My blacklist: If people don't dance they die
Cathartic hand claps
Dependent on words without sounds
In the bitter end goodbye
Fire paint at the canvas with pistols is our focus, our pride

Give the soliders the drugs and the children hand grenades

The smart kid, the art kid, let's hope he learns to smile
Alarming we're awake and boiling in horror

Petrified pilots climb into their metal wombs
Black revolver valiums
Rather fly than see the derailing trains coast by
Carrying parts for rocket ships
The avant-garde astronomists
Sell maps to the star dust and daydreams