| And with these humble tools
|
| We can trigger any emotion we choose
|
| But we’ll just settle to pump out repeated relics
|
| Diluted with time
|
| You see the airwaves are clogged up
|
| But the fickle, they lap it up, lap it up
|
| They need to be drowned in condiments
|
| And left to ponder sense
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Snap back to reality
|
| The turbulence is blowing us from side to side
|
| But no matter how hard you try
|
| Surrounded by cannon fodder
|
| Inundated with stagnant sounds, sounds
|
| You see the airwaves are clogged up
|
| But the fickle, they lap it up, lap it up
|
| They need to be drowned in condiments
|
| And left to ponder sense
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Transformation: in progress
|
| Transformation: in progress
|
| Transformation: complete
|
| Lightning strikes, a flash flood of colour
|
| Lightning strikes, I can’t stand the heat
|
| Lightning strikes, a flash flood of colour
|
| I can’t stand the heat
|
| A flash flood of colour
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here
|
| Warm smiles, they do not make you welcome here |