|
Drugged a million words, just like ourselves. |
|
Formed a straight line, plucking at sound-waves. |
|
And oh, for no-one ever. Darkest singing. |
|
The days of tripping upon snakes are over now. |
|
Do you feel empty now? Do you feel empty now, Inside? |
|
Do you feel empty now inside the fascist city? |
|
Empty now? Inside... |
|
And I'm thinking of euphoria. Spiked on golden splinters. |
|
With the church of relativity all under my fingers. |
|
Head up into the bluest skies. |
|
Stuck in the glue with the dying flies. |
|
Inside the vapour you were grown. |
|
In the LSD of the speaker cone. |
|
Been given the cobwebs to blow away. |
|
Been celebrating each wasted day. |
|
In unconditional luxury. |
|
Comatose, living life in a sugar cube. |
|
Do you feel pleasure now? |
|
Do you feel pleasure now inside the fascist body? |
|
Inside... |
|
Post-acid youth. Post-acid youth. Post-acid youth... |
|
Dumb and hooked on fossil fuels. A gorged generation. |
|
Speckled and smackey. Singing Prozac is golden. |
|
Escaped the prison they called the head. |
|
And glittered the bones of the young and dead. |
|
On big Imperial chemistry. Elastic, dumb and vulnerable. |
|
But somewhere down south - You're where the birds are singing. |
|
You'll hear the barbed wire doves of a million mothers. |
|
Is there fulfilment now? |
|
Is there fulfilment now inside the fascist psyche? |
|
The fascist psyche. Bring us fulfilment now. Inside. |
|
Post-acid youth. Post-acid youth. Post-acid youth... |