(The No)
A skeptic can be grown in no-time
from the treated torso of anyone torn in two
And in this era of the owned and indebted who,
the means to do so safely, surround you...
An average amount of artificial light is needed,
Not unlike that of a public school system cell's ceiling.
Raw water from the tap, and it out to be,
american for its most doubtful properties...
but in order to properly,
grow yourself a skeptic solemnly,
you must honestly...
Kill 'em with the no
Q: They call it cope
A: What's working man's hope
they call it
(the No)
a skeptic can be grown best
from the torn-in-two torso of a dead politician,
somehow so perfect for the un-science and precisions of ckeptic making.
Since they possess the perfect blend of empty and taking one needs in life
to go all dark in death...
and in the shell of what's left, gradually the darkened goner mind sets to
spark once again, with all the needs of mortal men,l
and somehow none of it's wants...
bent without blood, meant or remembrance,
returning from what's absence
with nothing but vengeance,
are the skeptics...
the sharp dark teeth of bread water and last sleep interrupted...
what you say up in the No-face of famoust
when you crash you'll know where your plane is...
The no place of an ache egg awaits
when you crash into the no-fame of all ash...
(Thanks to Ryan for these lyrics)
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