Talkshow Boy Lcd Soundsystem Is Locked Under The Stairs And Forcefed Methadone At My House
Drink from the wound from the side of the animal
Fall to the floor in a splash of lights
Skip to the end of the end of the recipe
Fall to the floor
Fall, fall, Caravaggio
I feel kicky
I feel courageous
I feel claustrophobic
I feel cool
Red run rivers run dry blood red
To the land so low, I'm sloganeering
Playing Sega too, growing up like you
You're so backwards, I'm so forward
You buy buy buy into new trends
When I look inwards you look outwards
Mocking my lifestyle, f..cking my friends
While I'm in bed the scum from the speakers slinks on out
So call 1900-POLICE, it's the Mark of the Beast
Pop icon, snow cat rival
Pop icon, snow cat rival
Drink from the drip from the prick in the artery
Shoot to the stars with a league of chums
Sip from the stream, so sick of society
Postmodernism made punk rock everything
I feel better
I feel ballistic
I feel bourgeois and
I feel big
Dead DJs spin deathrock discs
A curse transmitted via 12"
Too few beats per minute, baby
Chin up, kids, they're making a killing
Dancing hard to horrible bands
Who play The Eagles while they are pilling
Doing coke, ignoring their fans
While I'm in bed with Siskel & Ebert
Two thumbs down
So call 411-CRITIQUE, it's your birthright
Pop icon, snow cat rival
Pop icon, snow cat rival
All I really need is all of my things
In the one fixed place at the one fixed time I die (give up the ghost)
It's my birthright
Birthrights
