Lazy Flies
And he looks to the clouds all pink and disheveled
There must be some blueprint, some creed of the devil inscribed in our minds
A hideous game vanishes in the air, the vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there to sweep the debris?
To harness dead horses, to ride in the sun
A life of confessions written in the dust
Out in the mangroves, the myna birds cry
In the shadows of sulphur, the trawlers drift by
They're chewing dried meat in a house of disrepute
The dust of opiates and syphillis patients on brochure vacations
Fear has a glare that traps you like searchlights
The puritans stare, their souls are flourescent
The skin of a robot vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos carouse in the parlor
Their hand-grenade eyes invalid and blind
A hideous game vanishes in thin air, the vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there to sweep the debris?
To harness dead horses, to ride in the sun
A life of confessions written in the dust
Lalalalalalalala...