Center City Letra

and he's selling swollen ribs.
stolen half full glasses of human footprints for my friends.
the irate has lost his wooden leg.
the stuck up lost her penis.
ye fateful eat macdonald's. us geeks fry ants with a magnifying glass.
welcome to the cinema i know the seating's scarse.
turn off the fucking soap opera and watch them do the dance.

meanwhile crumbled up in a trash art heap hungry people pile.
while humble people make moves in the mighty pig pen, without pens or pen names.
leave it to us to manufacture the glass house to display your ripped up rag dolls.
well it's no secret, we all want a cigarette and coffee break.
and i'm not gonna lie to you because lies make perfect sense,
and while we're all just spinning there is no perfect sense.

this spoiled canvas you see here is somewhat close to mold.
this wasted breath will be the death of me all this new shit's getting old.
your coca cola eats through metal, kills lab rats, and swallows your soul.
this wasted breath will be the death of me all this new shit's getting old.

in the center city we sinners acquire company out of necessity and lack of currency.
we run by the seat of our cash, buying into everything within a money shot.
i'm blocking bullets with a medevil suit of armor on.
the armadillo knows not where to hang his hat, relax spread eagle,
or play pictionary on the weekends.
hey, it's a corporate peepshow, dance for the camera.
they love to see us squirm and fuck one another.
feed the babies to the furnace we breath fossil fuel, for the post modernization of mars.
now since a bird flies over the skyscrapers
you assume that it don't gotta work and it ain't tied down.
but remember that a bird's gotta touch down to eat and sleep and that the sky is the limit.

i put my time in and wrote it all off as a high school field trip wire.
i wet my lips slowly before speaking my piece in a mad max subaked wasteland once called progress
where cars that fail their e-checks go do donuts and break wind.
i window shop to avoid the waste that accompanies any major purchase
and purchase my clothes at a second hand shop for the same purpose.
my voice is hoarse from screaming in the desert and in space
where there is no air to carry my cry fuck 283-86-hahah...

i'm waiting my days and tears away with no trusty seed or sunset.
i'm waiting for god to stop taking care of the heat bill and buy me blankets.
i'm waiting to run slow mo in the meadow and bang my head on neon dollar signs.
i'm waiting for the keeper that gets me into the eternal pot luck dinner.

the beehive honeys shake hands. good workers reiterate, good work.
my smog inhaler is human shortcoming proof.
gather around light of your life, happily blinded. every evening last night of your life.
100,000 thousand of us live every morning on a bridge.
we hang from ties and never truly die, or leave the clock or run out.
so we live for the moment on other peoples time, which is all we have, and it isn't anything we own.
and that makes perfect sense 'cause it all makes up in our dreams.

i'm waiting for god to stop taking care of the heat bill and buy me blankets.
i'm waiting my days and tears away with no trusty seed or sunset.
i'm waiting for the keeper that gets me into the eternal pot luck dinner.
i'm waiting to run slow mo in the meadow and bang my head on neon dollar signs.

so here we are, sitting on a simulated camel's back.
stuck between two humps of stored half smoked cigarettes to be consumed come winter.
it's no secret, we're all sick of seeing center city though thick smoke.
we're in a bottle of humans who suffocate on cans of coke,
hurdling alarm clocks that we hurled out the window a long time ago.