More Human Than Human Lyrics
What innocence is left in me but the desire to summon my hallucinations, forgetting thereby that hope can be an empty vapor trail of optimistic pessimism? A street urchin, I am, with only two remaining horns, and they are pulling me in opposite directions on the journey, road, or twisted fork; whatever the hell they call life. I am after all the sediment of a failed dream. Bitter times some, sweet other times none. I cannot possibly be a decent human for no one should live the way I do when I cower in the dark for a mistake, for a failure, for a nothing of not much, really. There it is again--the shattered glass, etching initials in red, a jagged thought not bigger than a yellow pill, which I have found many times at the bottom of a stained shot glass.
I walk to the beat, I sleep in a box, and pray for a time when memories are delivered on time, packaged, opened, stored on a shelf, kept forever neat. In a perfect world, I cut untied strings, I reverse rainbows, and I curse lesser gods with a stump that once was an unpunished hand. Yes, there it is again--the American stallion, trotting in a mystical forest, a beautiful beast bigger than a white nightmare, which I have found many times at the top of an empty day.
Scream, breathe, scream, breathe. There's just got to be a better way to be a human being. I don't understand the instructions. Is it encoded, is it black magical, is it my own writing? How can I even comprehend the madness hiding below a surface of conglomerated conspiracies? Some hate me, others annoy me, a few illustrate me. Raise the flames, lower the black cauldron; I am in it before my bones melt--a thick soap to become the reason for soul cleansing. It's the creed of absurd philosophical incantations, summoning my inner human. None of this is intended for any sane person. Fuck 'em, I say. Fuck 'em all.
I walk to the beat, I sleep in a box, and pray for a time when memories are delivered on time, packaged, opened, stored on a shelf, kept forever neat. In a perfect world, I cut untied strings, I reverse rainbows, and I curse lesser gods with a stump that once was an unpunished hand. Yes, there it is again--the American stallion, trotting in a mystical forest, a beautiful beast bigger than a white nightmare, which I have found many times at the top of an empty day.
Scream, breathe, scream, breathe. There's just got to be a better way to be a human being. I don't understand the instructions. Is it encoded, is it black magical, is it my own writing? How can I even comprehend the madness hiding below a surface of conglomerated conspiracies? Some hate me, others annoy me, a few illustrate me. Raise the flames, lower the black cauldron; I am in it before my bones melt--a thick soap to become the reason for soul cleansing. It's the creed of absurd philosophical incantations, summoning my inner human. None of this is intended for any sane person. Fuck 'em, I say. Fuck 'em all.
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