Friday Night

And I don't want to spend this Friday night,

like I had to spend last Friday night;

dying by the record machine.

All day cigarettes, all day entertain the void.

There are so many things I should be doing

but I don't, and I don't change.

All day kerosene, all day I play with matchbooks.

I push them all away or burn them alive

in attempts to save me.

Regret would require less arrogance.

I like my self on the following conditions:

that I'm better than the next guy

at everything I'm into.

And my looks are important

if I'm less sophisticated.

And my girlfriend's a bombshell

and I'm all she's ever dated.

And money's an object if it pays for my ego.

Power's the drug, and pride s the needle.

And it rips through my skin

and goes into my blood stream.

I feel like laughing, I feel like choking on it.

I don't want to spend this Friday night

picking fights by the record machine.

True, but not quite,

that I'm tired of the fantasy.

And I see the light,

but the dark is so accommodating.

The worst mistake I cold make

is watch you walking away.

Not that I know how to change

I do it just the same