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[ti:Belle Glade Missionaries] |
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[ar:Of Montreal] |
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The blade missionaries are here to steal your cocaine |
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You better send your malaria |
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To puncture their brains and |
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Send them back to where they came from |
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Send them back to the souvenirs of disease |
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From your first psychotic episode |
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To your chugging your schizophrenia |
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It's your dysphoric mania that makes you so likable |
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And everybody want to save you |
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Save you just for themselves |
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And letting children get blown up in their schools today |
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So they can get them back into their factories |
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And though it pains me to see while being so betrayed |
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But I guess you'll never know so it doesn't matter |
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Doesn't matter |
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The feeble wants me to have because you been on the winds |
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I made the bones in my jaw going hollow |
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And there's a sense that there's a prowler on the prairie |
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Leaving hair on the walls |
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We help to flatten the sounds that bound down the street |
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And my greatest fear of release |
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Someone else's consciousness |
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And down the stairs to contend with |
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Oh but too there's these rays there to pretend with |
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And letting children get blown up in their schools today |
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So they can get them back into their factories |
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And though it pains me to see you all being so deceived |
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But I guess you'll never know so it doesn't matter |
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I have a sense you want to be |
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The female Henry Miller |
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Cynically referring to your lovers as your prince and |
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Exploiting other people's madness |
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I never sensed you'd ever call out to me |
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Telepathically through all archaic mediums |
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But I never once heard you so |
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I think you were just lying again |
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Back up and then see my void |
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Like some nation people avoid |
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Like I'm a talents been destroyed |
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Like I'm a pair of specta voice |
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When no choices at the present |
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Still there's a value in things unpleasant |
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Will you post naked gifts of your epileptic fits |
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And keep track of your hits and your friends don't give a shit |
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And view your future with amusement |
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All the evil in the universe |
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There are no victims only participants |
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Letting children get blown up in their schools today |
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So they can get them back into their factories |
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You know it pains me to see you all being so betrayed |
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But I guess you'll never know so it doesn't matter |
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Doesn't matter |
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Can't trust my instinct lately |
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And I'm feeling mechanic |
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You feel more synthetic |
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They feel more synthetic |
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More synthetic |
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Synthetic |