Thirty-six miscarraiges, waiting for their fate.
He'll set 'em up for another birth, so they'll spread, his seed and his name
Geometry is an art, and an art is a faith, sein'
Lines and angles and lines and angles and lines of angels cuz lines
are angels but
Some angels are good and some angels are bad
And this beautiful vision is driving him mad, sing

Father of a geometric vision
Father of an invented religion

Motherless children they're motherless children
their father made love to himself in a dream
and the semen he bled and the seed that he spread
still wait to be born through the seed that he said
was the way that his code would survive his own death
kill all the rest
eat all their heads
take their nutrition and leave them for dead
cuz if they can't be born they were born to be bled because

all his
life he's
seen it
comin'
potent
frozen
waiting
motion
inevitable
like a car crash
or a bursting damn
or volcano
its just tension and release
tension and release
and when it all goes down he'll be waiting like a thief with a notary
public and video tape

Thirty-six failed visions, each with a different face
One sees atoms whose soft masses lie stable but wait like a nuclear bomb
Another sees sex in this motion, sees shapes that sink and dissappear and then
Reappear as stars condensed into a single, boiling, pulsing, patient point
They're waiting for a Big Bang
They're waiting for his senses to grasp

The quiet foreplay of the fertile eggs
The barely touching spheres and planes
The slightest friction is a sweet romance
That like any other will corrupt or collide

Thirty-six soft eggs – ripped from the womb and laid on a table
Their tender kisses arouse him, he sees the potential for exploding life
A shaft in a hand, a bullet, a wick
A manual gland, a snare and a kick and a crash
And when it leaves us it keeps us attached
To love is to free but alas
The umbilical leash in our hands
And then we're nothin' but little league dads and military ads
Gettin' our K-K-Kids to K-Kick some ass

But what would you have done
I said what would you have done
With a gift so damn ambiguous could be an apple or a gun
But it's a horizontal firecracker
horizontal firecracker
horizontal firecracker
horizontal firecracker

You only live once, but you're dying all the time
If you're not gonna have kids why not leave a record behind
mine is a vinyl baby, being born as we speak
His is a lovely number down in permanent ink

Father of a geometric vision
Father of an invented religion