Maniacs - Hawksley Workman

dead kites in farmer’s fields

the jailed dreamers are growing gills

so eat it up you Maniacs

eat the whole thing

you Maniacs

fat-so-saur-us

the possibilities of open skies

and the worms rule as silent kings

so eat it up

you fatso’s

gobble the whole thing

you fatso’s

baby be absolutely quiet

as we untie the boat

and push ourselves from shore

We’ll remember you

you poor souls

you poor slaves

they’re building the city

on your broken backs

and what of your own fires?

what of your own fires?

we’re leaving you now

when your cinders are so cold