Dear God,
|
The patient's best intentions have sadly faltered.
|
Despite his newly installed, varnished brain, and being
|
force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor, he is
|
determined to obtain the new drone spiders' trophy.
|
He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats.
|
Quite frankly i'm sickened to have this individual infiltrate
|
my headspace.
|
He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second
|
as the clock spits, clicks, and time speeds by in the
|
form of a neon snake.
|
Massive delusions?
|
Very probably.
|
I fear for my safety.
|
He is as weak as his fellow man.
|
I am now surrounded by hypocrites, liars, drunks,
|
clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate.
|
I insist we barter with the moon to sell the patients
|
cohesive lyrical maps in exchange for a vision of the
|
future.
|
Stricken with grief, I have no choice but to turn to lethal
|
toxins
|
Hardcore Punk Paste.
|
Allstars takin' over...
|
|
Early draft of lyrics taken from Radio 1 Breezeblock DJ set
|
Dear God,
|
The patient's best intentions have sadly faltered.
|
It has of late become apparent, he's driven by lust and
|
he's as weak as his fellow colleagues.
|
A hypocrite, surrounded by liars and bed-wetters.
|
Stricken with grief, he turns to lethal toxins, hardcore
|
Punk Paste.
|
Goodbye Lord
|
Allstars takin over...
|
|
-----------------
|
Warming Up The Brain Farm
|
| Lo Fidelity Allstars |
