It has occurred to me that for a long time I haven't said exactly what I am thinking about anything. My lyrics became some postmodern poetry slam, where I am against the wall, breathing rhymes into the window, making the glass fog up while cigarette smoke curls around me like Medusa's hair, and I can only wish my words would turn people to stone, but when their mouths are open, all they are doing is yawning. Where did my mojo beans go?
By skirting the issue I may have thought I was being clever, better yet a running back, dodging the oncoming team, jumping over defensive linemen and landing on my feet, ducking, and swaying back and forth to fake them out, but I wasn't moving the ball down the field. If I was, it all would have made sense. No, I was shadowboxing, and all I was dodging was the truth.
Where did my mojo beans go?