There's not really a name for what we are
Or how they devalued the flesh of our ugly prophet
Third Reich Christian right wild teens having fun
Nobody’s baby breath

Could you love me wrong, like just until
Somebody better comes along
She said she wants to be vacant, is that detected
You’ve relapsed back to a losing way you’re a lovely game everybody plays ya
How many moves should I erase?
Just the aborted centuries
(and the superstitious ones are the best)

The body is quick to forgive, where the spirit's only vengeful
I've got such a hunger for the obvious
Lions head was the reporter’s mask
And desire is arachnidan

I will video your liberation from the cycle of samsara
In my empire of negation there's no humbling nativity and I'm raving without one
Though I don’t breathe them

There woke me up strange dream like I want to be your pregnant wrestler
Up to celebrate your creepy black licorice servant's long milk tits
Or seeping models on scaley moist pagers pages from the Planned Parenthood cut from eldery console
Robitussin kissed the brain and the gloves’ heart is changing
(Killer catholic boy wearing a black mask!)
Traveling around with my head full of the worst shit

I've got such a hunger for the obvious, quite unlike this demonic radiation
Of our fluids on public display
Lions head was the reporter’s mask
I’ve been calling it glove thing metastasis

There’s still so many deaths in us it should really be a motivator
But there are volumes of women like verse that simply must unhinge me first or
Forfeit the pregnancy
And that’s not happening

You are such a killer, wasted one
You are such a killer, million dollar hit