|
Strange paradise that you're living in, |
|
Strangers talk to you in hissing tongues, fictioning. |
|
I've gone inside some, you don't see me none, |
|
I don't speak with the fear you secretly like to hear. |
|
You get stuck out past the toll chains |
|
And your heart begins its boiling in the cavern |
|
Of your missing shame, |
|
You hear those flapping buds? |
|
You got your values plucked. |
|
Know it's the end of conviction. |
|
You see them walk the streets in packs |
|
Like so many chimpanzees, |
|
Those mental amputees, |
|
No culture only liberties. |
|
If I could wipe them out, |
|
Like never born nor seen, |
|
But it's always been this way, |
|
But I think you know what I mean. |
|
I'm willing to go now, |
|
I'm ready to feel no pain, |
|
Just a sharp red rip, |
|
Then the lights go out on my trip, |
|
One more death in the prison. |
|
Hear the crows speak, know the crow's tongue, |
|
Crows don't eat their own meat, they don't brook no carry on. |
|
So they can speak their bit the Mob, but I can't cop that kind of gob, |
|
Babble and spit the evening long, make a right out of being always wrong. |
|
I'm willing to go now, |
|
I'm ready to feel no pain, |
|
Just a short, sharp rip, |
|
Then the lights go out on my trip, |
|
One more death in the prison. |
|
O for the Mobility get what the Mobility seek, |
|
Though not one of it knows what it means, |
|
You paint it a picture its eyes roll back, |
|
You sing it a song it screams. |
|
O the demise of diction, |
|
Know it's the end of conviction, |
|
Just another death in the prison. |