You will know me by the trail left of freshly scratched heads,
I'm a bow-legged razor with a möbius edge.

With no saving graces, I've been waiting for the Earth to speak,
Grounded to a fault, in a catalogue of circuitry

With no certainty to bank on but the Rancor's biting pressure,
measure that in intervals befitting of this mighty jester.

I've been fighting lesser demons, twisting scriptures to recited gestures
I don't believe in, I hope at the price of being skeptic

Demeanor strictly septic with a heretic's twist
and cobwebs betwixt the digits of a derelict fist

Seasons shift... yet I exist outside the sands' constraint,
a gifted traveler, lost in the thick of the astral plane

How'd the stains made for petty gains somehow define our purpose?
Where our footsteps leave inkblots our shadows then interpret.

Selling shame as the self-proclaimed misnomer of burden,
once the merchant-turned-hermit, now history of a blurb reworded



There should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
We chose this profession so therefore we'd earn beer

But there should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
Collectible Humans, EVERY YEAR IS OUR YEAR!



Don't fear the overactive degenerate of thought,
cramped with bastard demons rationing pillars of salt

Halt production immediately, or precede with the grease to palm
action attached to the bleeding scenery beneath the calm

Happy to meet the maker that manufactured my fall,
pathological lemming crashes with no manners at all.

Balls to Picasso. Those impossible moments
personified in sharp angles dangling over our throats

Appear with a leering omen, clearing the weird remote love
revered by peers video droning veneers of sheer devotion

The opening axe is golden with a bolt from the son of Odin.
I dash for the blue potions and the heavens unload explosions

Your haven for grand awakenings, backstabbing illusions of grandeur
hammering animation of phantom faces and uprooting the dagger

Stagger swagger fall with the averages or raise your class to toast
the opposing factions last stand by the hands of black magic AND I’M GHOST!



There should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
We something something something something something YEAH, BEER!

But there should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
There should probably be a hook here
Collectible Humans, EVERY YEAR IS OUR YEAR!
credits