DonQuioxteoftheICU
05-19-2007, 04:10 AM
Tonight we'll dance like the party favors of surgeons.
Sharp, light, elegant.
Moving with the grace of pain and satisfaction the same.
Enduring all silent incisions.
We have come to address our most deepest regrets,
And drink to the farce of physical bliss.
Blessed in the flame we are.
To shed each day that weighs on our hearts.
The hostess appears in front of the stairs.
Sharp, light, elegant.
Her back broken in several places,
An obvious sign of previous celebrations.
Greeting her guests with all mortal delight.
She has the stare of a hundred thousand lifetimes.
She's a venomous host,
With a kiss that can paralyze.
Lets start the festivities right.
Dimly lit rooms are setting the mood
As servants lick flesh from the eyeless.
The hostess regains some semblance of sane.
Events of the night are so priceless.
From borderline to world of plenty.
All of humanity is here.
To shed this day and what remains,
The guests are evolving as feared.
Freud is spiking the punch to take notes on the side.
There's a bulb above Darwin that flickers with life.
Venus the whore, adorning the fire.
Mars is a madman, through all that transpires.
Writing a play inside of his head.
He sharpens his blades for the opening act.
Fresh words fitting for all of denial.
Appropriately titled,
The Annual Backstabbing Festival: Dying in style.
The rest of the crowd, enjoying the scene.
Religions are forming.
Bring on the suffering.
Tonight, the greatest fury is that of a Mormon.
One that the Krishna's once crucified.
Catholics horde the Communion,
While Baptists are on the balcony, throwing stones of demise.
Atheists are moshing,
And Druids can't tell the time.
A Native American dances,
While a white man bleeds from the eyes.
Satanists are blushing.
And Jews are dining on swine.
Who plans these parties?
They are the time of our lives.
The time of our lives.
Sharp, light, elegant.
Moving with the grace of pain and satisfaction the same.
Enduring all silent incisions.
We have come to address our most deepest regrets,
And drink to the farce of physical bliss.
Blessed in the flame we are.
To shed each day that weighs on our hearts.
The hostess appears in front of the stairs.
Sharp, light, elegant.
Her back broken in several places,
An obvious sign of previous celebrations.
Greeting her guests with all mortal delight.
She has the stare of a hundred thousand lifetimes.
She's a venomous host,
With a kiss that can paralyze.
Lets start the festivities right.
Dimly lit rooms are setting the mood
As servants lick flesh from the eyeless.
The hostess regains some semblance of sane.
Events of the night are so priceless.
From borderline to world of plenty.
All of humanity is here.
To shed this day and what remains,
The guests are evolving as feared.
Freud is spiking the punch to take notes on the side.
There's a bulb above Darwin that flickers with life.
Venus the whore, adorning the fire.
Mars is a madman, through all that transpires.
Writing a play inside of his head.
He sharpens his blades for the opening act.
Fresh words fitting for all of denial.
Appropriately titled,
The Annual Backstabbing Festival: Dying in style.
The rest of the crowd, enjoying the scene.
Religions are forming.
Bring on the suffering.
Tonight, the greatest fury is that of a Mormon.
One that the Krishna's once crucified.
Catholics horde the Communion,
While Baptists are on the balcony, throwing stones of demise.
Atheists are moshing,
And Druids can't tell the time.
A Native American dances,
While a white man bleeds from the eyes.
Satanists are blushing.
And Jews are dining on swine.
Who plans these parties?
They are the time of our lives.
The time of our lives.