Letra de Oh Puckerlips Now
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Distorted culture of these seething times... it cuts to pieces, like a blinding knife. Bewildered, bewildering, this sea of flowing flooding fleeting words, drowning out the voices hurt. Hurray roars the ship in the street, the state, the eager hate, the world capsizing in spite, in spate.
Too late, she sinks, she sings... the crest of the waves in the mouth, on the ridges. She reaches for infinite inanity, in vanity, where captains squeal for new ideals. Illusions delusions disorder, disguised as law and order. Oh dear, another shape to fear.
The loathing-birds, the choke-chain rats, the tight-snared ties, their driveling runs... in the family.
Each rascal with respect for present arms... Present! arms! about turn! Without mercy, in his face, eat shit he can, that gaping craterjaw off course. Of course, what else you'd think: another ship to sink.
The violence the hatred the greed, a reeking, rattling disease. A raging wound of pregnant boils it is, this limitless calamity. False pearlswines, waste-watchers, powersick hurdle-razers, monstrosities of misery...
All I want is to cram & stamp & stuff it, into their ugly barking barfbeaks. The news filled with their stalking heads, with banquets of voracity; their delayziness at catastrophes; the yes-but lamentations and power-quest; nodding yessholes with obscene pretence; that bloodshot sympathy; that creeping cringing villany...
The damn result? Look, there it is: one more swine once again see that grin, as that puckerlip snout begins, and then... Oh, will this ever come right again? Distorted culture of these seething times... Cut to pieces with a blinding knife. Bewildered, bewildering, this sea of flowing flooding fleeting words, drowning out the voices heard.
Too late, she sinks, she sings... the crest of the waves in the mouth, on the ridges. She reaches for infinite inanity, in vanity, where captains squeal for new ideals. Illusions delusions disorder, disguised as law and order. Oh dear, another shape to fear.
The loathing-birds, the choke-chain rats, the tight-snared ties, their driveling runs... in the family.
Each rascal with respect for present arms... Present! arms! about turn! Without mercy, in his face, eat shit he can, that gaping craterjaw off course. Of course, what else you'd think: another ship to sink.
The violence the hatred the greed, a reeking, rattling disease. A raging wound of pregnant boils it is, this limitless calamity. False pearlswines, waste-watchers, powersick hurdle-razers, monstrosities of misery...
All I want is to cram & stamp & stuff it, into their ugly barking barfbeaks. The news filled with their stalking heads, with banquets of voracity; their delayziness at catastrophes; the yes-but lamentations and power-quest; nodding yessholes with obscene pretence; that bloodshot sympathy; that creeping cringing villany...
The damn result? Look, there it is: one more swine once again see that grin, as that puckerlip snout begins, and then... Oh, will this ever come right again? Distorted culture of these seething times... Cut to pieces with a blinding knife. Bewildered, bewildering, this sea of flowing flooding fleeting words, drowning out the voices heard.
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