You're a god charade
I'll let you down like a noise complaint I know
My cover's blown
Fetish and fury tax
Worshiping everything I lack is dumb
Invention strung

Into empty space where hollow shapes will misbehave
What does holy want?
I'll be that Picturesong
Make me into a hundred words hide me in bathroom walls

It's a spastic shame that hollow shapes will break the frame
What does holy want?
A wind up Picturesong
A muse to sing a dozen words a silence for the wall