This world feels like cold steal
and everywhere i walk
i question what is real
and what is not.
Make me jerk and gyrate
like a dying robot
with no shot.
Calculate the time
'till my heartbeat stops
and single drip of my crude oil drops
raining from a hose
in the metalsmith's shop
when i can't stop the bleading
and the turnaquet is taught.
Oil flows in the rivers of our cities
the machines hungry
but the world is empty
and it shines right through itself
an x-ray lamplight
examing it's own health.
Cogs turn a centimeter
from where the oil burns
deep in the mechanism
where it forms words.
Listen to the humming in the chamber
as it echoes of the iron beams
and rivets
holding up the automater.
The speakers blown
and we didn't build a cross fader,
the wires show
cause we didn't forge the outer layer.
Every metalsmith with a hammer hand
has disapeared from the memory
of the tin man.
Electric Pulses
stretch from end to end
completing the circuts
that industrialize the minds of men.
Radio towers
steal our hopes
and eminate the words of demons
from molten throats.
I evolved from metal into plastic
when my wireframe
stretched elastic fabric
over cadaver that it found up in the attic
(dust him off, dust him off slow)
Carry him up to the operating room!
I need a scalpel and a straw broom,
sweep away the dust
and inhale all the fumes
the rise from machines
when the mechanism resumes.
Touch the wires
the metal tips to metal,
start the fires and watch the ash settle.
Here we come
we're metteling in ironworks,
we're only satisfied
when our callused hands hurt.
Aluminum infastructure
whats your atomic weight?
The rivets don't want
to stan up straight
so we'll need to push them through
to correct the imbalance
with a hammer and a horseshoe.
Electric Pulses
stretch from end to end
completing the circuts
that industrialize the minds of men.
Radio towers
steal our hopes
and eminate the words of demons
from molten throats.