Dirty Air

Something in the vein of the cities on the plain

Containing decades knitted into single thought

Before your empty hearse contributed a verse

It drove in figure 8’s of endless parking lots

Our songs stood idly by as they raised the ridge beam high

And once the recompense of senses had begun

Your maladjusted eyes shouted out “anaesthetized

Castration en masse, anyone?”

Ce n’est pas une chanson sur une peinture d’une pipe

Ce n’est pas une chanson sur une peinture d’une pipe

[don’t you think it’s time?]

[don’t you think it’s time?]

Something in the vein, a blockage in the brain

And if it’s all the same I’ll graciously decline

That dread night you heard I heard you came with tender words

And all the proper paperwork to sign

Now when his ghost comes in to finally rest its phantom limbs

And I again begin to fill your flask with tea:

“you think you’ve spent your years in search of something real?

But you would’ve failed the same

Child, if you were me.”

Ce n’est pas une chanson sur une peinture d’une pipe

Ce n’est pas une chanson sur une peinture d’une pipe

Ce n’est pas une chanson sur une peinture d'une pédophile

Ce n’est pas une chanson sur une peinture d’une pipe

[don’t you think it’s time, ohh, don't you think it's time

Don't you think it's time to take your fangs out of my mind?]

(Something in the vein of the cities on the plain)