The last survivor of a boiled crown
Another casualty with the casual frown
The janitor vandals they bark in your face
Juveniles with the piles and paste
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage classes
With the clutches of fog
Don't be confused when your fuse is up
And you're taking a leak into your brother's cup
When the cup is filled you can run and be killed
In the billion miles of the muscles that build
Radiation
Feeling the force
Karaoke
On the vomiting whores
This stops at zero, hailed the call
Running down the hall, there's nothing wrong
With the chancre sores and the robot pills
Throwing imbeciles on the window sills
It's a sensation!
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage classes
With the clutches of fog
Fog!
Fog!
Fog!
(?)
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