There must be some blueprints
The skin of a robot vibrates with pleasure
The vanity of slaves, who wants to be there?
La la la
To ride in the sun, a life of confessions
A hideous game vanishes in thin air
They're chewing dried meat
La la la
Out in the mangroves, the mynah birds cry
Written in the dust
Their hand-grenade eyes, invalid and blind
To sweep the debris, to harness dead horses
To ride in the sun, a life of confessions
A hideous game vanishes in thin air
To sweep the debris, to harness dead-horses
La la la
The vanity of slaves, who wants to be there?
In the shadows of sulfur, the trawlers drift by
The puritans stare their souls are fluorescent
Written in the dust
Matrons and gigolos carouse in the parlor
Some creed of the Devil inscribed in our minds
A house of disrepute, the dust of opiates
Fear has a glare that traps you like searchlights
And syphilis patients on brochure vacations
And he looks to the clouds, all pink and disheveled
