¡Forward, Russia! - Eleven lyrics

Quit making faces at the one I love These errant tightropes that you're thinkin' of Can't be undone the instant that they're set Above this scorched and torrid hallowed ground Or so they say in the city So they say in the sea Set your watch round the corner While they bleed I heard a rumor that you lost your job Was it just hearsay or of factual ground? This tightrope's set now there's no going back To Sepiata and the Plastic Surgeons with Pineapple cones bleaching your bones Pineapple cones bleaching your bones Pineapple cones They came on the crest of a wave The cusp of Equinox today but they'll surely go This pillar of sleep orbited By thousands of delicate thoughts that will surely go These satellites fleeced at the door Comprised of the reason of years that will surely go As life flashes fitfully down This spirit so fitfully drowns A signal is sent from the core To bring all the satellites home, home, home, yeah A quart of the way A quart of the ghost still remains Tsunami that rip at the skin Anonymous wrenches of blame A great tidal wave Over the house on the hill The snakes are all burden with lead Plum bum dementia for them, just don't forget