lyrics
gimme a sip on that temperament, that hose pipe of irreverence - i'm channeling my everything through t.v. reruns and valium. i know the machine isn't everything, but jesus tom they said i'd win, i'd climb to the star and back again. slow-motion it offers a bitter pill and the concussion is starting to hurt like hell; the telephone is torn apart, those poly-fiends won't breach me now. i settle down and put you on, serve myself something to take off the edge, and if richard comes i'll blow him out - that creepy old ghost better know i don't mess around
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