Obvious Traps That We Can't Believe Actually Work!

 

But now

We're today's scrambled creatures

Locked in tomorrow's double feature

Heaven's on the pillow, its silence competes with hell

It's a twenty-four hour service, guaranteed to make you tell

And the streets are full of pressmen

Bent on getting hung and buried

And the legendary curtains are drawn 'round Baby Bankrupt

Who sucks you while you're sleeping

It's the theatre of financiers

Count them, fifteen 'round a table

White and dressed to kill

Oh, caress yourself, my juicy

For my hands have all but withered

Oh, dress yourself my urchin one, for I hear them on the stairs

Because of all we've seen, because of all we've said

We are the dead

We are the dead

We are the dead