Thought Industry - Songs For Insects | Текст песни

• Тексты песен
• Thought Industry
• Songs For Insects

I) The Popular Left and Butterfly Government Dreams

I sing poems of rebellion. Lax russet lips lavish
scabrous empathy. Without rights I kowtow. A silly
carcass burrowing forward. This reads terms of vast
cosmos for Tianamen Square, or felt dampness in meat.
I crave iced pavement to clot my languid flesh. Without
rights I blunder. A bloated child lost in a flaccid smile.
Mold and silk ripple the womb. Congested slams of
Beijing. Suckle chunk water surviving rusty plumbing.
Paint chips and fades the wormholed face of Mao
Zedong. Insects tremble at the coming of the Year of the
Cockroach.
Visage with backwards eyes could be Sun-Yet-Sen. A
friend armed with nails to help me torch the flag.
"Leader, your steps I adore. I’ll fight along since you
stand for me. I have surrendered to life's enchantment, a
voluptuous passing dream."

II) Sticky Slithers Royal Fly

"Carnage?”, peeped the Fly. His wings glide with
sweat. Lick her foot. Consume it slowly. Blood is what I
need. Raped her squirming cute face sobbing. I'm the
Cockroach King. When is wrong all right? We'll banter in
the cupboards. Meditate. Use Zen under the plates.
Father I am. I'm you, but I've found I'm you as lethe.

III) Artist at War, Flesh Armor

Sable Saliva paints a plethora of Lindens with rugose
branches and molted angst torsos.
"Don't cry my baby brother. A martyr I was made.
When the tanks just roll me over, remember where your
loyalties remain.”

IV) Closed Door, Open Gash

Thighs held tense and wet deserve salacious care.
Risque' like death I maim guests slowly. Love is all I
need. A fat bombast stripped leitmotif for the Cockroach
King. A ruffian to trust? Like what kissing preludes. What
rigmarole poets elude. Father I am. I'm you, but I've
found I'm you; a swain.

V) Drugs, Fine Wine, Revolution, and More Drugs

The pariah's gone. Extirpated. Let's burn “His” house.
Holy water drink it slowly. Where's the police tonight?
Stumbling down here. Here the police will die. City
water vomits harshly. Love spinning round. Flailing.
Bloody water washes hardly. Sauterne, parched I suck.
Blotter. Sweat and water tastes too salty now.
Lepidoptera. One billion strong. Twenty miles wide
to kill one man.
No time to use with morals to loose. To choose.

VI) Exit the Fool

Dabble dandy sulfur daisy eye. My eye. Debatable
flummery. Me free. Lilliputian ego. A rayon vest, a
smooth chest. No complications. No compendium.
Sangfroid. I disencumber with equilibrium. A drunkard. I
am. I'm you, but I've found I'm you as dawn.

Thought Industry еще тексты