We've drained full confession booths Polluted drinking wells with our repentances And then stood grinning with our arm Around our shoulders of a rotting child
Hold that pose, provisional arrogant little pigs Who devour their siblings
Shoot that dog if we can't afford to feed Shoot that dog if we can't afford to feed Famine fathered a moth Famine fathered a moth that begot our fathers
Keep your voices down, I'm sneaking out Hey, what's the big idea? Keep your fucking hands off the insight
That rat has got it's mother's eyes That rat has got it's mother's eyes Breeding and nausea They are pouring themselves into the sea