goes on , and the beat goes on , through the centuries , years spinning , leaves of a calendar peeling , headlines evolving through the movie-mist , past the graves of human conceit and insignificance , decade after decade of decayed hope and buried lessons , fast , chaotic train music , climbing with tinny difficulty to a fat masturbator 's sickly tasting orgasm , crashing cymbals , whore violins , grinning talentless cacophonies of now orchestration , gradually fading , an image appearing through the idiocy of the passing ages , fading in to me , this little box , focusing on jack .