You’re a God charade I’ll let you down like a noise complaint I know my cover’s blown
Fetish and fury tax worshiping everything I lack is dumb
Invention strung
Into empty space where hollow shapes will misbehave
What does holy want?
I’ll be that Picturesong
Make me into a hundred words hide me in bathroom walls
It’s a spastic shame that hollow shapes will break the frame
What does holy want?
A wind up Picturesong
A muse to sing a dozen words a silence for the wall
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