Romance between homeless intellectuals.

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No idea. Dumpster Einsteins.

Fare Thee Well

I met you baby by the trash machine
Where we were sorting through recycled things
I hoped that you would be my garbage queen
But you know

Your flowered panties hadn?t seen a wash
Except in gutters where our boots would slosh
Sex was perfunctory at times though lush
But you know

Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well.
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
Philosophy is born of pain
It?s a luxury we understand a single thing.

That all the critics live in thought machines.
An artist?s smart enough to spike their guns.
We started out with nothing, now we?re done
But you know.

We would have made it but our hands weren't clean.
I blame it on the anti-aging cream.
You blame it on the psychopathic gene
But you know

Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?

I sought my refuge in the arms of Jung
You favored Nietszche?s anti-God harangue
We outgrew Hesse just like everyone
But you know

All the answers in philosophy
Cannot exterminate hypocrisy
I was true to you and you to me
But you know

Fare thee well, my baby, fare thee well.
Who can tell, my baby, who can tell?
Philosophy is born of pain
It?s a luxury we understand a single thing.