The song lyrics were written by the band Van Halen, as they were asked to write a song for the 1979 movie "Over the Edge" starring Matt Dillon. The movie (and the lyrics, although more obliquely) are about bored, rebellious youth with nothing better to do than get into trouble. If you see the movie, these lyrics will make more sense. It's a great movie if you grew up in the 70s/80s you'll definitely remember some of these characters from your own life. Fun fact, after writing the song, Van Halen decided not to let the movie use it.
What a skeletal wreck of man this is.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
The kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic tomes.
Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
Laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
Virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
From the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent,
And a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
So we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
Counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
And hope you get a taste.
What the fuck is all this for?
What the hell's going on? Shut up!
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?
Say, your me, and I'm you, and they all watch the things we do,
And like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
Haven't felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
And punch me into the dead spout again.
That's where you go when there's no one else around,
It's just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
And a finger on the trigger.
Classified my ass!
That's a fucking secret, and you know it!
Government is another way to say better than you.
It's like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won't stick,
It's like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
But you can't touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isn't that sweet?
And we're all gonna die some day, because that's the American way,
And I've drunk too much, and said too little,
When your gaffer taped in the
Middle, say a prayer, say a face,
Get your self together and see what's happening.
Shut up! Fuck you! Fuck you!
I'm sorry, I could go on and on but
Their times to move on so, remember, you're a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
And blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we've done.
Translucent flesh and feeble bones,
The kind of temple where the whores and villains try to tempt the holistic tomes.
Running rampid with free thought to free form, and the free and clear.
When the matters at hand are shelled out like lint at a
Laundry mat to sift and focus on the bigger, better, now.
We all have a little sin that needs venting,
Virtues for the rending and laws and systems and stems are ripped
From the branches of office, do you know where your post entails?
Do you serve a purpose, or purposely serve?
When in doubt inside your atavistic allure, the value of a summer spent,
And a winter earned.
For the rest of us, there is always Sunday.
The day of the week the reeks of rest, but all we do is catch our breath,
So we can wade naked in the bloody pool, and place our hand on the big, black book.
To watch the knives zigzag between our aching fingers.
A vacation is a countdown, T minus your life and
Counting, time to drag your tongue across the sugar cube,
And hope you get a taste.
What the fuck is all this for?
What the hell's going on? Shut up!
I can go on and on but lets move on, shall we?
Say, your me, and I'm you, and they all watch the things we do,
And like a smack of spite they threw me down the stairs,
Haven't felt like this in years.
The great magnet of malicious magnanimous refuse, let me go,
And punch me into the dead spout again.
That's where you go when there's no one else around,
It's just you, and there was never anyone to begin with, now was there?
Sanctimonious pretentious dastardly bastards with their thumb on the pulse,
And a finger on the trigger.
Classified my ass!
That's a fucking secret, and you know it!
Government is another way to say better than you.
It's like ice but no pick, a murder charge that won't stick,
It's like a whole other world where you can smell the food,
But you can't touch the silverware.
Huh, what luck. Fascism you can vote for.
Humph, isn't that sweet?
And we're all gonna die some day, because that's the American way,
And I've drunk too much, and said too little,
When your gaffer taped in the
Middle, say a prayer, say a face,
Get your self together and see what's happening.
Shut up! Fuck you! Fuck you!
I'm sorry, I could go on and on but
Their times to move on so, remember, you're a wreck, an accident.
Forget the freak, your just nature.
Keep the gun oiled, and the temple cleaned shit snort,
And blaspheme, let the heads cool, and the engine run.
Because in the end, everything we do, is just everything we've done.
Lyrics submitted by downthesun836, edited by fishhair
Omega Lyrics as written by Josh Rand Joel Ekman
Lyrics © BMG Rights Management, Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC
Lyrics powered by LyricFind
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I love that people have been saying this ISN'T a poem because it's a random collection of thoughts well...what is poetry if not random collections of thoughts? That's all it is. Ever heard of a little something called "poetic license?" Yeah. That's because poetry is anything and everything the person writer it could ever desire it to be. This is most definitely poetry.
wow that's long
very and its only 2 mins and 52 seconds long
yea its huge although short, I was able to get my hands on every song from this CD and this is one of the best ones, its all talking but its really good. Stone Sour is really amazing....
very good, impressed me, i still need the song inside the cynic, can anyone help?
download it from beeMP3.com
is this song even on the cd. i was lookin at their website and didnt see it under track listings.
@stoneknot666 yup. Same one bother is on. That's how I first heard it, in the album
yes this is on thier cd but its not really a song its more a a poem its number 13 on the cd and they didnt post the lyrics on thier website because its has no music.
god damn corey's a good poet
GODDAMN I THINK COREY CAN WRITE SOME OFF THE WALL STUFF. STONE SOUR OR SLIPKNOT THE MUSIC IS ALL GOOD
I like the words, just, the way Corey reads them, it sounds very ... scripted. I mean, I know he was reading the words, but you can tell he was, he reads them like schoolkids read from textbooks to the whole class.