standing in line at the temporal store
Iron Señorita points with her fan,
Carbon Señor points with his plan,
Endless line leads to a closed door;
It ain't got a why, ain't got a for.
The ensign is circling on the floor.
Disdemona on the way to becoming a whore.
Othello isn't asking anymore.
Another add to tragedy's score.
The ferryman's stopped for the want of an oar.
Another day in line at the temporal store.
They make you stand in line to get into hell.
(God took pity (he coulda done that as well.)
Made the devil send ya straight down the well.
He's a'one straight-shooting mademoiselle.
Señorita's got lips make sugar taste sour,
Señor's got a watch changes the standard every hour;
They sweet talk ya every second of your life.
Make ya more than eager t' throw away your knife.
Theater of the damned and its noble savage.
A good day spells nothing but ravage.
Close your eyes t' see the horror.
Look around there's nothin' t' beg, steal or borrow.
They make you stand in line to get into hell.
(God took pity (he coulda done that as well.)
Made the devil send ya straight down the well.
He's a'one straight-shooting mademoiselle.
Windshield wipers streaking up glass.
Scalpel mountains are lower than their pass.
Only one question left t' ask.
Where's your head for your own death mask?
Dog dragging its ass through the organic field.
Jacking up its organic yield.
Innocence has been repealed.
Your innocent verdict's being appealed.
They make you stand in line to get into hell.
(God took pity (he coulda done that as well.)
Made the devil send ya straight down the well.
He's a'one straight-shooting mademoiselle.
Glory of the swindler, of the good-for-nothing.
Grifter sporting pitch, ain't that something.
All ye cardboard cut-out queens and kings,
Ye can't fly with only a bastard wing.
Side step the puddle you hypocrite.
Ya ought to be walking chest deep in the middle of it.
Sacred ship sunk by loose lips.
Gold, frankincense, myrrh and mother's tit.
They' make you stand in line to get into hell.
(God took pity (he coulda done that as well.)
Made the devil send ya straight down the well.
He's a'one straight-shooting mademoiselle.
Boulder size sand in your hair.
Ice picks shooting into your stare.
It's pouring packages but none from care.
You can't get from here to there.
They've wiped out the existence of anywhere.
Mother always said, they' can't be compared.
Colorless rainbows fill your dreams
As you lick flavorless ice creams.
You're standing in line t' get into their hell.
Stairs are creaking but it's quiet as well.
Compared to them the devil's an easy sell.
He's a'one straight-shooting mademoiselle.
Another add to tragedy's score.
Another day in line at the temporal store.