Lyrics:

I made it up to the fool the wax-faced lap dogs
Who set the traps and when you're weak they finally paid you
Crave rapid hands
With pride and finesse
And you could finger through the piles
Let all the drummers come to meet the champions
Break up your band
And blast with the cold next to joy
And blast with the cold next to joy
Make it stop so you can
I'll make all arrangements
It has been approved
Clip your dreams and push shit through
If you could finger through the piles
Let all the drummers come to meet the champions
Break up your band
Stale sexless loud and vague
So stop while you can