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lyrics
Up and down the epilogue staggers the suckers' song. I'm built on bricks, not politricks and poultry fish. Money-hungry vultures feast on your famine, each to his average one, keep with the standard, son, and don't slip, 'cause suckers get back flipped by the governments tax slip. Lot of shoes to fill, lots of road to kill, lots to steal. If the cost of freedom was freedom, would you kneel?
I can't see logic in the deadly devout, rather dim average, him and hers, theirs, them, and they. So perfectly puzzled, they fit the mold, first ballot to polls. Bow to the future's sun. You can see it, tomorrow's tomorrows' ball of fire, spittin' lava on all parhelion, false sun. I don't yield to no synthetic beacon, let it beam. I turn false beholders into smolders. Bow to the future's sun. Drop your tiny computer and run. From the ...
Parahelion, false sun.
I don't swing that bat, Jack. Corporate tax bracket, a racket from elder to younger, then they tax you on your hunger, rummage thru your numbers and give you a number. And in return, you give them a bunch of numbers and feel dumb first, and also after. That's why I'm a craftsman. And I don't do what I'm told or fold when I'm put to the axe. Or allow myself to be polled or factored-in. Don't allow your soul to be sold while you relax in the den.
I can't see logic in the deadly devout, rather dim average, him and hers, theirs, them, and they. So perfectly puzzled, they fit the mold, first ballot to polls. Bow to the future's sun. You can see it. tomorrow's tomorrows' ball of fire, spittin' lava on all parhelion, false sun. I don't yield to no synthetic beacon, let it beam. I turn false beholders into smolders. Bow to the future's sun. Drop your tiny computer and run. From the ...
Parahelion, false sun.
credits
from Science For The Soundman,
released October 6, 2012
Monk Metz: words
Matt Calkins: tenor sax, FX
Mark France: guitars
Joel Hirsh: congas, dumbek
Dave Trenkel: organ, Rhodes piano, synth bass
JD Monroe: drums, turntables
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