| Again I wake up to your end, your ways and means
|
| I watch your machinations seamless on the screen
|
| I turn away again but still your always there
|
| Your vacant, automatic smile is everywhere
|
| The bright procession flashes past
|
| In 2 dimensions under glass
|
| The smile that lies between the lines
|
| Luminous the union beams
|
| Between the gods and their machines
|
| The numb seduction of the blind
|
| Sacrosanct the rank and file
|
| Of perfect angels passes by
|
| To modify the mind’s desire
|
| And no 3rd dimension troubles this
|
| Procession where there’s no abyss
|
| In which there burns a fire
|
| So you will jinx us with your trinkets and your tricks
|
| Your malcontented ravings and your razor bladed wits
|
| Go on you little clown and do your very worst
|
| Go ahead and starve to death, or satisfy your thirst
|
| The bright procession flashes past — Bad little insects find it tricky to
|
| survive
|
| In 2 dimensions under glass
|
| The smile that lies between the lines
|
| Luminous the union beams — As they infest the sickest segments of the hive
|
| Between the gods and their machines
|
| The numb seduction of the blind
|
| Sacrosanct the rank and file — Though we might whisper pretty words from time
|
| to time
|
| Of perfect angels passes by
|
| To modify the mind? |
| s desire
|
| And no 3rd dimension troubles this — They’ll get no honey like the ones who
|
| stay in line
|
| Procession where there’s no abyss
|
| In which there burns a fire
|
| So yet another preconception dead ahead
|
| A winning grimace and a gnawing sense of dread
|
| A set of orders from a disembodied head |