God Bless You, Blood Thirsty Zeppelins

"Save the falsetto valentines for the black ice cube toast, for the filth roast."

You know she looks so clinique,

but when you think she's asleep,

we're watching from inside the pilot's seat.

Because unfortunately this Marylin Monroe is a secret Zeppelin

whose sweat rains down napalm confetti on all black tie celebrations.

Tear out your carnivorous toupee for the afro fire,

save your hors d'oeuvres for the boiling lobster choir.

You know she looks so vulnerable in that snakeskin shawl,

but we're watching through her cut out eye holes

(because unfortunately this Marylin Monroe is a Secret Zeppelin

known towing a sign across the Coca-cola sky that reads S.S. Penetration)

God Bless you Bloodthirsty Zeppelins!

And now we're flying over the past

and future butchered from out brains and left to rot.

And now we're flying over the television towers

plastering the air with the filthy film of prayer.

We don't need a blueprint, we don't need a blue print

To burn our manuscripts naked and new.

We don't need a blueprint, we don't need a blue print

the blue prints me, the blue prints you.

We'll build our engines from hyjacked hymans.

Propellers churning in whispered fury.

We'll pluck our bombs from the greased pouch

of your presidents propaganda pupa louse.

"Honey I'll be home late, from the office today,

up to my neck in paperwork, yeah,

my boss is such a jerk."

"Oh, yeah she bought the story and there's a motel nearby...

so show me your, show me your surrender face baby"

Unfortunately this Marylin Monroe is a secret Zeppelin

set on a crash coarse with your cumshot museum

with the blowjob bunny mansion.

And now we're flying over factories manufacturing authentic ecstasy.

And now we're flying over the swamp

that brews the biggest smiles, cackling teeth in piles.

And now we're flying over the globe

derobed all the houses x-rayed all our thoughts exposed.

And all the copyrighted memories in my head spill to the floor

in a puddle of hungry lead.

And while the traffic weaves human tapestry's

we sing a chord to the frustration symphony.

Unfortunately this Marylin Monroe is a secret Zeppelin

Oh my God, the bombs are falling!