1. |
Posthumous Portmanteau
03:16
|
|||
|
Clever tendril ticking bomb
Car-bomb sewer sour tomb
Put the sorrows in a cup
Drink eat fuck until you stop
Too much fresh air for this body
Quit pretending
Start the mending
Ghosted phantom quite demanding
Nothing
Too much fresh air for this body
There you go again
Severance my friend
There you go again
Severance my friend
|
||||
2. |
Armless In Heaven
03:31
|
|||
|
Not here to teach
Not here to preach
Not here to touch
Not here
Glory be this shell
I anoint I annoy
Decay decoy
Glory be this hell
To have everything
And piss it all away
To have everything
And let it go gray
Takes special skill
Takes special will
Takes forward thought
Talks backward
And then you saw it there
Without a fucking care
Without a second thought
You meddled and you bought
Nothing
Will stop you now
Takes special skill
Special
Will
Takes special skill
Takes
|
||||
3. |
Dictator Defector
01:59
|
|||
|
Causehead causehead sell my plight
Highest bidder highest pride
Righteous reverend righteous ride
Ask about the genocide
Among the carpets that adorn my halls
There hangs a treasured love
A visage of my football club,
Lay bare on laurels of gold.
And there behind the pile of flesh
My son he stands so proud,
With whip in hand, a cigarette,
He gazes at the crowd.
I held this place with iron clutch,
My enemies they trembled,
But now alas, I must depart,
To roads forever mended.
Spiritual rehab, language class
Meals 3 times a day
Bird watching, exercise,
We work hard as we play
Kind speak and euphemisms,
My sins are steeped in bliss
I wash the guilt in silky robes,
And seal it with a kiss
Yeah No
Scandinavia will grant asylum
And empathy provided
Outstretched the hands of fate
To all who've I presided
For bombs of love are bombs of peace and thus are bombs for pleasure
So mir salam der frieden misch
To heavens we can measure
|
||||
4. |
Poor But Mystical
09:00
|
|||
|
Activist, servant, radical, current
Pseudo-pedantic, ranting semantic
True taste messiah, can't get much higher
Cliché machine gun—victorious liar
Feeding the bullshit—eating the young,
Workhorse, you stick out your miserable tongue,
Branded and blinded and bound to the cross,
Banners and logos that pivot your cause.
Scheming your noble enchanting reprieve,
Trophies with honor,
You achieve you believe
Nothing you do and nothing you’ve done,
Gain you the courage to convince you won.
Wide-eyed rook
What it took
For you to sign
That fucking book
Got a wage
Market mage
Shivers in your spine
Honor
Trophy
Honor
Trophy
Cosmic friend have you had
Enemies closer than brothers and
Sisters and mothers
Selfless and egos
Bound tightly by your fucking ethos
|
||||
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