The Primitives

Forget your family son

The face on the clock, your foreign body

The ship is just a frame

Pinpoint eyes, seething decks and pain

You wonder how it should be

You wonder how it should go

Then deny no loathsome thing

Hands beyond hands beyond oblivion swing

Forget your yesterdays son

The face on the clock, your foreign body

The ship is just a frame

Pinpoint eyes, seething decks and pain