Your life, as you knew it, was terrible.

Born on the other side of the town split in two.

But you're still strong.

Just let someone try and tear you down.

Ain't much of a difference between a bridge and a wall.


You look around, and see your life.

And how bad it is. You hear the not-so-friendly voice.

At least you're out of the coffee houses.

It couldn't be as bad as home.

It can't be wrong if it feels so- Bam! Mother threw a tomato at your head.


But there was that bedtime story she told you... And then later retracted.

The Origin of Love.

How love came to be.

Soul mates used to roam the earth, still attached.

Said I'll split them right down the middle, gonna cut 'em right up in half.


Well... The rest is self explanatory.

But, after a bedtime story like that, you couldn't think!

You could barely think into your adulthood.

You hadn't found your other half yet. Maybe he was on the other side...

It was the sad story how we became lonely two leg creatures.


And what were you?

A child of the sun? Possibly.

A child of the moon? That one wasn't psychically possible.

Or of the earth? Maybe...

That's the pain that cuts a straight line through the heart.


And then, one day, you see them.

And you came from the sun.

You're destined.

He's your Sugar Daddy.

Hey Sugar Daddy, Hansel needs some sugar in his bowl.


The timeless tale, The Origin of Love.

Hansel and Luther, rolled up into one, children of the sun.

But not all can find their Sugar Daddy...

No, sometimes you just get The Long Grift.

If you've got some sugar, bring it home.


Mama doesn't like him.

She didn't like you much at the moment either.

Not after he produced a ring, an application for American citizenship,

And a wig. But was the plan so crazy it just might work?

Sweet home ├╝ber alles, lord I'm coming home!


No. You ended up with an Angry Inch.

Six inches forward, five inches back.

The train is coming, and you're still tied to the track.

And then, you're left with a sideways grimace on an eyeless face.

Stay undercover until the night turns to black...


You get all you wanted, with a few... Misunderstandings.

You're there, you're just alone. He left.

You've got music, but you're in coffee shops. Not stadiums.

You see the very reason you fell apart, falling apart itself. They tore it down.

Feel on the verge of going mad, and then it's time to punch the clock.


You tear the wig he gave you, before everything, off, you look at it, squinting.

There it lies, feigning shock.

Your personal hell.

Your Hedwig.

Okay, everybody!


You put on some make up,

Turn on the eight-track,

Pull the wig down from the shelf.

Suddenly, you're this punk rock-star, from stage and screen.

Until you wake up, and turn back to yourself.


Your short set is almost over at the coffee hut, and you thank the audience.

All... Well, both of them.

You see a friendly face, pretending not to know you.

But, the band starts to play. The only song you've written. You smile at him.

And they're so twisted up, they'll twist you up, I fear.


You take him under your kind, but slightly dented, wing.

Your musical lessons were the hard part.

Six months of rock history, lyrics, grooming, and vocal training.

Yes, like mother made you, you stuck his head in the oven, and made him sing.

Look what you've done...


You see the friendly face again.

But not so friendly this time.

His cool, seductive, serenade, was just a tool of his trade.

Singing backup, with your husband who loves you, is nice. Out of the spotlight.

Now you ought to know, that this fool can no longer be swayed.


It seems like no matter how hard you try, you end up black and blue.

When you rose from the doctor's slab, you lost a piece of your heart.

You gave a piece to your mother, your man,

And you gave a piece to the rockstar.

He took the good stuff and ran.


Inside, you're hollowed out.

Outside, a paper shroud, and all the rest's illusion.

The automatist's undoing, the whole world starts unscrewing,

Time collapses, and space warps. You see decay and ruin,

I tell you: No, no, no, no, you make such an exquisite corpse.


You look in the mirror again.

You've gone mad.

You've become that not-so-friendly face.

And you remember that day in the coffee hut, so many years ago.

It seems the stranger's always you, alone in some new Wicked Little Town.


You look around. It's what you've always wanted.

The people, millions of people, here for you.

You look back at the small band, always have been here for you.

You look to the ground, and sing, letting yourself, and them go.

So hold on to each other, you gotta hold on tonight...


And you're shining

Like the brightest star...

A transmission

On the Midnight Radio...

And you're spinning

Your new 45's

All the misfits, and the losers!

Well you know you're rock-n-rollers...

Spinning to your rock-n-roll...

Lift up your hands...