Go for the balls, just gonGo for the balls, make sure he's woundednHalf of the world will knownHow bad it must hurtnnA spitting resistancenWithin kissing distancenWith a dream behind laughternOf when cushions were softernnYou sit by the door as ashtrays get fillednWith millions of axes, but no one to killnYou babble non-stop about your vision of hell:nThat all pain produced reproduces itselfnnAnd then go for the balls, just gonGo for the balls, make sure he’s woundednHalf the world will knownHalf of the world will seem astoundednGo for the balls, just gonMake sure that he’s hurtnnAnd still by the fire escape you’d turn,nLose ambition and choose to burnnAs through ashes design your curse:nYou’re a love song in slow reversennIf your heart bursts in Ferris wheelsnAnd your nerves strain in sunlit fields…nWe all have to learn how to heal:nYou – the opposite of a shield –nnGo for the balls, just gonGo for the balls, make sure he’s woundednHalf of the world will knownHalf of the world will seem astoundednnGo for the balls, just gonGo for the balls 'til you hear the screamnThen go for your heart, just gonAnd return to the dreamnnOf when cushions were softern(Back in the day)nWhen cushions were softer.n(A long, long time ago)