The Immaculate Glitch

Trip hop Glitch

Electronic Glitch

Alternative Glitch

It’s brown and it’s hairy,
and it tastes like butt.
Hey boys and girls,
do you wanna know what?
The worst kind of food, it is...
The coconut!

Oh, why did it come into existence?
With that foul smell and gummy consistence...
Millions of fools think it’s edible stuff!
Well, the first time that I had it,
for me was quite enough.

Coconut, it ain’t fit for pigs,
’cause it smells like ass,
and it tastes like twigs.
Coconut, it’s the sum of all my fears...
It is why I haven’t had a nice dessert in years!

Fuck you coconut,
fuck you coconut,
fuck you coconut,
you hairy bitch!

Oh, why do they put it in everything?
From breakfast cereals to hemorrhoid cream...
I long to escape its nefarious grasp,
’cause it makes me gag and it makes me gasp!

Coconut, it ain’t fit for pigs!
’Cause it smells like ass,
and it tastes like twigs!
Coconut, it’s the sum of all my fears...
It is why I haven’t had a nice dessert in years!

Fuck you coconut,
fuck you coconut,
fuck you coconut,
You hairy bitch!

F.U.C.

Within my shell...
Insulated.
My inner self...
Agitated.
All this chaos out there...
It’s like a sensory tide,
that keeps on churning.
Yet somewhere,
deep inside,
I feel a yearning...
even though I know

It’s so hard...
To be understood;
to walk the straight line,
with the rest of the herd.
It’s so hard...
But I’m still in the game.
There’s a spark in my heart,
glimmering through the shame.

My worried eyes...
Criticizing.
My weary mind...
Analyzing—
all this toxic fakeness,
that I just can’t seem to abide...
and my rage is burning.
Yet somehow,
deep inside,
I still feel that yearning...
even though I know

It’s so hard...
To be understood;
to walk the straight line,
with the rest of the herd.
It’s so hard...
but I’m still in the game.
There’s a spark in my heart,
glimmering through the shame.

I get tired of this constant striving,
lost inside these storms which never cease.
But at times, I’ll feel like I’m arriving;
like the puzzle finally fits the piece.

All thanks to that
persistent spark
within my heart,
driving me on
and on again,
especially when

It’s so hard...
To be understood;
to walk the straight line,
with the rest of the herd.
It’s so hard...
but I’m still in the game.
There’s a spark in my heart,
glimmering...

The Spark

With the wind in my hair,
and my hands on the wheel,
driving into the night,
makes it easy to feel...
To feel just like myself,
all alone, but alive,
In the cover of darkness—
that’s my way to survive.

The moonlight, the starlight,
the neon lights;
The stillness, the coolness
of this night;
Going fast, growing strong,
in the dark, where I belong.

And the time it passes swiftly,
while I’m out here on my own.
I can see, on the horizon,
the beginning of the dawn.
So I turn my car around
and I make my way back home,
cherishing these last few moments
in the dark, where I belong.

The moonlight, the starlight,
the neon lights;
The stillness, the coolness
of this night;
Going fast, growing strong,
in the dark, where I belong.

Where I Belong

All the preparations have been made,
and I am ready to go now on my way;
on a journey to Proxima Centauri—
that’s a star; it’s very far away.
And my prototype micro-fusion engine,
it’s got a plasma exhaust controller.
I took it downtown, to Rodrigo’s repair shop,
and he installed it in a purple Corolla.

I am pushing the blast off button,
and I’m rising up in all of my glory.
Heading out to interstellar space,
I’m on my way to Proxima Centauri.

A slime green alien police craft
is hot on the heels of my Toyota.
And a squeaky little voice on my radio—
it is saying that I really do oughta 
replace that rinkydink fusion drive,
because it defies galactic regulations.
They’re gonna let it slide, just this once,
but I’m getting a very stern citation.

I am pushing the pedal to the metal,
and I’m the hero of my very own story.
Moving on through interstellar space,
I’m on the road to Proxima Centauri.

This journey is so very, very long,
and the star is so very, very far...
So I guess I’ll roll me up some AstroTurf,
and then I’ll play a tune on this here guitar...

Proxima Centauri

Are you stupid
or somethin’, boy?

Blah blah blah blah
Blah blah blah blah
Bulu bulu blah blah blah

The wording is quite simple,
but the meaning is subtle,
and complex...

Blah blah blah blah
Blah blah blah blah
Bulu bulu blah blah blah

Do you understand
what I’m getting at here?
No?
I suspected as much.

D’you know what I’m sayin’?
D’you know what I’m meanin’?
So get down!

It’s a profound message...
Indeed, I think that all
of the world’s leaders
should stop their petty disputes 
and actually sit down
and listen to it!

Blah blah blah blah
Blah blah blah blah
Bulu bulu blah blah blah

The wording is quite simple,
but the meaning is subtle,
and complex...

Blah blah blah blah
Blah blah blah blah
Bulu bulu blah blah blah

Why can’t they get it
inside their thick skulls?
This is about to change everything!

D’you know what I’m sayin’?
D’you know what I’m meanin’?
So get down!

We really should have listened...
Now it’s too late.

The Message

Come over here, baby.
I wanna tell you
something important.

You know that lately,
you’ve been so angry
all the time.
Driving me crazy,
’cause your routine is
outta line.

You can’t just rest
on your roses,
you have to learn
how to drop and roll.
This world will keep
on revolving,
some things are
far too big to control.

And there ain’t nothin’
you can do about it...
No, there ain’t nothin’
you can do about it...

Just get over it,
or get with it—
out of the mud,
and back in the fight.
You’ll just have to learn
to accept that certain things
are way too wrong
to ever be made right.

And there ain’t nothin’
you can do about it...
No, there ain’t nothin’
you can do about it...

We’re probably
gonna make it,
’cause our bond
is too strong to sever.
I’ll always be there
when you need me,
but you’ll have to try
and keep it together.
And now I’ll come on over,
and kiss your face!

And there ain’t nothin’
you can do about it...
No, there ain’t nothin’
you can do about it...

I’ll Always Be There

It’s time to face up to the facts...
So listen up.

You’re falling, not flying.
You’re failing, not trying.
You’re sinking, not diving.
You’re crashing, not driving.

So stop it while you can,
before your sanity snaps.
It’s clear that you’re heading towards...
a High Energy Collapse!
Whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah...

You’ve been working so hard—
but still missing your goals.
You’ve been partying so hard—
it’s getting out of control.
You’ve been pretending so hard—
and it’s starting to show.
You’ve been thinking so hard—
and your head’s just about to blow...

So stop it while you can,
before your sanity snaps.
It’s clear that you’re heading towards...
a High Energy Collapse!
Whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah...

You’re out of your lane,
and you’re running out of road.
You’re out of your depth,
and you’re running out of breath.
You’ve been chasing that dream,
but you’ve just ran out of steam...
and now you’re straining your mind,
but you’ve just ran out of time!

So stop it while you can,
before your sanity snaps.
It’s clear that you’re heading towards...
a High Energy Collapse!
Whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah...
Whoa, yeah, yeah, yeah...

High Energy Collapse

There were once these
two warring tribes of men,
whose bodies were
composed of burning flame.
And they feuded over
a tiny patch of dust,
their minds consumed
with figments of the past.
 
Flying flags of fire,
singing hymns of war,
they went marching forth,
as their fathers had before.
To slay and to ravage,
to torture and maim,
for the Burning God,
praised be his name…

They had many children,
these men of the fiery sword,
but their babies were always
born of flesh and blood.
And their little hearts were
filled with joy and laughter,
for the Burning God
was not as yet their master.

But as they grew,
they were told of
the ways of war,
that were written down
so many years before,
and collected in the
Book of the Yellow Fist,
then preached at temple
by the Fire Priests.
 
Where they taught
the children to fear
and loathe their foe,
to be hard and cruel,
and skilled with
sword and bow.
To seek after death,
and to delight in pain,
because the Burning God
did so ordain.
 
And by the end of their youth,
their full flame had been gained,
coursing through their blood
and hearts and brains.
The children were now
of the flaming kind.
Their love and joy
were forever left behind.

Then swords and bows
were placed in their
young hands,
and within their spirits
burned a savage lust:
to battle over
a tiny patch of dust,
in homage to the
glories of the past.

Flying flags of fire,
singing hymns of war,
they went marching forth,
as their fathers had before.
To slay and to ravage,
to torture and maim,
for the Burning God,
praised be his name…

And the men of
the outside world,
they took great care
to never set foot
in the places where
the tribes of flaming men
brawled and clashed,
over a poor land that had
long since turned to ash.

The Flaming Men

A blossom was glistening in the night,
reflecting the street light’s blaze.
A pale revelation in yellow and white,
which immediately captured my gaze.

This useless thing, so helpless and doomed,
utterly crude, yet splendidly fair;
rooted in asphalt and flaunting its bloom
to a universe which does not care.

Like a tiny reflection of my own soul,
trying to thrive in spite of it all,
inhaling pollution with every breath,
and throwing beauty in the face of Death.

Nightflower, nightflower,
we reach for the sky...
but before we can make it,
we curl up and die.
Nightflower, nightflower,
Oh, why do we try?

So I stood there and stared
at a corner of an empty street.
And I felt my bitter despair
turning partly bittersweet.

Then my dog pulled the leash,
so I walked away,
and the moment was gone.
But the memory’s remained
deep within my mind,
and it helps me go on.

Like a tiny reflection of my own soul,
trying to thrive in spite of it all,
inhaling pollution with every breath,
and throwing beauty in the face of Death.

Nightflower, nightflower,
we reach for the sky...
but before we can make it,
we curl up and die.
Nightflower, nightflower,
Oh, why do we try?

I’ll try to remember
that grace will endure in the dark.
I’ll try to remember
that hope shall eternally spark.
So when my soul becomes distant,
and the shadows creep in,
when I crave nonexistence,
and my courage runs thin...
I’ll remember that sweet nightflower.

Nightflower

I tried to hide inside a flask,
I tried to hide behind a mask,
I tried to hide under a leaf,
I tried to hide away my grief.

Ain’t no hiding from your soul.
Ain’t no hiding from that pain.
Keep on playing, lose it all.
Keep on going, go insane.

Please don’t make me see,
because I don’t want to know.
Please don’t make me share,
because I don’t want to show.
No, no, no...

I tried to lose my self in clubs,
I tried to lose my self in pubs.
I tried to lose my self in art,
I tried to ease my wounded heart.

Ain’t no hiding from your soul.
Ain’t no hiding from that pain.
Keep on playing, lose it all.
Keep on going, go insane.

Please don’t make me see,
because I don’t want to know.
Please don’t make me share,
because I don’t want to show.
No, no, no...

I don’t want to know
how much of me was taken...
I don’t want to know
how much I have forsaken.

Ain’t gonna search my soul,
I’m too afraid of what I’ll find.
Gotta get me something new
to sedate my noisy mind.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.

I Don’t Want to Know

I often will dream
about this wonderful place:
a lovely little town,
full of charm and grace,
where elegant people
treat each other with kindness,
and everything is glowing
with this aura of rightness.

It’s just wishful thinking,
and when I open my eyes
I want to be living
in these beautiful lies,
but all the visions are gone
without a single trace,
and I’m still right here
in my unhappy place.

I deserve that life,
but I wasn’t born lucky…
Not in the right time,
nor in the right country.
Everyday I see things
which fill me with dread, 
and then I wanna go back
to my comfortable bed.

Because I need to keep dreaming
these silly, beautiful lies…
Yeah, it’s just wishful thinking,
and when I open my eyes
all the visions are gone
without a single trace,
and I’m still right here
in my unhappy place.

They tell me it’s possible to get out of here,
if I’ll be a slave for the rest of my days,
but I’m much too afraid to change up my ways,
because all things considered,
I’m doing okay.

I guess I’ll just keep dreaming.
Yeah, I’ll just keep on dreaming.
I’m gonna have to keep dreaming.

Wishful Thinking

Long past the days of your prime,
worn by the passage of time,
your memories fading like stains,
yet some of you still remains.

But your decline washes backward,
and it’s so painful to behold,
how the new is disappearing,
leaving residues of old.

Devoured by decay,
your mind is astray,
with eyes that don’t gleam,
stuck in a bad dream.

My faltering shade,
confused and afraid,
can you even perceive
that you’re being unmade?

My sad little ghost,
every day it gets worse.
Each day is a blessing,
each day is a curse.

Not waking up would be a mercy,
a sweet release from your grief.
Most of your days are uneasy,
as lucid times become brief.

It’s such a slow, sad farewell,
and we have both become tired
of holding down this frail fort,
long past all hope and desire.

When do I draw the line?
What more is there to lose?
I cannot know your thoughts,
so how am I to choose?

Devoured by decay,
your mind is astray,
with eyes that don’t gleam,
stuck in a bad dream.

My faltering shade,
confused and afraid,
can you even perceive
that you’re being unmade?

My sad little ghost,
every day it gets worse.
Each day is a blessing,
each day is a curse.

Please, let it be done,
before all your mind’s gone.
Lest emptiness shall dwell
within your suffering shell.

May it be peaceful,
may it be bland,
not by my choice,
not by my hand.

A soft departure
on a cloud of sleep,
one final memory
for me to keep.

My Faltering Shade

He was born middle class,
but he became a czar.
He runs six social apps
and a webinar.
He’s got twenty-five wives
and a thousand cars.
He owns a chain of hotels
and a shitload of bars.

His moral fiber is so very sparse:
He killed all his rivals
and some guy named Lars.
He thinks that democracy
is just a big farce.
He’s gonna be the first
billionaire on Mars.

He is spending big money;
he is blowing his wad
on a gargantuan rocket
with a pair of huge pods.
But the tests flights run badly,
and his rocket goes boom;
So he fires some people,
then he rants and he fumes.

He enjoys vintage wines
and rare caviars.
He keeps Kopi Luwak
in Baccarat jars.
He collects fine art
and iconic guitars.
He jams with Paul McCartney
and Ringo Starr.

He’ll try out any vice,
no matter how bizarre.
He chills in the Maldives
and parties in Qatar.
He sits in Swiss banks
smoking Cuban cigars.
He’s gonna be the first
billionaire on Mars.

He reaches out to his friends
for funds and solutions
from people in governments
and research institutions.
He gives a passionate speech
full of fancy explanations
to the General Assembly
of the United Nations.

His godhood is near,
and his vision is far.
He’ll helm a huge starship,
like Captain Picard.
He’s the king of the world,
and now he thirsts for the stars.
He’s gonna be the first
billionaire on Mars.

The rust-red planet
will turn dollar-green
by company drones
sent to set up the scene.
The chosen few will arrive
to establish their claims,
while the rest of us losers
go up in flames.

He is the first; we’re kept for last.
He is the future; we are the past.
He is the first; too bad he’s the worst…
His world will be blessed
while ours remains cursed.

The First Yacht on Mars

“If you can actually count your money,
then you're not a rich man.”

He was born middle class,
but he became a czar.
He runs six social apps
and a webinar.
He’s got twenty-five wives
and a thousand cars.
He owns a chain of hotels
and a shitload of bars.

His moral fiber is so very sparse:
He killed all his rivals
and some guy named Lars.
He thinks that democracy
is just a big farce.
He’s gonna be the first
billionaire on Mars.

He is spending big money;
he is blowing his wad
on a gargantuan rocket
with a pair of pods.
But the tests run badly,
and his rocket goes boom;
So he fires some people,
then he rants and he fumes…
’Cause he wants to go to Mars.

He enjoys vintage wines
and rare caviars.
He keeps Kopi Luwak
in Baccarat jars.
He collects fine art
and iconic guitars.
He jams with Paul McCartney
and Ringo Starr.

He’ll try out any vice,
no matter how bizarre.
He chills in the Maldives
and parties in Qatar.
He sits in Swiss banks
smoking Cuban cigars.
He’s gonna be the first
billionaire on Mars.

He reaches out to his friends
for funds and solutions
from people in governments
and research institutions.
He gives a passionate speech
full of fancy explanations
to the General Assembly
of the United Nations.

“Earth provides enough
to satisfy every man's need,
but not every man's greed.”

His godhood is near,
and his vision is far.
He’ll helm a huge starship
like Captain Picard.
He’s the king of the world,
and now he thirsts for the stars.
He’s gonna be the first
billionaire on Mars.

The rust-red planet
will turn dollar-green
by company drones
sent to set up the scene.
The chosen few will colonize,
staking out their claims
while we, the poor masses,
will go up in flames.
What a bloody shame…
back to the dust
from whence we came…

“The best thing about money
is it gives you options in life.”

He is the first; we’re kept for last.
He is the future; we are the past.
He is the first, he’ll own the universe.
His world will be blessed
while ours remains cursed…
’Cause he simply is the worst.

The First Billionaire on Mars

I’m feeling like it’s time to quit,
to give up all this boring shit.
I guess I’ll sell the things I own,
and sail away to parts unknown.
Sure, it’s a reckless thing to do,
but I went ahead and thought it through.
I’m gonna move far out of reach,
the place is called Komodo Beach.

Komodo Beach, a place of peace,
an isle of joy, a bay of bliss.
The water’s pure, the air is sweet,
the weed is strong, the rum is neat.
Komodo Beach, the sky is clear,
the sand is pink, the sea is sheer.
The dragons bite, but they’re too slow.
Yeah, that is where I wanna go…
That is where I’m gonna go.

I sold my watches, and my flat,
I sold my car and all my tat.
It’s time to give my life the slip,
and find a place aboard a ship.
It’ll have to be a modest boat,
I saved up some, but I ain’t rich,
it’s just enough to keep afloat
while living in Komodo Beach.

Komodo Beach, where money keeps,
the rent is low and food is cheap.
Where you don’t need to work at all,
so take your time and have a ball.
Komodo Beach, the beer is cold,
the palms are green, the sun is gold.
The dragons stink, but that’s okay.
Yeah, that is where I’ll want to stay.

Yeah, I’m gonna ride the dragon!
No, it’s a perfectly rational thing to do.
I’m fine, I just had one spliff
and a couple of beers.
Okay, watch me do it…
Rrrrah!

Komodo Beach…
The perfect place to surf.
Komodo Beach…
A heaven here on earth.
Komodo Beach…
It’s like my dreams came true.
Komodo Beach…
Why don’t you come here too?

Sure, sure, come on over,
just don’t crowd me, don’t crowd me.
Yeah, you know, only the cool people,
ten, twelve at the most, no more.
And spread out, yeah?
So we can all ease into it.
Oh man, that dragon bite really does hurt!
I think I’ll just pour some rum on it.
Uh yeah, that feels great…
Life sure is good.

Komodo Beach

It’s a hot summer day
and I’ve got nothin’ goin’ on.
I think I’ll just sit on my porch,
and soak up the sun.
But I also feel like
having a nice treat…
Let’s think about things
which are good to eat.

Ice cream is sweet,
but I haven’t got any,
and the lemon cake I had,
I gave it to Jenny.
Oh, hey, I know!
I’ve got fruit in my fridge!
A lovely fruit salad
would do in a pinch!

What a wonderful dish,
full of colors and flavor!
A juicy fruit salad is
something to savor.

Fun, fun, fun in the sun…
Yum, yum, yum in my tum…
Fruit salad is the best,
so tasty and full of zest!

So let’s see…
I’ve got apples and grapes
and peaches and plums,
I’ve got apricots and pears
and raisins with rum,
I’ve got cherries and bananas
and pineapple slices,
I think this fruit salad
is gonna be the nicest! 

I take my bunch of fruit
and I peel them all up,
then I get out the board
and I give them the chop,
and lastly,
I mix them in my favourite bowl.
It’s really not complicated at all!

What a wonderful dish,
full of colors and flavor!
A juicy fruit salad is
something to savor.

Fun, fun, fun in the sun…
Yum, yum, yum in my tum…
Fruit salad is the best,
so tasty and full of zest!

I’m now on my porch
with the bowl in my lap,
crunching and munching
and chewing it up.
The sun is so hot
and shiny in the sky…
Fruit salad’s a joy!
I urge you to try.

Fruit Salad

This world requires
all kinds of minds;
you think that I’m broken,
but I’m just fine.
I’m different, not flawed...
just a little bit odd,
and I won’t be involved
in emotional fraud.

Your exuberance is unrelenting,
but I choose to remain authentic;
instead of selling bogus passion,
maybe start working on compassion.

Unbalanced optimism
is your toxic notion,
too spineless to confront
your negative emotions;
it’s such a mindless method
to promote mental health:
if you want to be accepted,
just diminish yourself.

You keep telling me to lighten up
and get a bit more jolly;
I’d rather that you all wake up
and smell the melancholy.
Your vapid vigor is vain
and so viciously vile;
stop poisoning my brain
with your strychnine smiles.

These strychnine smiles...
Whoa oh…
Sick strychnine smiles...
Yeah yeah…
Stop hampering my heart,
stop messing up my mind
with your strychnine smiles...
Oh ooh whoa,
ooh whoa, ooh whoa whoa…

Your moronical expectations
are not my concern;
your emotional machinations
shall be thoroughly spurned.
If the crop doesn’t grow,
fix the soil, not the crop;
I won’t cancel my feelings
just to keep this damn job.

Neurodiversity’s like biodiversity—
it’s very crucial to the human race;
personal growth means facing adversity,
and walking the path at your own pace.

I keep my autonomy,
even in a crowd;
I hear my own melody,
even if you’re loud.
You think that it’s bad
to be angry or sad?
Well, I think it’s quite mad
to be perpetually glad.

That’s why I don’t need
your false reinforcements,
that’s why I don’t want
your spurious endorsements.
Your sunny gaslighting
is a cognitive prison,
and you’re criminalizing
people’s neuroticism.

The reign of positivity
directs the modern hive:
to never speak the truth
of what it's like to be alive.

Your conformity
is the jailer of freedom,
it’s the foe of the strange
and the killer of change.
Your mediocrity
is the bringer of boredom,
it’s the bane of the bright
and the death of delight.

Unbalanced optimism
is your toxic notion,
too spineless to confront
your negative emotions;
it’s such a mindless method
to promote mental health:
if you want to be accepted,
just diminish yourself.

You keep telling me to lighten up
and get a bit more jolly;
I’d rather that you all wake up
and smell the melancholy.
Your vapid vigor is vain
and so viciously vile;
stop poisoning my brain
with your strychnine smiles.

These strychnine smiles...
Whoa oh…
Sick strychnine smiles...
Yeah yeah…
Stop smothering my soul,
stop sullying my sight
with your strychnine smiles...
Oh ooh whoa,
ooh whoa, ooh whoa whoa…

Anger is vastly superior to shame;
sadness is so much better than guilt.
Tension is healthier than self-blame;
these are the things from which we are built.

You can't have hope without despair;
you can’t have grit without some wear.
You can’t have happiness without pain;
you can’t fake life and still be sane.

Strychnine Smiles

We live on a placid island of ignorance
in the midst of black seas of infinity,
and it was not meant that
we should voyage far.

Reports are coming in
of a horrible groaning sound
rising out of the Puerto Rico Trench.

Government officials refuse
to address the rumored recent
disappearances of people
and livestock.

The global mental health crisis 
deepens as professionals
confront unprecedented levels
of anxiety and nightmares.

Attention! This is not a drill;
A level four mandatory 
evacuation is now in effect
for all coastal regions.

Dare you not disturb the sleep
of the dwellers in the deep,
let them lie for evermore
underneath the ocean floor.

The Old Ones will whisper;
The Old Ones will wake;
The Old Ones will rule over Earth;
The spheres will collide;
there's nowhere to hide;
We’ll all curse the day of our birth.

They will rise!
Whoa oh oh oh oh oh
They will rise!
Woah oh yeah
They will rise!
Whoa oh oh oh oh oh
They will rise!
Woah oh yeah

Following sporadic sightings of 
monstrous creatures in the Atlantic,
military sources have now 
verified the loss of several naval 
ships in recent engagements.

Our defenses are ineffective;
we are dealing with a threat
that we simply can’t understand.

Surveillance satellites have 
confirmed the sudden 
appearance of an unidentified 
colossal object in the Bermuda Rise.

A substantial portion of global 
communication has been hijacked
by a rogue transmission;
this broadcast has been linked to 
several ongoing incidents
of mass delusions!

Put your hands on both your ears,
and hope that you will never hear
their dismal song of joy and fear,
swelling through the atmosphere.

[Chorus]

Field reports indicate that large 
segments of the world’s population
are performing disturbing rituals,
completely unresponsive to commands.

There are no longer any 
sovereign nations;
strange entities are controlling 
the minds of Mankind.

Praise be!
Their Great Triumph is complete.

Now we shall bow down
and accept the dreaming.

Our destruction is purification!
Our madness is understanding!
Our silence is peace!

Darkness falls, an endless night,
filling all our hearts with fright;
Grim gods loom, vast as the sky,
gazing down with baleful eye.

Hear our cries!
Whoa oh oh oh oh oh
Hear our cries!
Woah oh yeah
Close your eyes!
Whoa oh oh oh oh oh
Death’s your prize!
Woah oh yeah

They Will Rise

Seize the day!
Take it in!
Go all out!
Own the scene!
Spread your wings!
Chase your dream!
Make the leap!
Brave the stream!

Wilde and Bukowski lived in a bottle,
Ledger and Belushi went at it full throttle.
Bonham and Best pickled their brains,
Winehouse and Cobain ran out of veins.
They garnered fame and gathered wealth,
but wasted all their mental health.
They craved the rush and paid the cost,
they blazed the trail, but wound up lost.

To explore the depths, you must face the dark...

They are the saints of excess.
They were divine, they were a mess.
They had it all, but not for long.
They shone too bright, they lived too strong.
They were the mad ones,
out of control.
They went for wild fun,
they had a ball.
They took too much, they felt too deep.
Their legacy is ours to keep.

Seize the day!
Take it in!
Go all out!
Own the scene!
Spread your wings!
Chase your dream!
Make the leap!
Brave the stream!

Farley and Moon loved clowning around,
Kerouac and Dean liked going to town.
Thompson and Hemingway had a real blast,
Parker and Holiday faded out fast.
They had gifts that you can’t buy,
but they flew so very high.
The sun burned down their fragile wings,
they died like dogs, but lived like kings.

Whatever goes up must surely come down.

[Chorus]

Hendrix and Jones never made twenty eight,
Joplin and Morrison met the same fate.
Basquiat and Phoenix fumbled the ball,
Wilson and Wood both took a wet fall.
Their whole lives became a disaster.
Their demons just couldn’t be mastered.
Constantly saying they’re fine,
while going right out of their minds.

Dance with the Devil, go up in flames...

[Chorus]

Is ours to keep!
Yeah yeah
So spread your wings!
Oh
Go chase your dream…
Whoa whoa oh
Go brave that stream…

Oh oh ooh whoa oh
Oh oh ooh whoa oh
Oh oh ooh whoa oh
Oh oh ooh whoa oh
Whoa oh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh
Ooh ooh ooh ooh

The Saints of Excess

The sky glows poison green,
exposing the obscene.
I wanna break out of this squalor.
I wanna get myself all clean.
Oh, what a beautiful dream...
Suburban grass between my toes!
But will they accept what I am?
I can't really know that for sure.

Whoa!
I wanna be received...
But I need to be reborn!
From a crystal blue spring,
as a brand new man-thing.
Man-thing...

I steal a long raincoat,
and I hop on a train.
I use a com-transplant
from a dead man's brain.
I wanna travel far enough
to get away from this mess,
and walk in the sunshine,
so refreshingly blessed.

Whoa!
I wanna be received...
But I need to be reborn!
From a crystal blue spring,
as a brand new man-thing.
Man-thing...

I think I'm in heaven,
but I ain't dead.
The air is too rich...
It's messing with my head.
The people are pretty;
I smile and I wave.
They scream and they run,
so I pull out my gun...

All alone in paradise,
like a hideous god.
My body's moisturized
by their innocent blood.
I'm feelin' so relieved...
But now it's time to leave!
’Cause somewhere in the mountains
there is a crystal fountain.

Whoa!
I wanna be received...
But I need to be reborn!
From a crystal blue spring,
as a brand new man-thing.
Yeah…

Whoa, ah!
I’ll be a brand new man-thing.
Uh-huh.
A shiny brand new man-thing.
Praise be!
So fresh, so clean…
Whoa…

Neon Baptism

Cloaked in shadows,
I remain a mysterious enigma.
My music is a reflection of a spirit
both dark and delicately sweet,
twisted yet deeply sentimental.

All original lyrics and music
concepts were 100% written
and designed by me;
the production was realized
using the Suno AI platform.
As a pro plan subscriber,
I retain all commercial and
intellectual rights to this work.