9 to 5 At The Morgue. Within the pale white walls, From 9 to 5 Day after day I feel no more alive, Than the stiff that lies the table before me. Wake
Well the sky is black, And everyone's on fire. Neon lights and shallow graves, Are all I see for miles. Waiting in utopia, To liberate the living dead
to dream up a conspiracy, With many sugar coated alibis. Technicolor and amphetamines in another crime scene. We are anarchists of good taste. We are
A corpse is a corpse. Of course it is. Predetermined destiny, Uncommon bond. Don't be afraid to take my hand. Walk with the dead beaten broken man
Pretty faces pretty hip bodies hang to drain and drip so submit and let's pretend you're not a hollow charlatan velcro whores they fill the streets infecting
I, I am coming, I am coming to California to kill you I, I am coming, I am coming to rape and murder your family you, You can try and run, But there's
Urine love with a robot With dysfunctional genitals and violent mood swings. Urine love with an android queen Sci-fi taboo, mistress machine. You're an
Mushroom Cult. Kaleidoscope of love. Ophidians dance as the shifting occurs. We are stars and electric animals. Nurtured by the mothers of prostitutes
Restroom magicians. Mescaline visions. Pink riots and pigmen in city streets. And in the gutter, distorted colours. At the end of the rainbow our copper
Hermaphrodites with x-ray eyes, March like nazi's to a polka dirge, Shapeshift into paradigms. Virgin mongoloid. To conjure the spirit of lucifer.
You've got me hanging by my throat. Swinging from a tree, Swaying in the breeze. As I die my eyes glaze over. Swinging from a tree, Swaying in the breeze
