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Oh i feel it, i feel so low |
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Reaction sees itself in burning blazing gold |
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Waiting in the corners on the boaters where the boyfriends all sink low |
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And all my hands can do |
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Is fold themselves in the valleys |
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In the coridoors, in the ceilings over you |
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Oh in the kitchen where my beatrice sweats her glow |
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Reaction sets itself today when i run home |
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Wheres the keeper of a photon daytime sleeper |
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And all my hands are us |
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The frozen song that calls upon the blessed bus |
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So cry and whine while guest speakers sink into brine |
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Im the sendup of a hallowed tradition true |
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So i honor thy friends, they are just bends |
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In a slapstrick tradition, loyalty bends |
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Under the shadow of an empire's true |
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Eat your russian berries, eat them in the monestary |
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And its all that i can do |
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You better hold tight because even cancer needs a home |
