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 is 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 could make

is watch you walking away.

Not that I know how to change

I do it just the same