Lyrics
Parrot, squatting on your throne
Mentally captured, are you?
Foot-soldered concrete, rooted in basement
Alone
Corporeality relinquished, fictive molecules revolt
Soliloquies like apparition of a long forgotten ghost
Lonely Solipsist, sculpture squatting in a cell!
Anchored pedometry, concrete throne, concrete throne
Posture vocal like your inflective prose
Tethered philosophy, encrypted psychiatry
Powers of rendition on a capricious world, a pawn
Monet inclination for thoughts spoken – never heard
Tragic auditorium for one Pygmalion soul
Manas in transcendence through an infinite cosmos
Destruction, destruction
Is the ultimate creation so, your children, don't regret
Like those to their divine inventions, like all to the Planet
So, Lonely Solipsist, what rhyparography floods my eyes?
What would happen if your trompe-l'œil was exposed?
Bituminoid lucidity, in trafficked lumens, hides
One brain stacked up eight heads high in perfect proportion
Gravid knowledge crush the skulls in savage rebellion
Design by observation, translated erudition
So many creators cognitively collide like a pride of pan-psychics
Upon whom redounds this insistent obloquy?
Destruction, destruction
Is the ultimate creation so, your children, don't regret
Like those to their divine inventions, like all to the Planet
Power of observer granted
The Power of intent, the Painter's brush the Writer's words, sinners repent
I declare this pen a syringe! Injecting foreign brains!
Obligor objectivists base knowledge on fiction anyways
Pass the blame like nested Russian Dolls, inertly decaying
Smite the epiphenomenalists! Erase those bound to faith!
