Worm In The Silk - Masters Of Reality

Gerard Gerard, transparent skin

Lit blue eyes, kiss on the chin

You wrapped up oracle, you feverish germ

You scratch of the wool, the incubus' squirm

La da da da da da da da da da da da da da

La da da da da da da da da da da la da da da

Da da da da da da da

Not kind were my thoughts, for the ghost on the bus

The faithful 2:40, that tranported us

From the houses of women, left to weep in their wombs

To our dry sanctuaries, to our suicide rooms

Look homeward angel, spit on your curse

It can only get better, because nothing is worse

This is Robert Johnson from outer space

This is Mother Teresa with the world on her face

This is the cookie that crumbles

This is everything gone

This is Martin Luther

This is 'Phil and Don'

This is ground below zero

This is safety and harm

This is 'low' and 'heroes'

This is sex on your arm

This is blood on a banner

This is fall and ascension

This is American idol

This is the eleventh dimension

This is the stele of revealing

This is the talk of John Paul

This is too crazy to mention

This is nothing at all