well, i cop a feel
off a faith cure, it's romantic ideals,
and i never, ever thought i would
until i saw the Olympian carried out

and crucified
by mob law, their choplogic hailing down.
the Sword splits ‘em. full house entertained.
they go soft and then plummet down, funny frowns.
they lose face. pride limp.
marvel omega bound.

well, i see
harvests of heroes and they’re looking at me (looking at me).
i tell them,” i would never wanna be (wanna be)
laid so bare.
dance the Moxie, the Bold Boogie,
‘cos in the end, when they come, i’ll be sorry.”

“hey, i know you’re lying.
they’ll take your life even if you’re trying
to be slight and laugh at the miracle,
to be vague and watch the world die.”
ace, your counsel doesn’t mean shit
when getting lofty tempers the Idealist.
sorts me sunny, strictly plays the hits.
drips grant me bliss,
so Sibyl, fuck your riot

‘cos i know what i want
and that’s bringing my head
to planes of pure being
far away from here.

ROBOT ON DRUGS
I am so fucked up. I have transcended my reality. I wish to live and die on the plane. I do not wish to return to standard living. I would like to - to remain here forever.

i’ll sleep for the night
with one million wives
in a Cradle of Winged Healing.

polluted and cascading
down into the halcyon days,
the vale of years, stoned and worn,
down into the Auld Lang Syne of the Stillborns.
a young one republic fouled up in dirt,
soft, forsaken earth,
spectral objects with wits like cancer.

mom and dad,
mom and dad,
mom and dad,
mom and dad...

mom and dad got bored and ran the hell away.
now in a bathroom stall,
we feel ourselves swell and split;
decay.
the automated hunt for sad freedom, some Eden,
Eden, Eden, Eden...
Eden, Eden, Eden...
arousing the starving fallout of potent, immortal
demons.

some say,” goddamn, i do not think i remember you…
i do not."
i say,” i may look different but right now,
i swear it’s this stomach flu.”
(sound of a puke)

then abruptly, i’m confused for a dangerous feral cat.
i'm gonna scratch ya.
a swarm eases my big pain
with their exalted baseball bats.

“it’s gonna be ok!”
BANG! BANG! BANG!
“whoo!”
wipes sweat from forehead!

well, i see
harvests of heroes and they’re looking at me (looking at me).
i tell them,” i would never wanna be
laid so bare. dance the Moxie, the Bold Boogie.”

“hey, it’s easy.
you take a breath and savagely defy.
move your feet, uh, to the left or to the right,
then you’ll know just who you need to be.
you’re gonna dance,
you’re gonna die for your country.”