Silver and gold
To save our souls
To save us from the debt
To save us from their pain-staking agenda

Silver and gold
I don't want it anymore
Faces on the coin I resent
All their pride lost in the national anthem

Conniving tella-tubby ****-head cuntbrain
Stupid fat cuntbrain who bleeds out seminal lies,
I'll bleed you, a new **** in your brain
My knife in your ******* head

Passing tears
All behind me
Passing tears
No more surrounding
It's ******* queer
How they tell me
That passing tears
Will deny me

We're passing tears
But the dead
Don't
Know

We travel around
Waiting for the ground
Close your eyes
No more sound
Deafened from death
To hear life
One last breathe
And now we know

They're passing tears
But the dead
Don't
Know

You walk their walk
A disguise only I can see you in
You stalk their walk
You blend in like the sun on the moon
But I can see you

As they weep, you weep
As you smile inside thinking how clever you are, I'm behind you with my radar gun

I will blow you to smithereens,
A confetti exposure that shows your true ugliness
The naive will learn of your sick talent

Be like who ever , whatever your goal maybe
When you fabricate yourself to the next circle, I'll be standing right beside you, taking note, blushing within, **wishing I was you.

Scratch the itch
You start to slip
Drawn into whatever
They tune you in

There's only a few
Like you, they know
But you're paying them
For ignored lies

You're just cattle
Waiting in line
Condemned a thinker
And you don't even have the wit to act

**The cynic is strong. But the cynic is weak.
The cynic is strong. But the cynic is weak.
Vibrating neurotically in the vacuum of tyranny. Let the animal out of his cage.

Stray dog bites the fleas & barks at the buzzard voice with no decision but to wait for the next gesture. Jester can't see why he's lost the leash but the owner is found better now -- much more tamed for an eternal suffering; it's no longer a frothing mouth full of the doomsday within. Barks at the bees, and they shine their stingers; they are karmic bullets of love from a sensitive ghost with no reserve. reserve. He is not there. you put him under the sink , in the disinfectant bucket; you can't cure his rocket fuel habits, but you can pretend he isn't there.

The tick behind your ear isn't going to bring you happiness.