There is no survival in a house of God There is no hope for survival in a house of God I wanna unlock it I wanna- forget it. There is no hope for survival in a house of God The throat is raw, the hands are sharp The aesthetic hysteric sleeps The aesthetic initiate feels one thing There is no hope for survival in a house of God I wanna hide out for sometime I wanna break it open sometime I wanna see behind the mask now [squeaking] AHAHAHAAAAAAAA Why isn't it bespoke Can it be custom made for us all Can a soul be custom made in an artisanal workshop Wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if I lost my voice right now? The throat is raw, the hands are sharp The aesthetic initiate feels one thing The survival in a room of two The survival in a desecrated tomb I wanna lie awake everyday and scream Geisslerlieder The desolate whipping boy The family of flagellants come through In a flatulent village Screaming the rats are swarming And you mean to tell me... In all sincerity... That the black tulip bulbs, on my skin forming now Are not miniature mushroom clouds? Are not dropped from the helicopter? Who will ever believe your lies? The throat is raw, the hands are long The aesthetic initiate feels one thing The survival in a room of two The survival in a desecrated tomb There is no hope for survival in a house of God Two cement types in the foundation Catacomb corporation Two contrasting types of cement in the foundation Catacomb corporation This is dreck to be mass produced I keep conceptual art in the train caboose There is a simulated crash I keep all the conceptual art in the caboose [INCOMPREHENSIBLE SQUEAKING] (I shouldn't do that, probably.) There is no hope for survival in a house of God There is no HOPE in a HOUUUUUUse of god There is no hope in a HOUUUUUUSEEE OF GOD It's in fashion, it's in vogue It's empathic, it's reactionary It's emphatic, it's resurrectionary It's empathic, refractionary It's empathic, resurrect-NO It's ensouled now.

I am a body wronged by god Dead in the water I wanna be a little more than a concept sometimes Humanize an aesthetic Personalize aesthetic Where do you go from here? I am a human smear campaign I am a human tableaux vivant Marina you are simple Marina you are simple I want to develop the botulism of seeing I want to develop the salmonella of knowing The botulism of seeing The salmonella of knowing I wanna be little more than aesthetic, static, static I want to be static electricity Protruding from a flannel shirt found in the attic Of your rheumatic amnesiac uncle I want to be a generational stereotype When you look at me through the years Who let this be made into the taste, into the taste You get when you wander into the basement at the wrong time I want to develop the botulism of seeing AuHahAHahAYayYAYUH I want to develop the salmonella of knowing I want to develop the salmonella of seeing The botulism of knowing The pink eye of remembering The sun is black Water reddens post-surgery I know what's more painful than giving birth It's trying to make it seem like it matters Why can't I sell anything that isn't a trauma I've gone through? I'm like 21 years old, well yeah I guess, and I think I'm experiencing borrowed nostalgia 'Cause I still think people want cool and not necessarily honest 'Cause I still think people still want cool AuauUUauUAUauAUuaUaAH Why do you want to see your own experience in my abstraction? I want to build a giant fucking ice wall, ice wall A giant fucking ice wall, ice wall between the well-rounded believable world and the nonsense that I black out and make I wanna develop the pink eye of remembering I wanna develop the salmonella of knowing I wanna develop the botulism of seeing This is the food poisoning of self-expreSSION All discomfort that I've experienced in my life has never lasted longer than 3 hours I've never felt like shit for more than 40 minutes! [LAUGHING FIT] I wanna develop [aEeUEueEUeu] the pink eye of remembering AhahAHueUAUuaHhh[LAUGHING FIT] The salmonella of knowing The botulism of seeing The food poisoning of memory, of memory, of memory I bit my cheek real fucking HaAaAAaaARD On accident I hope this finds you well I want total information all the time! I want total infomaAaAaAyWUHAHAHAHHAHAH Relation is a fake because we learn only from separation (?) Unity is a formulation of isolation all by itself HEROIIIIN It's my wife and it's my liiiiife. Okay, I shouldn't do that. It's the Billy Idol version. You know the one. It's from Cyberpunk. It's like an 8 minute dance version of Heroin by the Velvet Underground. I think it's because of the chorus with the really fuckin triumphant HEROIIIIIIN. It's the funniest thing in the world to me. It's the desecration of something holy, that's why it's good. Kill your idols, man. Kill your idols, man. KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIOOOOOOooOoOoOoOoOoOooO[INCOMPREHENSIBLE SCREAMING] [LAUGHING] Kill your idols, man. Kill your fucking idols, man. [smoker's throat mode on] KILL YOUR IDOLS, MAAAAAAAAN. (Heroiiin! It's my wife, and it's my life! Jesus died for somebody's sins, and not mine!) (HEROIIIIN! It's my wife, and it's my wife.) (The botulism of knowing.... The pink eye of remembering.... The pink eye of rememberiiiIiIiiAaAiAIaiIaAIaiIaUAuauAUuaUAUuauAUauUAUauUAUuau[SHRIEKING]) [CREAKING PRINTER HIVE SOUND] [DYING CAT IMPRESSION]

There is no survival in a house of God There is no hope for survival in a house of God I wanna unlock it I wanna- forget it. There is no hope for survival in a house of God The throat is raw, the hands are sharp The aesthetic hysteric sleeps The aesthetic initiate feels one thing There is no hope for survival in a house of God I wanna hide out for sometime I wanna break it open sometime I wanna see behind the mask now [squeaking] AHAHAHAAAAAAAA Why isn't it bespoke Can it be custom made for us all Can a soul be custom made in an artisanal workshop Wouldn't it be fucking hilarious if I lost my voice right now? The throat is raw, the hands are sharp The aesthetic initiate feels one thing The survival in a room of two The survival in a desecrated tomb I wanna lie awake everyday and scream Geisslerlieder The desolate whipping boy The family of flagellants come through In a flatulent village Screaming the rats are swarming And you mean to tell me... In all sincerity... That the black tulip bulbs, on my skin forming now Are not miniature mushroom clouds? Are not dropped from the helicopter? Who will ever believe your lies? The throat is raw, the hands are long The aesthetic initiate feels one thing The survival in a room of two The survival in a desecrated tomb There is no hope for survival in a house of God Two cement types in the foundation Catacomb corporation Two contrasting types of cement in the foundation Catacomb corporation This is dreck to be mass produced I keep conceptual art in the train caboose There is a simulated crash I keep all the conceptual art in the caboose [INCOMPREHENSIBLE SQUEAKING] (I shouldn't do that, probably.) There is no hope for survival in a house of God There is no HOPE in a HOUUUUUUse of god There is no hope in a HOUUUUUUSEEE OF GOD It's in fashion, it's in vogue It's empathic, it's reactionary It's emphatic, it's resurrectionary It's empathic, refractionary It's empathic, resurrect-NO It's ensouled now.