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