Drink from the wound from the side of the animal
Fall to the floor in a splash of lights
Skip to the end of the end of the recipe
Fall to the floor
Fall, fall, Caravaggio

I feel kicky
I feel courageous
I feel claustrophobic
I feel cool

Red run rivers run dry blood red
To the land so low, I'm sloganeering
Playing Sega too, growing up like you

You're so backwards, I'm so forward
You buy buy buy into new trends
When I look inwards you look outwards
Mocking my lifestyle, fucking my friends
While I'm in bed the scum from the speakers slinks on out

So call 1900-POLICE, it's the Mark of the Beast
Pop icon, snow cat rival
Pop icon, snow cat rival

Drink from the drip from the prick in the artery
Shoot to the stars with a league of chums
Sip from the stream, so sick of society
Postmodernism made punk rock everything
I feel better
I feel ballistic
I feel bourgeois and
I feel big

Dead DJs spin deathrock discs
A curse transmitted via 12"
Too few beats per minute, baby

Chin up, kids, they're making a killing
Dancing hard to horrible bands
Who play The Eagles while they are pilling
Doing coke, ignoring their fans
While I'm in bed with Siskel & Ebert
Two thumbs down

So call 411-CRITIQUE, it's your birthright
Pop icon, snow cat rival
Pop icon, snow cat rival

All I really need is all of my things
In the one fixed place at the one fixed time I die (give up the ghost)
It's my birthright
Birthrights