The Wave
Goodbye, my life will soon enI know they'll all blame youas for all the flowers I sentyou bastard, you let them die too!
When I'm dead how sorry you'll beall that grief upon your platethen you'll have to make time for mebut, ha, ha!, by then you'll be too late.
I see the headlines on the front page'singer kills himself for love'think of all the hurt and outrageit would cause in my fan club.
Loading rocks into their pursesthey will lay in wait for youcover you in spit and cursesit's your worst fears all coming true.
Newspapers will pull apartthe poor excuses you gavea million fans with broken heartstheir tears will rain down on my grave.
Your life will be hell from now on,like a wave they'll all be coming at yain an angry human seaa quick one upon your hotel room flooris all I'm wanting you forcost you too much to reject me.
My girl gang can get quite madso make love to me my dearto turn me down would be real badone phone call ... I can bring those harpies here.
And I bet my golden ballsthat all my fans pull and tearand with ugly midnight phone callsturn your sweet dreams into nightmares.
With jealous mouths like snarling rosesyou will see them close inand singing songs that I've composedthey'll slowly rip you limb from limb.
Your life will be hell from now on...