: That poem is not funny You're just laughing about those words That describe my feelings, when I am hurt But I just couldn't resist to show you those
The man amplifier Has everything but desire Is a robot when he should Never tires, ever good And we're singing Parallel sympathy with you Skin to metal
Instrumental.
amplifier It's large and lovely to behold La la la la la I got myself a new tube amplifier Now I'm gonna blow a big one I got myself a little tube amplifier
Just one more verse I swear Just one more line to rhyme with the last one I didn't really mean to write at all And it's all my fault I'm wasting precious
That poem is not funny You're just laughing about those words That describe my feelings, when I am hurt But I just couldn't resist to show you those lines
just one more verse i swear just one more line to rhyme with the last one i didn't really mean to write at all and its all my fault i'm wasting precious
Am I but your clockwork hero? From here in the last ditch Toe to toe, blow for blow - You are the enigma Well nevermind! The future's already happened
Amongst process I'm finding And schemes that need designing With procedures for applying And purifying With the taste of possibilities Of voodoo sensibilities
I sleep deeply every night in a world that's better than real life i found a hiding place beneath a dirty blanket of distorted bass there's music in
I'd call it a drastic measure but I'll open up one eye I'm all evolved and fully grown, with three dimensions of my own But hey Mr. Dog - Well I'm just
Slip coma deep inside an industrialist's mind And pour yourself into the creased appeal of a financeman's suit You keep on exchanging handshakes and smiles
Flicker television Like something that is breathing I'm dead in bubblegum And wishing you were here You're where the rain never pours It just floods down
Have you heard the news from outer space? Seems that somewhere in the ancient dunes Of silver moons like giant spoons Lie dusty tombs Of martian men
The cushioned throbbing of a velvet moon And the pregnant aching of an empty womb The endless echoes of the noise we made And the repercussions of each
In the cold glare of a coke machine And in the pulse of the droning stars In the slow swelling of the sea Well what can you hear? But who's that tapping
Drugged a million words Just like ourselves Formed a straight line Plucking at sound-waves And oh, For no-one ever Darkest singing The days of tripping
