Manufacturing Lack

[Intro]

I stood with the Earth at my disposal, didn’t know what to make of the matter

To me we’re all matter

The smiles I remember too soon begin to shatter

Mind floods with idol chatter

Not a nymph but had a constant drive, now a nymph just to feel alive

Teeth marks on southern peach, thickest thighs

Touch her and she get arise

For 40 minutes, we enjoy the ride

She slept peacefully for once 'cause I sobbed outside

[Verse 1]

Closed mouths don’t eat but they spare humiliation

Sparе you the tales of hatred, my comradеs faceless

Or in detention centers, confiscated shoelaces

Scent of mail letters and nicotine

The news uttered make you grab the Listerine, this is our history

I am just a consequence of testing the regime, uh

I reflect the end result but never the extremes, uh

Subjects of disease, neglected as expected by the state that promised us a right to speak

Left to wander at release, undeveloped, incomplete with the ability to pass it to they seeds

The fetus grew old as the trees, wisdom of a fiend, how it all repeats

Type of shit that make you wanna cower at defeat

Type of shit that makes you think that we shoulda' stayed meek

Though the embed everlasting and unique

[Chorus]

Shinier days will come

'Till then, he lost patience

Sick of the slaughter, so he sought assimilation

Ran where it’s loveless, gored by the tusks of presumption

Why run from the subject?

[Spoken-Word Outro]

Psychoanalysis is like the Russian Revolution

We don't know when it started going bad

We have to keep going back further

To the Americans? To the First International?

To the secret Committee?

To Freud himself, from the moment of the ‘discovery’ of Oedipus?

Oedipus is the idealist turning point

Yet it cannot be said that psychoanalysis had set to work unaware of desiring-production

Production as a process overtakes all idealistic categories and constitutes a cycle whose relationship to desire is that of an immanent principle

The principle in this case? Hatred

Erasure of the highest order as ressentiment bled from Jouissance’s wounds and plagued neighboring environments and its people

Infighting ensued, bodies of water rendered unsafe, the soil malnourished, resources scarce, the chemical waste in the air makes the silhouettes of bodies in the trees look like ornaments

It seems they made the place Great Again

Yet despite this pandemic, our protagonists remain light and nimble

They never sleep, they dance in war and in peace

Some people committed to their everlasting influence

Others, deflated, yearn for their reincarnation

Regardless, it’s well known that they never sleep

They dance in war and in peace, and they never die