Lazy flies all hovering above The magistrate he puts on his gloves And he looks to the clouds All pink and disheveled There must be some blueprints, Some creed of the devil Inscribed in our minds A hideous game Vanishes in thin air The vanity of slaves Who wants to be there? To sweep the debris To harness dead horses To ride in the sun A life of confessions Written in the dust Out in the mangroves The mynah birds cry In the shadows of sulphur The trawlers drift by They're chewing dried meat In a house of disrepute The dust of opiates And syphilis patients On brochure vacations Fear has a glare that traps you Like searchlights The puritans stare Their souls are fluorescent The skin of a robot Vibrates with pleasure Matrons and gigolos Carouse in the parlor Their hand grenade eyes Invalid and blind Vanishes in thin air The vanity of slaves Who wants to be there? To sweep the debris To harness dead horses To ride in the sun A life of confessions Written in the dust
Written by: Beck Hansen
Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.
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