[Snooze Button]

Verse 1 [Jam Baxter]
He slept through it, bled fluids
Sank in it and swam to sea
Dreaming of his killer, sticking stings in his hands and feet
Sharpening the tangled teeth, twist them round his jaw liner
Skewered every organ, glued loosely to his warped spine
His self-seared griddled skin seems seamless
Never dazzled by their flashing LED Jesus
But the grainy jets of pressure spewing from a squeezed fetus
Sandblasted every sleepless second from the sea creatures
We, the undersigned, slumbered on the underside of HMS Slash-and-Burn
Sailing through the troubled sky
Face-up in some swamp as millions of jungle flies slide down our nails
Curling ever longer up the vines
Electric blue dagger sliced his head in two
And now he's half asleep, and half ejected in a petting zoo
Losing count of countless hopping sheep that never let him through
Screaming, 'We'd be better off beheading you.'
Guess it's true

Verse 2 [Jam Baxter]
I slept through it, let's do it
Fill me in in four minutes
Spend the fifth spewing disbelief until my fourth Guinness
What do you mean, 'it's all finished'?
Fucking backstabbers
Which gang of youths slashed my hammock cut from bandannas?
Haphazard, hazy figure drifting in the warm brine
He left forty winking widows on the shoreline
I swore blind I never tasted evil as I stand covet
Then they saw the keys to Hell, gleaming in my back pocket
[What are these?]
Ah, nothing
I'm above suspicion, was I dreaming, drunk, propping up the pub with double vision?
'Till fate brought a pile of files plundered from a sunken prison
Every unforgiven act was cataloged and numbered in them
[Look me up.]
He said it with the kind of crumpled arrogance reserved for every squashed sack of scum that runs the battlements
And that was it
Top board, chloroform, belly flop, trust
You'll have found a bed of tenners when that penny drops
Verse 3 [Jam Baxter]
I slept through it, bet you it backfires later
Snoozing on the Circle line, tapped by a stranger
'I think you missed your stop,' he said, pointing at the carbon dust
Trust me, I couldn't yam the tramadol fast enough
Parking up the spy plane, puking on the dashboard
And cutting bits of ultra out the engine with a hacksaw
Is routine procedure when you're scratching at the backdoor
To every nightmarish situation you could plan for
I think I saw it aura, start to end
Must have steamrolled my damn face across the stars again
I should have circled every murder merchant with a marker pen
So when they don a mask and start charging we can laugh at them
Oh well, next time
Just hold this tonne of filth
I'm still reeling off the cascades of multicoloured silks
Just the moldy-covered guilt for the twisted little glutton
I got a fist full of minutes when his finger hit the button

[Gruesome Features]

[Jam Baxter]
Sitting on the edge of it all, pressed to the wall
Marinating in some sick, sweet sauce evaporating
These patterns changing, faster than the ill-painted, ill-faces
Littered all upon them, watch him build cages
Tick, basic installation, lifetimes of information's
Stored on the blemish of this illustration
Ripped invitations, littered in a little basement
'Please attend a crash course in fitting into his equation'
Televised mission statement
The red eye reduction can't quell the dark crimson irises behind the sunken sockets
Not a knife to cut them
Red hot, giant mushrooms, handshakes all round
High five, fine eruption, hide in London's undercurrents
Love to love them, learn to leave them
One singular sun blushed, eternal season
Reeling into distant futures, fingers of forgotten ages
Prised off the shiny, newer models, confiscated
Fetch them at the end
Pixelated God's telescopic lenses, sitting taking shots
The great grand electric killers never knock
Apart from when they're sure you'll let them in and let them cotch
Let them off
They're all just naturalised, clandestine movements that tranquilise mutants
That sat inside, eulogise yourself
And if you're speechless, it speaks for itself
Deleted in a scream and a squelch
I sit in a circle where I filed a thousand solaces
Cycle spinning on a ship
Once I was an honest kid, office in the sky, house inspectors from the suited age
Who are they?
Answer's on a postcard, but who can say?
Take these, two a day
Have a lolly, shutup
Of course you ate the pavement kid, you had a shoddy run-up
Drug up any wide-eyed, long of the tooth, crew of dreamers
Grin as the ballistic missiles shoot them through their gruesome features