P.s.i.

Sad bunnies hoping channels for their masturbation
You're born, reproduce and then you die
They'll tell you "Fairy tales, they don't come true"
No happy ever afters for the likes of you

One thousand pounds of pressure P.S.I.
I miss the beat, I crack at last
I'm exploding like a nervous Judas neutron bomb
And I'll take the whole fuckin' world with me now

We could be polysexual
No man, but transhuman
Swallow the germ of your evolution
And let the old flesh…
Let your old flesh burn

In slo-MO we walk through speeding traffic
On the outside looking in, this is our time, this is our place
Don't feel no kinship to the words they speak
I don't belong in this time or in this place
I wound cleanse this world of it's banality
Cauterize the wounds left by fear
Inoculate the child from apathy
While his birth bloods are still wet

The new age dreamers and the talk-show-freak-show
They cling like leaches to this dying world
You ram as much as you can into your mouth
They feed you your own heart…
…Still you lick your lips