| He’ll chase away the skeletons harboured in your Christian closets
|
| Salutations to a passenger of guilty trips
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| Of guilty trips well travelled
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| Well travelled and travelling
|
| Thoughts of glory holes
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| Of angel kisses
|
| Of golden showers
|
| All cured by a holy bottle of H2O
|
| So shock me Peter
|
| This is the day
|
| For this unruly soul to make its getaway
|
| Shock me Peter
|
| Clear the way
|
| You’re selling lies but it’s enough to make me say
|
| Get away
|
| A diluted broth of plastic pop songs birthed of sunlight and toxic glitter
|
| Fed unto the wanting spoonfuls of formaldehyde laced with a pinch of ginger
|
| And the midnight people banished by oil-slickened productions
|
| My zombie honey, do you realise what you’ve done?
|
| Your loneliness is killing us
|
| Ruled and ruling
|
| Beckoned by the beckoning
|
| So shock me Peter
|
| This is the day
|
| For this unruly soul to make its getaway
|
| Shock me Peter
|
| Clear the way
|
| You’re selling lies but it’s enough to make me say
|
| Get away
|
| Get away from your golden arches
|
| Your pre-packaged prophets designed to conduct your choreographed lives
|
| Morals for immortality
|
| Quarrels for brutality
|
| Blank stares and stifling yawns all fed to the broken masses
|
| Wash it all away
|
| Angry egos and holy placebos will cast away the rotting
|
| With your Hollywood gods all built on a mountain of recycled flesh
|
| Dead eyes fashioned with wide smiles
|
| It’s hard to stay beautiful without the tender touch of a scalpel’s knife
|
| Tell me your stories
|
| Tell me your glories
|
| Tell me your light and I’ll tell you my dark
|
| So shock me Peter
|
| This is the day
|
| For this unruly soul to make its getaway
|
| Shock me Peter
|
| Clear the way
|
| You’re selling lies but it’s enough to make me say
|
| Get away |