As the Jehovah's Witnesses gather around the corner on Avenue C, and I'm looking for the right drug to take to rid me of the aftereffects of last night's pizza/beer/weedfest, I'm getting a bit nostalgic for those college days when SANDINISTA! was blasting from my stereo, and I used to sign my letters to my dad "D Ortega". Back when born-again Christian wasn't a dirty word (I learned Liberation Theology from my born-again PoliSci teacher), and I flirted with the idea of quitting school and joining those Japanese monks marching for peace (oh wait, I did that, for all of 2 days) ....... ahhhh, youth!
AFTER ALL THIS TIME
TO BELIEVE IN JESUS
AFTER ALL THOSE DRUGS
I THOUGHT I WAS HIM
AFTER ALL MY LYING AND A -CRYING
AND MY SUFFERING
I AIN'T GOOD ENOUGH
I AIN'T CLEAN ENOUGH
TO BE HIM
