Remember back.... way back?

[song]

Back in the days when I was young,

I'm not a kid anymore,

But some days I sit and wish I was a kid again

I remember way back when

(What?)

Back in the day

(What?)

Back in the day

[back to spoken word]

When I was in pain from the lack of restraint the kids showed with the taint of their tongue's cuts ... in slashes and fients, I'm still flushed red with the residue imbued by their corrosive paints

I had Izod and Polo shirts too, that my mom used to pick up for like a buck twenty-two through the slew of refuse that they strewed upon their lawns in garage sales. What was their trash was our Zales. But wearing the clothes that they had discarded fueled the cruelty they'd already started.

I was poor and fat, sat alone, tried not to bemoan the fact I'd been disowned by my peers. Quashed my tears as they passed by with leers and jeers, I put up a wall to hide my fears and control the shame flaring in my ears [shrug] at least I took some of the heat off of the Queers

Them, they'd beat in the alleys off of main streets. You'd think they'd be discreet [pause and shake head]. The pitter patter of little feet scampering away as a geek lay coughing up the blood of defeat along with that morning's Cream O' Wheat

Then I grew up instead of out, the pouts changed to shouts of the little bullies' pain as I, untamed and emotionally maimed, struck out at my former masters faster and harder than a natural disaster. They fell, two and three at a time; Their yells no longer able to decipher a cruel rhyme like,

"Bleecher Creature, double feature"

Because ... Bleecher's my last name, and I know that the taunt's inane, but like Chinese Water Torture, it's the repetition that that drives you insane.

[song]

I'm not crazy!

Institution!

You're the one who's crazy!

Institution!

Driving me crazy!

Institution!

Sent me to an institution

Said it was the only solution

Said I needed professional help

Protect me from the enemy!

Myself.

[back to spoken word]

And I wasn't crazy despite the suicidal tendencies blooming within me, making every day a drab reality. Where some saw sunshine's rays play across the smiling face of the day, I saw only gray. There was a hollowness in anything anyone had to say.

I grew depressed ... molested by my own repression. Self-hate my only real sin. It only stopped when I slept, and in the morning would begin again. It felt like lifting a mountain to form a grin.

Then it all changed, my thoughts rearranged right out of deranged the day I failed to hang. It's an odd story, but at my lowest point I discovered me without sneering derisively. In my house was a bannister and some rope combined with lost hope and my own personal game of rope a dope. I kissed the world goodbye with a sigh and jumped from up high

[pause and look around]

I heard a snap and a thump, confused, I rubbed the bump on my head in wonderment I wondered why I wasn't dead. But, it seems that my weight broke the beam of the bannister, that being the snap I heard, so I sat for awhile, blubbering like a fat turd. The realization hit me slowly, low key, finally overtaking my thoughts rapidly.

I figured out that I'm not a moron, I know how to tie a knot on ...the bannister and be assured that it will hold as my final seconds unfold in a kicking mess during my last seconds of choking distress. So, where did I go wrong? The rope I chose was strong and long enough to let my feet dangle while I strangled within inches of the ground, but the "snap!" was the last sound I heard before my ass hit the ground.

Nothing computed, and I wasn't deluded, so I thought about it and concluded that there was something else in store for me. I have a bigger destiny than just another self-slain teen. But, though I don't believe in him, if I did, I'd say that God had a twisted sense of irony.

I had broken out of my own box, discovered the importance of socks and how to savor the flavor of Bagels and Lox. I found out that it was the little things that bring that need to sing out loud in a new spring after the dead of winter 's cold the new colors seem vibrant and bold as a million new lives unfold and bloom, but it was a different story for some of my friends as they approached their ends, their own impending dooms.

[song]

So I have grown older,

And you have grown colder,

And nothing is very much fun anymore...

Iiiiiiiiiii-I-I have become comfortably numb.

[back to spoken word]

My friends were mostly dejected rich kids in the mid-eighties, just discovering the worth of their money to the ladies. And discovering their own strange destinies... you see, they were their parents' legacies ... financially, that is, just one big biz, more tax breaks than kids.

Would that fill you with elation? To be, not part of a family, but a flesh corporation? I know that the fact that they were rich throws off their reputation in the eyes of most of us trusted with the task of staying broke and busted. But, I saw the corruption of money when my friends started acting funny, cold eyes, and if it wasn't dark, it wasn't funny.

I don't know when the change came, when the real darkness infected the childhood games, but something was different, never again to be the same. I remember some of their names, but not all, I just remember the effect when my newly found Spring rediscovered fall.

They had formed circles, little cliques. I know that you'll find this next part sick, and will try to pick you brain to figure out why I don't call them insane, but that will always remain a side of my skewed perspective. I've spent a lot of time introspective on their fucked up groups directive.

It worked like this, if one in the group felt death's kiss on their lips, they'd all take the sips ... together

[sing]

We'll be together!

Sha-na-na-na Doo Wop de bang de bang!

[back to spoken]

The first one dropped with a shot to the head, two weeks later another is found dead in bed with sleeping pills overfed.

The crack of the rope's lesson taut, unstoppable as a dreadnaught as the knot caught, leaving a swollen tongue and dripping snot.

[long pause]

You have to understand their plan to know why they banded together. Their parents saw them as assets, like corporations see land to molest, and as a kid, how else can you protest? Their upcoming deaths were victories, their own twisted destinies, the ultimate statement before setting their souls free.

[song]

I want fly eagle to the sea

Fly like an eagle, let my spirit carry me

Time keeps on tickin' tickin' tickin' into the future

[back to spoken word]

And rhymes keep on stickin' stickin' stickin' to me like a suture to take away those painful days. Not lain to rest, but to test my soul's veracity and at the same time talk about my passed friends' legacies. I wish that none of them had the gall to do something that appaling. And I'm proud I had the strength to keep from falling back into the bawling ball of depression and assume the role of their story-teller to this room, and letting their true legacies bloom.

Like I said in the beginning.

Life's missing a soundtrack, because without the music, I'll never be able to bring them back...

[sing softly]

Back in the days when I was young,

I'm not a kid anymore,

But some days I sit and wish I was a kid again

I remember way back when

(What?)

Back in the day

(What?)

Back in the day