Simplistic majestic magician
That weaves cloth
Of nothing that is supposed fine

Round about fanatics
With no one around
But the mechanics

We are the lost age
With no sage but the voice
Of a 70's page

We revolt against
Nothing
But the sins of common human torture

Could it be?
Could it be?
That we have reached a modern
Utopia washed over with numbers and bummers?

"Eee gad!" screams the man
"Too bad!" says the unclad band
"So sad!" says the rest of the pickled sand

Young reefs bubbling in a restless wheeze
Torture awaits the man that sits in ye' pasture
Time is no friend of yours or
Mine

Bricks break faster then the heart does
For they build buildings
Where hearts can break
Inside themselves

As doves shatter in winged' flight
All the while blinking alone
In the blankness of the starry hot night

Ohh Demetrius that awaited a party
That never got started
Because he believed it was cool to be tarty

Too see is to
See
What your head
Wants to believe

Another night past round the blast
Where Chicago blistered bleakly
And the lights were turned right out

Out and fast and out and cast
Fish a' bleedin' orange
Orange and rocky sands

A letter opened itself
To a lover that did not
Want to feel or see

She read it out loud
To the pitch of a sound
She never meant to reach

Imaginary sentimentalists
That persuade themselves
That they are no man
Nor hold no
Robotic hand

They are
The children
Of the
Evolution

Evolution.

What a silly
Bourgeois
Excuse

To me

Tis' just another excuse
To fend off
The
Noose