|
my baby paints herself red |
|
she paints her hair |
|
her hair is dead |
|
she's living in the city |
|
with the bodies that scream |
|
we are all jesus |
|
we all dream |
|
see the dancer in there reeling |
|
paint the sky upon the ceiling |
|
four useless thoughts of born again |
|
so blinded by the filth on sunday |
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saying the words what an idiot you are |
|
miracle drivel, optical sewer |
|
listens to the flowers fall |
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paint the words upon the wall |
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this is the pulse of fools like you |
|
who sound so red and turn so blue |
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the sound of uselessness in slumber |
|
war is over if you want |
|
see the dancers see them reeling |
|
paint the sea upon the ceiling |
|
pulse |
|
my baby paints herself red |
|
she paints her hair |
|
her hair is dead |
|
she's living in the city |
|
with the bodies that scream |
|
we are all jesus |
|
we all dream |
|
see the dancer's semen reeling |
|
paint the sky upon the ceiling |
|
that's pulse |
