Youngster...

The beats, yeah, they were coming out the speakers And were winding up straight in your sneakers And I'm dancing like every song who spends his bizzle Like all my dance heroes would if they existed And yeah it's sad that you think that we're all just

Broken down like a war economy Father Führer, don't be mad at me Peasant child, you're into botany Splitting necks and calling it dichotomy "Beware", the sign on the door suggests I'm better off with artificial intelligence I invented you I inve

When the smaller picture Is the same as the bigger picture You know that you're fucked When you're trading paper cuts for splinters You're out of luck Like sharks don't sleep And I don't take my eyes off you The architecture's shit And my cheeks are

One, two, three, four One, two, three, four Any more tears for the birthing pool? Bear this child directly into misery Kiss him in the face with no lips and no tongue But with your little, middle, index and ring fingers Singing, I see songs in shapes