| «The God machine is hungry
|
| For individualism and ripe brains
|
| The skull farmers do their rain dance
|
| And pray the machine falls to sleep
|
| She holds me close and whispers wet
|
| 'There are cannibals among us.'
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| Mad in love with dry dead whores
|
| In the backs of abandoned cars
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| Smoking the bones of children
|
| Plotting the murder of love»
|
| Strapped into the chair
|
| The needle now descends
|
| As they lick their cracking lips
|
| Their twitching never ends
|
| Blood beneath their finger nails
|
| Swallow all my pain
|
| Dirty needles break the skin
|
| Suck hard as I drain
|
| Drain me
|
| Drain me
|
| Sunken eyes, a twisted spine
|
| A whiter shade of pale
|
| Rockabilly man come to pound the coffin nails
|
| Inject my stomach full of
|
| Cockroach eggs
|
| Their machine is coming carried on a million legs
|
| Waking in the sleep of reason
|
| Winter is the forever season
|
| Lick thy mother’s bleeding lips
|
| From this glass of hate we sip
|
| Fuck the glass we pump the keg
|
| Kill conception at the egg
|
| Her chin is wet with someone’s hate
|
| Love, disfigure, amputate
|
| Amputate
|
| Amputate
|
| Can you remember how it felt to be alive?
|
| Your god machine is cold
|
| And dead your eyes they cannot cry
|
| Fuck your deities of dying love
|
| We have shot them down from the skies above
|
| Screaming convulsing
|
| My eyes are bleeding
|
| Be silent now and take your beating
|
| I wonder how long you would live
|
| With a bullet in your gut
|
| I wonder how much shit you’d talk
|
| If your throat was cut
|
| I wonder what you’d sound like begging me
|
| To let you breathe
|
| I wonder how much pain it would take
|
| To make you all believe
|
| Believe, believe, believe, believe
|
| In me
|
| I’m your god machine
|
| Fuck your god |