"Official Ironman Rally Song" by Guided by Voices
Bitter fish in crude oil sea
You don't have to bother me
You just have to join in on this song
Crawling people on your knees
Don't take this so seriously
You just have to hum it all day long
To dine alone
To build a private zone
Or trigger a synapse
And free us from our traps
You won't see me turn my back
With my head against my stack
Spitting teeth and breaking open skin
Official ironmen you are free
Champions officially
But you won't catch me on an open chin
To dine alone
To build a private zone
Or trigger a synapse
And free us from our traps
Save your knock-out punches for the freaks
Happy little babies with red cheeks
You will rock them gently out of sync
Confirmations through the wire
Spitting gas into the fire
Am I also worthy of a drink?
To dine alone
To build a private zone
Or trigger a synapse
And free us from our traps
Has there been such a succinct definition of the pop song? Like Dickinson's notion of the poem that makes the top of the head feel as if it's coming off--"or trigger a synapse/and free us from our traps"?
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