Do you know what it feels like...
To be walking down the street, quite caught up in your thought?
Might your grip on Mary's hand slip when you get a subconcious whiff of the only girl you ever loved?
And is it acting?
You damn well know it's time to give up when you don't perk up, get yourself all worked up,
when the pretty girl behind the counter at the gas station down the lane of every
town, in every nation, lifts her shirt up in some clear flirt of intentions strage.
Cause she's just acting.
Is it lonley in the system? Do you tire of feeding the beast when the time is gone/you miss them.?
It scares yo uwhen you meet it and find yourself having trouble greeting all those horses
chomping at the bits.  Things aren't always easy.  Just close your eyes and eat it.
Shit I'm sick of acting.
Something inside you says it's right, whatever will get you what you want tonight.  But that's how it goes, the plastic rose, you bought her melts, puddle on the heater.  Does it take a fat and naked man to revolt you?  For me it's simpler, I only need see a black tan.  I only bleed when I'm bored, and when I'm acting.
On the Joys of Acting...