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Songs | Albums | Album Arts
Song: | It's Your Ass That's on the Line |
Album: | Invito a Letto | Genres: | |
Year: | 1982 |
Length: | 127 sec |
Lyricist: Naïf Orchestra
Lyrics:
No object's defined by evil But when we objectify people Or our object's to define unequal A deed to deem them as inadequate
Decidedly dehumanize do defile Vilely file, view their lives as inanimate Then sadistically animating An object we're handling Fatally damages the fragile living Shattering the animate status attached to them And in an instant of duress A simple sick decision to direct An innocuous object viscerally Switch horrifically to that which that isn't its intent.. From innocent to a vicious instrument of death Plays its requiem role a symphonic dirge Orchestrates gory traits awfully served Cacophonous curt disconcerting concert solemnly heard Hurt, herded and reaped, to a coffin in the dirt where you sleep Neutral items newly enlivened By given brutal purpose perceived disturbing the peace Taking life, curbing the breathing It certainly seems there's no silence The violent cycle churning repeats... Grunts and moans when a person's conceived Turning to screams when the birth is achieved Unless death occurs in your sleep Last words that you speak, worse they're shrieks The reaper whispers terms courteously Courting us working in secret Permanently leaving entrails and urns for his leavings End trail cremation pavement murky with weeping The cost to cross Styx river isn't cheap In this world that you see Every carpet with a burgundy streak Every stray sneaker observed in the street Could be the murderous scene of a terminal deed A landmark of a victim never to be heard or be seen What's that stain on the carpet? Why is that pole bent there? Whats with that shoe in the sump? How did that hole get there?
When you're on the subway What if you are sitting on a blood stain? Whats to say that crack in the glass Or a shoe at the bus station Isn't connected to a someone Ending on a some day. Why is there a pair of muddy pumps in the sump eh? Why the torn cloth on the sharp fence the rust ate The macabre and the maudlin are all in the mundane All your petty values here are chump change Death's an equalizer, sleep designer, untamed Closed case, unchained, uncaged There's a twist in the life of every lifeless feature Like the twist of a knife in the spine of a leader When life's dealer doles a wild card Fate's hand matches wits, masochist Raise the stakes with a tarot picture Crazy 86 ya, playing devil's advocate Gambling with life there's a chance to win Those same odds put your ass to risk So life's randomness hands a gale force wind To your fragile house of Kevorkian jack's and kings Transformed into ashes quick, you're canceled Lost to that old wind like Amelia Earhart A game of pick up 52 prayer cards When hit me is said by a nail that's set in a casket's lid A narrative connected, embedded to anything A potential death bed in the bedlam of everything Eyes X'd so quick, exodus, death's abyss Existing cattle lives, cross paths With cross hairs that catalyze your exiting Refrain: No object's defined by evil But when we objectify people Or our object's to define unequal A deed to deem them as inadequate Decidedly dehumanize do defile Vilely file, view their lives as inanimate Then sadistically animating An object we're handling Fatally damages the fragile living Shattering the animate status attached to them...
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