Lyrics
I do wrong, strictly speaking, just for myself
Because it makes me feel like a real man
To hold hegemony over my business
And I refuse to be abused by the milieu of wistful decay
Besides, I'm used to all of my scruples deserting me
Like they've done today
The lady from the block hunched over on the stool
With her withered old titty out, saying
"I've been rolled so many times
It's just feeding the pigeons"
Now her grandson swings a little rabbit by the leg
While his mother's playing two wooden flutes
I went to repo some fugitive air
To escape this street's vagary aesthetic
Has anybody here seen my old friend Blob?
Has anyone seen where he's gone?
What he thinks I owe him is his former life but
How can I unmake someone else's mistakes?
I guess I was his antihero, the bitter word on his lips
I hope I never feel a terror like when you discovered your autonomy had flipped
I feel like I possess only the bad aspects of invincibility
But none of the good ones
Are we walking mausoleums of scented rotting flesh
Mother always liked you best, liked your teeth upon her breast
They remove the oils from the eyes of street cats
Through some shitty witchcraft, and apply their brows and genitalia
I had no idea how deeply I wounded you
But I don't need no forgiveness and no level of contrition will ever do
La la la
La lalala la la
La lalala la la
La lalala la la la
La la la
La lalala la la
La lalala la la
La lalala la la
Ooh-ah-ah
Ooh-ah-ah
Ooh-ah-ah
Ooh-ah-ah
Ooh-ah-ah
Oooooooh
