Our Song


It’s a morbid fascination, so we keep the bloated corpse afloat
Just take the tastemaker’s sponsored word, of course it’s dope
If it sort of floats, I guess they did the job right
Jawbreaker gum snaps sassy for the spotlight
Laffy taffy and it means nothing but the money moves
S leave them kind of lost, slumming in a bummy groove
And kids have a sweet tooth, chipped on the scum
Jumping to the two, my tongue trips on the one
Switch songs and jump to the latest version, major merchant
Pagan virgin, controversy state the sermon, hated vermin
I take a turn and make it permanent my word is murderous
Perverted furtive bliss, eternal person circling
Rehearsing his retirement speech with each quick installment
After all, it’s half the battle when the chips are all in
I’m sick of scalding hitting all the hidden catacombs
Russian rabbit hats molt, if only I had of known
I wander back to a tattered home content and tired
These hands aren’t up in the air yet, you get them higher
Dead and wired, but it won’t let my brain cease
Feels like I wait weeks just to feel the grace of peace

Glacial sleep walking empty city blocks apocalyptic
With a dose of Emily Post boasts the caustic mystic
An odd statistic, anomalous to proper living
Opposite to got permission, optimistic coffer sickened
Slayed with each manic thought won’t let the depression come
The lesson learned is stress can turn into a weapon, stunned
200 Still Meant attempts dusty never spun
Booking your pleasure cruise, booze and some feathered fun
Less than glum, shooting words from my rusty wretched lungs
Looking pretty for the listeners, hope for fetching sums
Second to none, furnace of a heart cage kept in the sun
Got a list of 100 jobs and only 11 are done
So go take the money and run mouths with your platinum fronts
Amorous runts grab fashion statement…the cap of a dunce
Placid for punks, packed back to the front that’s masterful crunk
New wave for the vanguard, who raises hands hard
Chances are the Mansons are too late for reality shows
But give us safe boxed death…we callously go
Malady goes deeper than marrow, leukemia type
Who’s needing advice, the bald Texan’s speaking tonight, right