La vie boheme lyrics Jonathan D. Larson

Who died?
Our Akita
You make fun, yet I’m the one
Attempting to do some good
Or do you really want a neighborhood
Where people piss on your
Stoop every night?
Bohemia, Bohemia’s
A fallacy in your head
This is Calcutta
Bohemia is dead
Dearly beloved we gather here to say our goodbyes
Here she lies, no one knew her worth
The late great daughter of Mother Earth
On these nights when we
Celebrate the birth
In that little town of Bethlehem
We raise our glass, you bet your ass to
La vie Boheme
To days of inspiration
Playing hookey, making
Something out of nothing (la vie Boheme)
The need to express
To communicate (la vie Boheme)
To going against the grain
Going insane, going mad (la vie Boheme)
To loving tension, no pension (la vie Boheme)
To more than one dimension (la vie Boheme)
To starving for attention
Hating convention, hating pretension (la vie Boheme)
Not to mention of course
Hating dear old Mom and Dad (la vie Boheme)
To riding your bike (la vie Boheme)
Midday past the three-piece suits (la vie Boheme)
To fruits, to no absolutes
To Absolute, to choice (la vie Boheme)
To the Village Voice (la vie Boheme)
To any passing fad
To being an us for once, instead of a them
La vie Boheme (la vie Boheme)
Hey Mister, she’s my sister
So that’s five miso soup, four seaweed salad
Three soy burger dinner, two tofu dog platter
And one pasta with meatless balls
It tastes the same
If you close your eyes
And thirteen orders of fries
Is that it here?
Wine and beer!
To hand-crafted beers
Made in local breweries
To yoga, to yogurt, to rice and beans and cheese
To leather, to dildos, to curry vindaloo
To Huevos Rancheros and Maya Angelou
Emotion, devotion, to causing a commotion
Creation, vacation
Mucho masturbation
Compassion, to fashion, to passion when it’s new
To Sontag
To Sondheim
To anything taboo
Ginsberg, Dylan, Cunnigham and Cage
Lenny Bruce
Langston Hughes
To the stage
To Uta, to Buddha, Pablo Neruda, too
Why Dorothy and Toto went over the rainbow
To blow off Auntie Em
La vie Boheme
We’re close
Bisexuals, trisexuals, homo sapiens
Carcinogens, hallucinogens, men
Pee Wee Herman
German wine, turpetine, Gertrude Stein
Antoniotti, Bertolucci, Kurosawa
Carmina Burana
To apathy, to entropy, to empathy, ecstacy
Vaclav Havel, The Sex Pistols, 8BC
To no shame, never playing the Fame Game
To marijuana
To sodomy, it’s between God and me
To S & M
Waiter, waiter, waiter, waiter!
La vie Boheme
In honor of the death of Bohemia an impromptu salon
Will commence immediately following dinner
Maureen Johnson, just
Back from her spectacular one-night engagement at the eleventh street lot
Will perform Native American tribal chants
Backwards through her vocoder
While accompanying herself on the electric cello
Which she ain’t never studied
And Mark Cohen will preview his new documentary about his inability
To hold an erection on the high holy days
And Mimi Marquez, clad only in bubble wrap
Will perform her famous lawn chair-handcuff dance to the sounds
Of iced tea being stirred
And Roger will attempt to write a bittersweet, evocative song
That doesn’t remind us of “Musetta’s Waltz!”
Angel Dumott Schunard will model the latest fall fashions
From Paris while accompanying herself on the ten gallon plastic pickle tub
And Collins will recount his exploits as anarchist
Including the tale of the successful reprogramming of the M.I.T.
Virtual reality equipment to self-destruct, as it broadcasts the words
“Actual reality, act up, fight AIDS”
Excuse me, did I do something wrong?
I get invited, then ignored all night long
I’ve been trying, I’m not lying
No one’s perfect, I’ve got baggage
Life’s too short, babe, time is flying
I’m looking for baggage that goes with mine
I should tell you
I’ve got baggage too
Should tell you
Wine and beer!
A.z.t. break
Me, you?
Songwriters: Jonathan D. Larson


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