Let's

ga-

ther

'round

the

car-

cass

of

the

old

de-

fla-

ted

beast,

We've

seen

it

through

the

ac-

co-

lades

and

res-

ted

in

it's

lea,

yeah,

Syn-

tac-

tic

is

our

el-

e-

gance,

in-

ci-

sive

our

di-

sease,

The

swath

en-

do-

ge-

nous

of

our-

selves

will

be

our

qu-

an-

dary,

yeah,

We've

nes-

tled

in

it's

hol-

low

and

we've

suck-

led

at

it's

breast,

Gran-

di-

lo-

quent

in

our

at-

ti-

tude,

im-

pas-

sion-

ed

yet

i-

nept,

Fri-

vo-

lous

ga-

vel

our

de-

sign

and

lu-

di-

crous

our

threat,

Ex-

cur-

sive

ex-

pe-

di-

tions

leave

us

hol-

ding

less

and

less.

So

what

does

it

mean?

When

we

tell

our-

selves

it's

on-

ly

for

a

while

we've

been

de-

ceived

And

it's

on-

ly

for

a

mo-

ment

that

the

trea-

sures

of

our

day

Make

life

ea-

si-

er

to

com-

pli-

cate,

The

trea-

sure's

thrown

a-

way.

I'm

so

tired

of

all

the

fucked

up

minds,

Of

all

the

ter-

ro-

rist

reli-

gions

and

their

bull-

shit

lines,

All

the

hand--

me--

downs

from

all

in-

dus-

tri-

al

crimes

Of

the

wee-

ping

mo-

thers

and

those

led

so

blind,

All

the

plas-

tic

pro-

tests

and

the

hands

of

time

And

the

pur-

suit

of

mirth

and

all

ha-

ting

kind.