2002-12-08 | SYNCRONIZED SLIMMING

Here come the placards telling us that we're bastards

Trying to keep us grounded before we come up for a peek

Of the sleek new order, the world has brought upon us

Thieves in the night wearing bright lights on their dome peices

Seen without the naked eye, with more hang-ups then broken phone peices

Can you see the injured species lurking around the corner?

Are they just like us, or are we kidding ourselves like schizophrenic comics?

Being underground stinks, because there's lots of skeletal deposits

Skin's not in when your back is exposed, and there's nobody there to watch it

Something falls from the ceiling, and it sticks to your persona

You've lost that foaming feeling, but you've still got time to plant your manic nirvana

Robbing you of your senses, you're passed out before you see them

If you had any fears left inside your brain, you wouldn't know where to leave them

When the train comes closer you can hear the screams of the innocent

Standing by at the last stop crying, all drunk and belligerent

Wondering why they got passed by again

Sporting the most ugly personalities never seen

If you try to block it out you'll find that your visions clearer

If you wake up in a fog, you'll need a spinal tap like harry shearer

- premature ejaculation | tantra +