Dear God,
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The patient's best intentions have sadly faltered.
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Despite his newly installed, varnished brain, and being
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force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor, he is
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determined to obtain the new drone spiders' trophy.
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He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats.
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Quite frankly i'm sickened to have this individual infiltrate
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my headspace.
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He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second
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as the clock spits, clicks, and time speeds by in the
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form of a neon snake.
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Massive delusions?
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Very probably.
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I fear for my safety.
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He is as weak as his fellow man.
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I am now surrounded by hypocrites, liars, drunks,
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clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate.
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I insist we barter with the moon to sell the patients
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cohesive lyrical maps in exchange for a vision of the
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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.
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It has of late become apparent, he's driven by lust and
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he's as weak as his fellow colleagues.
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A hypocrite, surrounded by liars and bed-wetters.
|
Stricken with grief, he turns to lethal toxins, hardcore
|
Punk Paste.
|
Goodbye Lord
|
Allstars takin over...
|
|
-----------------
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Warming Up The Brain Farm
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| Lo Fidelity Allstars |