The Pear of Tape / Joy of Sin

It was not at all the best of seasons
Numbers were not numbers anymore
Alone was the same as all together
One was equals four

What keeps the muscle bound to the bone
Black telepathy, not destiny
Admit it to the forest that you've blown the whole thing for us

Bury all the poets
Bury all the kings
Bury all the useless, pretty things

Nails in the places where we want them
But that's no good
Baffled brother's papеr 'til he fell back wood
We found firе in the mouth of a beautiful pout

Kept our secrets at sea 'til the sharks cast them out
Every day is fucking hilarious
Would've looked you in the eye
But I was too embarrassed

Bury all the poets
Bury all the kings
Bury all the useless, pretty things