|
Gainer from the balcony |
|
Swan dive into the concrete |
|
They served you venison and m******e |
|
Nobel'd you for your good deeds |
|
It's in the twelve steps |
|
Against a death threat |
|
It's like a seat belt |
|
Against a hurricane |
|
You're in the first class |
|
Against a tailspin |
|
With the dizygotic twin of god in the c**kpit |
|
Ooo |
|
You try to turn it off |
|
But you're too turned on by it |
|
Ooo |
|
You try to wake up |
|
So you're a lost lamb dying on the range in the heat |
|
Soft guts waving on the vulture come and get the meat |
|
And served you television in a tyranny |
|
They Teen Choice'd you for your good grief |
|
Is it the slow stalk |
|
From the philistine |
|
Or in the wolf club |
|
Against instinct |
|
Or in the Red Cross |
|
Against the hidebound |
|
With the dizygotic twin of god at the slaughterhouse |
|
Ooo |
|
You try to turn it off |
|
But you're too turned on by it |
|
Ooo |
|
You try to wake up |
|
But then you're over it |
|
You're over it |
|
|
|
Stumbled drunk out on the balcony |
|
Saw the moonlight in the concrete |
|
The band played Nearer My God To Thee |
|
Death was begging for your company |
|
Was it the Brown bag |
|
Around the Popov |
|
Or in the Six men |
|
Carrying the casket |
|
Beak of a dead dove |
|
Brocken and stomped on |
|
While the dizygotic twin of god owns the flower shop |
|
But you're too turned on by it |
|
You try to turn it off |
|
But you're too turned on by it |
|
You try to turn it off |
|
But you're too turned on by it |
|
Now you try to wake up |
|
But then you're over it |
