f..cked Up Vivian Girls
Little children alight tied to burning trees, "We will
slam them with our wings," they sing. Vivian girls
dancing on the mind of a pedophile, tragedy and victory
he struggles trying to break free before a cut, a smile
from ear to ear. The city cast in marble stones,
"Exterminate the brutes," he moans. Dictators throwing
flowers to the air, a trumpet roars as blood is poured
onto the streets from soldiers swords. The idols march
through ruins, jubilee so they'll spend their time hiding
dirty thoughts in the back of their minds, where the good
goes to die until it's all too much and it has to burst
out a flood of emotion. Carries away self doubt, let the
Opus Dei reign; backs barred to the whip they make the
finest dolls don't hesitate to break the skin and draw it
to the lips. Ginger in the rear she screams, "It hurts to
see the sky," I fear without the pain there wouldn't be a
God, what is there to do? When the good seems so wrong,
what is there to do? When the pain feels so good, what is
there to do? When everything worth believing is so
mysterious, what is there to do? When the only things
worth holding onto in this world are diseased with sin
and guilt.
