we explore the men's room
we don't give a s***
ladies' lost electricity
take vows inside of it
desire to dance
too startled to try
wrap my legs 'round you
starting to fly
let's explore
up there, up there, up there
on the twenty-fifth floor
circle all around me
coming for the kill, kill, kill
oh, kill me baby
like a kamikaze
heading for a spill
oh, but it's all spilt milk to me
desire to dance
too startled to try
wrap my legs 'round you
starting to fly
let's soar
up there, up there, up there
on the twenty-fifth floor
we do not eat
flower of creation
we do not eat
eat anything at all
love is, love was
love is a manifestation
I'm waiting for a contact to call
love's war, love's cruel
love's pretty, love's pretty cruel tonight
I'm waiting here to refuel
I'm gonna make contact tonight
love in my heart
the night to exploit
twenty-five stories over detroit
and there's more
up there, up there, up there
stoned in s***e, zeus, christ
it has always been rock
and so it is and so it shall be
within the context of neo rock
we must open up our eyes
and seize and rend the veil of smoke
which man calls order
pollution is a necessary
result of the inability of man
to reform and transform waste
the transformation of waste
the transformation of waste
the transformation of waste
the transformation of waste
is perhaps the oldest pre-occupation of man
man being the chosen alloy
he must be reconnected-via s*** at all cost
inherent with(in) us is the dream of the task of the alchemist
to create from the clay of man
and to re-create from excretion of man
pure and then soft and then solid gold
all must not be art
some art we must disintegrate
positive (anarchy must exist)
I feel it swirling around me
I feel it feeling no pain
I'm waiting above for you baby
I know that I'll see you up there
I'm floating in a door backward
on boundaries over this world
I'm waiting above in the sky, dear
upon a...
what i feel when i'm playing guitar is completely cold and crazy,
like i don't owe nobody nothing and it's just a test just to see how
far i can relax into the cold wave of a note. when everything hits
just right (just and right) the note of nobility can go on forever.
i never tire of the solitary E and i trust my guitar and i don't care
about anything. sometimes i feel like i've broken through and i'm
free and i could dig into eternity into eternity riding the wave and
realm of the E. sometimes it's useless. here i am struggling and
filled with dread-afraid that i'll never squeeze enough graphite
from my damaged cranium to inspire or asphyxiate any eyes
grazing like hungry cows across the stage or page. inside of me
i'm crazy i'm just crazy. inside i must continue. i see her, my stiff
muse, jutting around round round round like a broken speeding
statue. the colonial year is dead and the greeks too are finished.
the face of alexander remains not only solely due to sculpture
but through the power and foresight and magnetism of alexander
himself. the artist must maintain his swagger. he must he must
he must be intoxicated by ritual as well as result. look at me i am
laughing. i am laughing. i am lapping cocaine from the hard brown
palm of the bouncer. and i trust my guitar. therefore we black out
together. therefore i would run through scum. and scum is just
ahead, ah we see it, but we just laugh. we're ascending through
the hollow mountain. we are peeking. we are laughing. we are
kneeling. we are laughing. we are radiating at last. this rebellion
is just a gas our gas a gas that we pass.
we don't give a s***
ladies' lost electricity
take vows inside of it
desire to dance
too startled to try
wrap my legs 'round you
starting to fly
let's explore
up there, up there, up there
on the twenty-fifth floor
circle all around me
coming for the kill, kill, kill
oh, kill me baby
like a kamikaze
heading for a spill
oh, but it's all spilt milk to me
desire to dance
too startled to try
wrap my legs 'round you
starting to fly
let's soar
up there, up there, up there
on the twenty-fifth floor
we do not eat
flower of creation
we do not eat
eat anything at all
love is, love was
love is a manifestation
I'm waiting for a contact to call
love's war, love's cruel
love's pretty, love's pretty cruel tonight
I'm waiting here to refuel
I'm gonna make contact tonight
love in my heart
the night to exploit
twenty-five stories over detroit
and there's more
up there, up there, up there
stoned in s***e, zeus, christ
it has always been rock
and so it is and so it shall be
within the context of neo rock
we must open up our eyes
and seize and rend the veil of smoke
which man calls order
pollution is a necessary
result of the inability of man
to reform and transform waste
the transformation of waste
the transformation of waste
the transformation of waste
the transformation of waste
is perhaps the oldest pre-occupation of man
man being the chosen alloy
he must be reconnected-via s*** at all cost
inherent with(in) us is the dream of the task of the alchemist
to create from the clay of man
and to re-create from excretion of man
pure and then soft and then solid gold
all must not be art
some art we must disintegrate
positive (anarchy must exist)
I feel it swirling around me
I feel it feeling no pain
I'm waiting above for you baby
I know that I'll see you up there
I'm floating in a door backward
on boundaries over this world
I'm waiting above in the sky, dear
upon a...
what i feel when i'm playing guitar is completely cold and crazy,
like i don't owe nobody nothing and it's just a test just to see how
far i can relax into the cold wave of a note. when everything hits
just right (just and right) the note of nobility can go on forever.
i never tire of the solitary E and i trust my guitar and i don't care
about anything. sometimes i feel like i've broken through and i'm
free and i could dig into eternity into eternity riding the wave and
realm of the E. sometimes it's useless. here i am struggling and
filled with dread-afraid that i'll never squeeze enough graphite
from my damaged cranium to inspire or asphyxiate any eyes
grazing like hungry cows across the stage or page. inside of me
i'm crazy i'm just crazy. inside i must continue. i see her, my stiff
muse, jutting around round round round like a broken speeding
statue. the colonial year is dead and the greeks too are finished.
the face of alexander remains not only solely due to sculpture
but through the power and foresight and magnetism of alexander
himself. the artist must maintain his swagger. he must he must
he must be intoxicated by ritual as well as result. look at me i am
laughing. i am laughing. i am lapping cocaine from the hard brown
palm of the bouncer. and i trust my guitar. therefore we black out
together. therefore i would run through scum. and scum is just
ahead, ah we see it, but we just laugh. we're ascending through
the hollow mountain. we are peeking. we are laughing. we are
kneeling. we are laughing. we are radiating at last. this rebellion
is just a gas our gas a gas that we pass.