Act III
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SCENE FIFTEEN
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HE USED TO CUT THE GRASS
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JOE: (to himself as he walks out of prison)
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I'm out at last
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Boy, the world sure looks different
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Wow... there's hardly anything fun to do
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Since they made music illegal
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But I'm hooked I got the habit
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I got to have it
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I need to play
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But theres no musicians anymore
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They're all gone
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Wait!
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I've got it!
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I'll be sullen and withdrawn
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I'll dwindle off into the twilight realm
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Of my own secret thoughts
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I'll walk through the parking lot
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In a semi-catatonic state
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And dream of guitar notes
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To go with the loading-zone announcements.
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JOE wanders through the world which by then has been totally epoxied over,
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carefully organized, with everyone reporting daily to his or her appointed place in
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a line somewhere in front of a window somewhere in a building somewhere in order
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to collect his or her welfare check, which, when cashed, made it possible for the young
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ones to continue the payments for the obsolete and irreparable appliances their
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parents had purchased on the installment plan years ago, providing as security
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the future incomes of their children. The rest of these checks were used by the young
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recipients to buy fun things of their own on credit, most of which broke down or failed
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within moments of purchase and seemed to be stacking up everywhere.
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CENTRAL SCRUTINEER:
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The White Zone is for loading or unloading only.
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If you gotta load or unload, go to the White Zone.
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You'll love it.
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Its a way of life.
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As JOE stumbles over mounds of dead consumer goods formed into abstract statues
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ded-icated to the Quality of American Craftsmanship, dreaming his stupid little guitar
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notes, he hears, somewhere in the back of his head, the voice of MRS. BORG,
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taunting him:
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Mrs. BORG'S VOICE:
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Turn it down!
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Turn it down!
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I have children sleeping here!
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Don't you boys know any nice songs?
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I m calling the police!
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I did it!
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They'll be here... shortly!
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I in not joking around anymore!
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You'll see now!
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There they are... they're coining!
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Just listen to that mess, would you!
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Every day this goes on around here!
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He used to cut my grass...
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He was a very nice boy...
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He used to cut my grass...
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He was a very nice boy...
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He used to cut my grass...
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He was a very nice boy...
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He used to cut my grass...
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He was a very nice boy...
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CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER:
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This is the CENTRAL SCRUTINIZER... Yes...he used to be a nice boy...He used to cut
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the grass...But now his mind is totally destroyed by music. Hes so crazy now he even
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believes that people are writing articles and reviews about his imaginary guitar notes,
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and so, continuing to dwindle in the twilight realm of his own secret thoughts, he not only
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dreams imaginary guitar notes, but, to make matters worse, he dreams imaginary vocal
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parts to a song about the imaginary journalistic profession...
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-----------------
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He Used To Cut The Grass
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Frank Zappa |