Senser End Of The World Show
String a man along like a life form waiting to be touched by a higher hand, origin beyond your control out of your command
What is it to be a man? Skin tone? Silkworm? Cortisone?
I don't hear alarm bells, those aren't alarm bells
We recede inside ourselves, inside our shells, what you might call hells
Inside as well, it shares your cell
You never spent more than a couple of breaths just with yourself (without your props)
Hmmm, how to tell you what you are... a clue is left in the soles of your feet!
"I love your outfit, is it real meat?" But I've seen you walking around without it
If they cry a little longer, if they die a little harder inside, anyway, same things just keep happening
Hit the ground a little harder, live the lie a little longer, anytime, in a way same things just keep happening
The end of the world show is a re-run
Grave challenge of mind, no balance inspired, words that violate rhyme, poison nations switching stations, digesting this time after time, line to line.
Sine waves stymie the bored tick of the brain, dissolve away, drain the multi circuit vein by vein.
Souls spraying open holes in the crosfire
Cowgirls riding on a string of pearls; Orpheus into the underworld
Into the valley of living dead with the night vision, ghosts bathed in the infrared
Sight specific, monolithic bathed in the glow that melts the permafrost, were you hurt? Were you lost? Trampled in the race to the trough?
If they cry a little longer, if they die a little harder inside, anyway, same things just keep happening
Hit the ground a little harder, live the lie a little longer, anytime, in a way same things just keep happening
The end of the world show is a re-run
Brute force. par for the course, territory brought us nothing but wars, race hate took us to the Holocaust and now we're out of time, out of breath, pluck a little tune on the lyre to death
With a chorus that glows like embers or
Emeralds, diamonds, paraphernalia, generals in four-star regalia
Every little inch we paid in blood, paid in full, now you want to change the rules?
Skyline sunset, pink like Crylon, too many positive ions, you look pretty high and nigh-on perfect in your nylons
Hit the ground a little harder, live the lie a little longer, anytime, in a way same things just keep happening
If you get what's happening, dolls and lazy mannequins, I don't hear alarm bells, that's the children singing
The end of the world show is a re-run
