[PLEASE NOTE THAT BANDCAMP DOES NOT PRESERVE ALL TEXT FORMATTING. These lyrics look better in the CD sleeve.]
Each syllable is unpardonable, just a laughable unwitting parody
fittingly packed with naivety -
hailstones and razorblades into my ears.
Caution! Not enough to apportion,
never doubting the wisdom,
openly spouting hot air -
words from the derrière
cut through the debonair.
Anile conjecture betrays your true nature.
Tectonic shifts to your corpus of lies,
compromising the ties that were tied as a child to belie widened eyes…
…effortlessly wrecking identity.
Goaded ’til all myths were exploded;
self-eroded the fascia -
melted glacier reveals
that pointiest of heels:
the lying schmuck.
Now hear how greedy piggy squeals
when he gets stuck!
Bleed, piggy! Bleed! Now you know how it feels!
Cough your guts up in your trough! I hope you suffocate on your muck!
Steadily starved - now I’m ready to carve you up!
Though I long to have you out of the picture, you just keep creeping back in the frame.
Curse this company I’m keeping! And it’s no sweeping claim to heap all blame on you.
Goals under veils - yes, the boat is afloat, but you’ve rolled up the sails.
False decrees - larder door is secure, but you’ve stolen the keys.
Looming large - bayonet strike is set, but you hold up the charge.
No disguise anymore covers your swollen corpus of lies…corpus of lies…corpus of lies…corpus of lies.
This 14-song feast demonstrates just how invigorating 'mere' pop music can be. With only three mouths and six hands between them, they manage some terrifically clever and passionate music. The Display Team