| Transfixed to the TV station
|
| Burning through my brain
|
| Mutant news flashes from the neon grain
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| I’m a reptile, you’re Doug Quaid
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| Go on, I say, I’ll make your day
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| I’ll give you what you want
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| But the price you pay is the pleasure
|
| The pleasure is mine
|
| I say, «Handed me your head on a plate
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| How did you turn out to be so lightweight?»
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| I can’t hurt you more than you’ve hurt yourself
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| I can’t touch you but you’ve already felt
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| So high now you’re going so low
|
| Go on, I say, I’ll make your day
|
| I’ll give you what you want
|
| But the price you pay is the pleasure
|
| The pleasure is mine
|
| I say, «Looked into your blackened soul
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| Your emptiness complete and whole
|
| Handed me your head on a plate
|
| How did you turn out to be so lightweight?»
|
| Bad trip? |
| Tough shit
|
| Bad trip? |
| Tough shit
|
| Bad trip? |
| Tough shit
|
| That’s what you get
|
| When you think with your dick |