And the violence in my insides is glowing and malignant, and

the only way

to stop it, is to cut a hole and let the fresh air come in.

And your public face is dripping, now you're famous and

you're beautiful,

but i can still remember when your mouth was always open,

like a stairway

leading down to hell.

Now your perfect body's shining, and the camera's always

circling, and the

boys and girls are dreaming, and your naked body's bleeding

where the dogs

have ripped away your skin.

And the world is always shrinking, and my mind is

disappearing, in the holy

adulation of your all-inclusive open arms, and feeling

penitential, l'm cuning

off my finger, and l'm faxing you the image, via omnipresent

electricity.

And the communists were torturing a sacred man and

women, whose screams flew

out the window and through the Himalayas, then changed into

a buttelfly and

drifted through the wind, and landed on a street in Paris,

where you crushed

it underneath your high-heeled fin.

Now l'm killing and l'm stealing and l'm raping and l'm burning

and l'm

feeling kinda magic due to mental enervation, so i'll send my

mind into the

hard body of a rockstar, and maybe then you'll fuck me,

'cause 5 million

people love me, and you wanna suck my energy.

Yeah this world is made of losers, but I wanna be a winner,

I'll do anything it takes to hypnotize the upturned faces, into

trusting me completely so they'll

need me to supply, the object that will fill the emptiness that

was created

by repetition of an image and a sound they recognize, and

their malleable

identities will be sexually excited by the product which I will

then provide.

And this planet keeps on dri