From MBP/Ampachen Split Tape. (Recorded at our rehearsal place: Viadukt, Groningen, Feb 26, 1986)
lyrics
The trashcan's filled. Quivering humans in melting snow. No reason to argument, nothing to solve. Brains on ice, no reason to think. Looking for a sign of reality in your private hell. Longing for the truth you've always avoided. I'm the boss in my territory but anywhere else I've got nothing to say. Smoke a joint to get real high; you even think worse in thin air. Climb your mountain. The ceiling's gone. Watching infinity you get fresh air. Private hell, your microcosm. Ink is dripping on your kitchen floor. The doorbell's broke. It's out of tune. The milkman smiles, he's all right. Open a bottle, the milk is bad. First the smell comes, then the grubs. (Onno)
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