day by day the planet slips foils over my humanlike heart on the alter of a couch pig like skin food for the butchers and the auctioneers trade my fur my balding top how long must i block the medieval clock tested hands beat me to a pulp wake up to insult pat yourself on the back if it ain t broken symbiosis is noxious fumes from the womb to the tomb to the emergency room i love this world despite the world materialist locked inside of a room what s history but a name in the dust food for thought so many years starving at us this pyramid this limping sphinx this mosque this man got flogged in notre dam but couldn t break his arms the makers of napalm chant we are the world who am i now a renegade gnome european immigrant in a demilitarized zone lost my mind a couple of times always get it back before i m permanently gone the highway tried to eat me and spit me out the river around the mouth of the mississippi where napoleon s forces wanting to buy me abraham keeps on saying don t sell anywhere you turn you re sure to burn sit in the chamber and wait for fire they ll remember more than ember but no one will save you from the jaws of the monster and watch you suffer then grin like sand is flying over the ghetto you ve done your country well here s a fifteen dollars and a bus ride home a ticket to france three cheers for the status quo no foreign aid for the baddest poet watch the world decay in 15 parts the beast needs molotovs not disposable art the delusion is coming a hundred light years and running the universe is shrinking how do you feel when your meteor is crashing a hundred light years and running everyone you know is on a tiny blue dot disappearing off into darkness i m still here i m might sell my soul it s not even there if i die young i was never here got a message from god he said no more messages no end of the world the end of suburbia that s a guarantee i got the logic to prove it there s no coincidence only cruel randomness in your dreams you re a newscaster on fox or you re with al sadr saving hostages in iraq or you re on the hoover when the bomb goes off or you re gunned down and come back to life all of the scenarios make you think you ve got empire guilt but you ain t ramses and when you return they won t shower you with pansies all they see is a skeleton poisoned by years of disappointment poisoned by books about revolution and if you want signs listen to your heart about to explode inside your chest plate cuz you ain t seen life in all of it s promises all aboard the pale white tractor is that your voice or is it an echo 