.
Don't mess a page with something you alone can understand,
leave it on your bedside, better, to write a lame goodbye after a nightstand.
I'm burning myself for you, yet forget all the shit you've been fed
Me burning myself out? It's just incense for the soon-to-be dead.

Bye bye, Pete. Leave this realm that's always been cold.
Leave while still hateful, angry, disappointed and offended by the world.

Susana