By Dylan Hart
doctor, butcher and the priest
Watched the moon sink into the city
Watched the moon sink into the city
Driving around a place they dont know
With a stomach full of pity.
The priest said at the top
That he did not really like the view
Where the stains of planes walk behind
Suitcases filled with clocks and shoes
(Chorus)
Trapped under glass for all of time
In the recessed of the slime
Beckoning calls over airwaves
Assist the struggle of the Slaves
Dont be weak, hold our sign up high
Our bombs are clouding up the sky
Their fat bellies make an easy shot
Take their wallets and schemes they plot
They caught it as it dripped into the cup
That ball of light fell ceaselessly
It liquefied and smelled just like paint
Revealing, unveiling eternity
When the bartender said to me
That I would surely have a plan
I said "pour me another and ill tell"
"And we'll drive as high as we can!"
Trapped under glass for all of time
In the recessed of the slime
Beckoning calls over airwaves
Assist the struggle of the Slaves
Dont be weak, hold our sign up high
Our bombs are clouding up the sky
Their fat bellies make an easy shot
Take their wallets and schemes they plot
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