With primitive ablutions Like a hobbyist of deranged proportion The win is yours We failed again The fleshy existence you keep To yourself is secure
We are magnificent machineries of joy We are magnificent machineries of joy Machines of joy and then some Machines of joy and then some
You are a vision of extraordinary contortion An athletic form of warm distortion The triumph yours We lose again The fleshy existence you keep To yourself is secure
We are magnificent machineries of joy We are magnificent machineries of joy Machines of joy and then some Machines of joy and then some
You are a vision A kind of vision
So tell me what he said Though it doesn't really matter Tell me what he said Though I don't really care It's only what he said And we can make it better Tell me what he said Though I don't really care
Help is on the way Help is on the way Help is on the way
It's a kind of vision
We are magnificent machineries of joy We are magnificent machineries of joy
The fleshy existence you keep To yourself is secure