oh i feel it, i feel so low
reaction sees itself in burning blazing gold
waiting in the corners on the boaters where the boyfriends all sink low

and all my hands can do
is fold themselves in the valleys
in the coridoors, in the ceilings over you

oh in the kitchen where my beatrice sweats her glow
reaction sets itself today when i run home
wheres the keeper of a photon daytime sleeper

and all my hands are us
the frozen song that calls upon the blessed bus

so cry and whine while guest speakers sink into brine
im the sendup of a hallowed tradition true

so i honor thy friends, they are just bends
in a slapstrick tradition, loyalty bends
under the shadow of an empire's true

eat your russian berries, eat them in the monestary
and its all that i can do

you better hold tight because even cancer needs a home