Dear kindly Sergeant Krupke, You gotta understand, It's just our bringin' upke That gets us out of hand. Our mothers all are junkies, Our fathers all are drunks, Golly Moses, Natcherly we're punks!
I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till I drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.
