Every action seems predetermined and every fraction feels slightly German
We’ve all been here before, despite the landscape; from freedom’s hunger, there is no escape
Avoiding the vectors still seeking victims; we crouch in burning stores, caressing mannequins
Under statues, we yearn for passwords; throats awaiting steel; words no longer heard
Wrists accepting chains; and limbs with new tattoos; the market’s posting gains, her lips are turning blue
Crawling down the sidewalk, bleeding in the big top, smiling for the cameras, waiting for the money shot
There’s a party in my basement (It’s party time!) ...You bring the shovels and I’ll bring the quicklime
Every action has repercussions; no more time for late night discussions
We’re pushing underground and reading entrails; we’re pulling daisy chains and filling rusty pails
Temporary refuge in an old school bus, making traitors of our neighbors, hoping they reward us
While the masters plan, and the derricks thrust, we hold each other’s flesh, and watch the sky combust
Our sins are left unwashed, our debts still mounting; a pregnant pause before the final accounting
Crawling down the sidewalk, bleeding in the big top, smiling for the cameras, waiting for the money shot
There’s a party in the basement (It’s party time!) ...you bring the needles and I’ll provide the strychnine
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