You're a god charade
I'll let you down like a noise complaint
I know my cover's blown
Fetish and fury tax
Worshipping everything I lack is dumb
Invention strung
Into empty space where hollow shapes will misbehave
What does holy want?
I'll be that Picturesong
Make me into a hundred words
Hide me in bathroom walls
It's a spastic shame
That hollow shapes will break the frame
What does holy want?
A wind up Picturesong
A muse to sing a dozen words
A silence for the wall