Text:
Dog Fashion Disco Anarchists Of Good Taste

9 to 5 At The Morgue. Within the pale white walls, From 9 to 5 Day after day I feel no more alive, Than the stiff that lies the table before me. Wake

to dream up a conspiracy, With many sugar coated alibis. Technicolor and amphetamines in another crime scene. We are anarchists of good taste. We are

Pretty faces pretty hip bodies hang to drain and drip so submit and let's pretend you're not a hollow charlatan velcro whores they fill the streets infecting

Urine love with a robot With dysfunctional genitals and violent mood swings. Urine love with an android queen Sci-fi taboo, mistress machine. You're an

Restroom magicians. Mescaline visions. Pink riots and pigmen in city streets. And in the gutter, distorted colours. At the end of the rainbow our copper

You've got me hanging by my throat. Swinging from a tree, Swaying in the breeze. As I die my eyes glaze over. Swinging from a tree, Swaying in the breeze