And so I want to be around
when a bastard merry go round
centrifuges its child soul leaves the
earth a sand caster gold
Gold is for all little worms
to shine their backs from natural germs
these germs I'll spread so infinitely
amnesty or immunity.
The life inside me killed this song,
how I'd hate to string you along.
And so the spider bites the child,
his fangs fall off, he's Oscar Wilde
I'll mix and match analogies,
auteur theory oli oxen free
Can you guess my riddled game?
It's a step beyond antigen fiend
tourist needle or lightening rod
If grunge is dead he's buried
next to God.
And 1,2,3,4,5,6,7, brings you back to
the beatle in heaven
Never bet the devil your head
the gamble for saints is human
will instead
I'm not gonna finish out this song itself
explains all on its own
I'll let you be the last line,
When the sun burns out,
will I still...?
