An Orgy Of Critics
Sweep the black super market
Sweep it up with your teeth
Put your feather in your box (Take off! take off!)
Send it off to me
I smell oxygen, precious.
Bareback on your horse
Gallop off course, Get off (Get off! Get off!)
Filled with fury's force.

There's a fire in the peach pit, a blaze in the snake pit.
You erased it but we saw you fake it.
There's blood on the good book, love in the bad brook.
Suck out all the nerve and make it yours

You brought me to my knees.
Your art, it brought me to my knees

You're so perfect to please us
You make all the right noise
Get the business clothes off (Take off! Take off!)
And strip down to your voice

We will show you your future
And choke the air from your world
You can be our once-twice-thrice-
four times, then goodbye girl

There’s a crack in the blank stare,
back in the black raised hair. It’s not fair.

I don't know who told you that but it's a lie.
Believe me. I swear I shall not deceive thee.
I don't know who sold you that but it's a fake.
Remind me. My eyes see straight behind me.
I've never killed nobody. I promise you're my first
You always remember your first